A Death in the Highlands

by Caroline Dunford

  ‘I’d hazard that you know our master is less than lily-white. I work for him for the same reason you do. Necessity. My father was a grocer. It’s a skilled job but, with the march of branded and prepacked food, it’s a dying art. I got myself trained as a footman at a big house near here, but there was no opportunity for advancement, so when Lord Richard appeared on the horizon …’

  ‘You jumped at the chance. How did you persuade him?’

  ‘I’m good at what I do. I know the land. And I’m cheaper than a London man. And your reason for working for this unscrupulous, arrogant and mean toff?’

  ‘You were saying I need to be stricter with the servants?’

  Rory paused slightly before answering. The long, level look he gave me seemed to say that my abrupt change of subject was crass and beneath his attention. I do not claim to be a thought-reader, and he may have been only thinking of his breakfast, but it was only due to my mother’s rigorous training that I did not squirm under his direct gaze.

  ‘Aye. You do. People appreciate knowing where they stand. If you want someone to talk to, come to me, not to Merry. It didn’t escape my notice she was still abed.’

  ‘The travelling made her very ill.’

  ‘Can’t say I enjoyed it much myself, but I’ve been up for hours. We need to get some house rules sorted.’

  We spent a detailed half hour determining rising times, expected number of guests, when tasks would need completing, orders to be given, our individual responsibilities and finally the menus. It was in this last area that I was able to be of most help. Rory had brought a number of provisions from London, but had little imagination as to how to best use them. I had long done the menus at the vicarage – a combination of Mother wanting me to acknowledge my heritage and start to learn how to run a great house and Pa liking more adventurous dishes. I could no more boil an egg than jump in the air and fly, but I knew to a nicety what should be served with what. My time spent consuming the excellent, though slightly old-fashioned, cooking of Mrs Deighton had also sharpened my sense of what constituted good hospitality. What is more, I knew about game and its hanging requirements. Vicars are often brought such charitable fare and we had a special shed for such offerings at my old home. Little Joe had loved it.

  ‘That’s good, Euphemia. You have a knack for this.’ He cocked his head on one side and subjected me to intense scrutiny. I smiled back in what I hoped was a frank and open manner. ‘You’ve got some secrets, lass. I can see that. I’ve no mind to pry but I warn you, if your past impinges on your position, then I will set my mind to discover them. I’m very good at looking into people’s hearts and minds. You could say it was a hobby of mine.’ It was said with a slight smile, but those ridiculously luminous eyes had something about them that sent shivers down my spine. I had no reason to doubt Rory McLeod, but instinctively I knew he would be a dangerous man to cross. It seemed a good point to bring our discussion to an end.

  ‘I will check on Susan,’ I said. ‘She should have finished the hall by now and I …’

  Rory gave me a direct look. The sunlight broke through the clouds and streamed in through the window. The strange, light colour of his eyes had never looked more intense. ‘You do not report to me, Euphemia. We’re co-workers.’

  ‘Of course,’ I muttered and quickly made my exit. The hall floor was composed of red slate tiles. Presumably because the weather is so inclement in Scotland this was a practical choice. I must confess it reminded me of the inside of a butcher’s shop. Susan had made it shine, but not so the grand wooden stair. There was no evidence of the girl and I caught myself tutting my tongue off the back of my teeth, much as Mrs Wilson used to do when Daisy forgot to dust the tops of the hall furniture. It was both unladylike and disconcerting to discover I was prey to such mannerisms. This is the only excuse I can offer for not immediately seeing what was wrong.

  ‘Euphemia!’ Mr Bertram hailed me from above. He was leaning over the top of the landing banister and wearing a most unbecoming and uncomfortable-looking green tweed suit. He looked like a man trying to be one with the Scottish countryside and failing. He was as out-of-place as a pair of spats in a coalmine. A slight smile curled my lips and I cast my eyes down quickly so he did not see it. ‘How’s it going? This place is far larger than I had expected. I hope you have the help you need. I was going to suggest …’ He broke off and I looked up again to see him brushing off his sleeve. ‘Good grief, there is something sticky all over this banister. It really will not do, Euphemia. If the locals are giving you trouble, you’d better get Rory to speak to them, or better yet …’

  He was continuing with his thoughts on the laziness of the indigenous population when I realised what had happened.

  ‘Bertram,’ I shouted. ‘Don’t come down the stairs. It isn’t safe!’

  My use of his first name without suffix arrested his attention. ‘What the devil do you mean …?’

  It gave me the time I needed to run over to the bottom step. Sunlight spilled through the long-paned window behind us clearly showing that several of the higher steps were dull. I ran up the first few shiny stairs and traced a finger along the first dull tread. ‘Beeswax,’ I said. ‘It’s not been polished off properly.’

  ‘Good gad!’ ejected Bertram. ‘I could have fallen and broken my bally neck. Where is the wretched domestic?’

  As if conjured from thin air, Susan appeared at the foot of the stairs. She curtsied awkwardly to Mr Bertram. ‘I was behind stairs. Someone’s moved my cleaning supplies, sir. I was looking for the right cloth.’

  ‘You stupid woman, you left a death trap.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lord Stapleford,’ said Susan.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, get a cloth, Euphemia, so I can get down from here. I don’t appreciate having to shout my orders through the whole house.’

  ‘Right away, Mr Bertram,’ I said. ‘Where are the cloths, Susan? Did you find them?’ Mechanically, the girl produced a cloth from behind her back.

  ‘Mr Bertram,’ whispered Susan hollowly. The colour had drained from her face. ‘Mr Bertram? I thought he was Lord Stapleford.’

  ‘No,’ I said whipping the cloth out of her slackened grasp. ‘Lord Richard has red hair like you Scots.’

  She snatched the cloth back from my hands so quickly it burned hot against my skin. ‘I’ll do it,’ she snapped and scampered up the steps to the first dull tread. I followed. ‘At least tell me where the cloths are. It will be quicker with two of us.’

  ‘I said I can manage.’

  ‘What are you up to?’ said Mr Bertram. ‘Will you get a move on?’

  ‘I didn’t know he had a brother,’ hissed Susan to me. ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ she called up to Mr Bertram. ‘I didn’t know yous gentlemen would be down so early.’

  ‘Good gad, woman, it’s the country. How long have you worked here?’

  ‘I didn’t mean any harm,’ protested Susan.

  ‘Will you tell me where there is another cloth?’ I repeated quietly and urgently in Susan’s ear. ‘This is taking too long.’ Although to be fair she was working very quickly. However, I could not help be aware of Mr Bertram’s fading patience and the growing sullenness of the girl beside me. I foresaw it could not end well.

  ‘If this is the general standard of work …’ began Mr Bertram.

  The doorbell rang. The chime was so deep I could almost say it tolled. I turned, but Rory was already answering the summons. He glided sedately across the hall, paying no heed to the argument that was brewing behind him. He opened the door to a tall gentleman. It was at this point Susan, instead of fading discreetly into the background, broke into noisy sobs. I immediately attempted to shush her, but she was alarmingly rigid and I had a fear that any moment she would go off into strong hysterics. I glanced up at the new arrival, hoping he would have the breeding not to notice the domestic dispute.

  The guest made quite an impression. The gentleman – and he looked every inch a gentleman – had on one of the best-cut suits I
have seen in a long time. He had the loose-knit frame of one who was a natural athlete. His hair was lank and blond, slightly longer than is common, especially at the front. I would estimate he was in his fourth decade, around the mid-30s, but there were signs he would not age well. He showed Lord Richard’s tendency to run to fat. A fold of skin bulged over his collar and now, as he smiled, I saw a spider’s web of lines creased around his eyes. There was also an air about him, hard to put my finger upon, but if forced to name it, I would have said one of nervous excitement. He hid it well, but it showed in the flexing of his fingertips and the manner in which he fairly sprang past Rory into the hall.

  ‘Is this a commotion I see before me?’ He brushed past me and was at Susan’s side. ‘Or is it a flower?’ And with that he pulled a flower from behind Susan’s ear.

  ‘Oh, bravo,’ I said, quite forgetting myself. I heard Mr Bertram mutter, ‘Damn it. I’ll find another way down,’ and he disappeared from above.

  ‘I washed behind my lugs,’ stammered Susan.

  ‘I’m sure you did,’ said our guest, gallantly presenting the flower to an open-mouthed Susan.

  He turned and smiled at me. ‘Roland McGillvary,’ he said offering me his hand. ‘Very popular with young nieces and nephews, available for genteel entertainments!’

  I returned his smile and shook his hand. ‘Welcome to Stapleford Lodge, sir. I hope your stay is a pleasant one. I am Miss St John, the housekeeper. If there is anything I can do, please do not hesitate to ask. I’m afraid I will have to ask Rory, our butler, to show you to your room. Most of the male servants have been pressed into service marking the shoot. I believe it is quite an extensive area you will be covering.’ I was aware of Susan in the background, the flower tucked behind her ear, frantically cleaning the last of the steps.

  ‘Yes, dash it. I’m frightfully sorry I’m early, but I’m such a lousy shot I thought I should take the opportunity to walk the land in daylight before we all start, what?’ He laughed loudly.

  ‘It’s no trouble at all,’ I began, when the front door burst open startling Rory, who had been discreetly waiting in the background, as only a good butler can. Lord Richard burst into the hall. The two men shook hands and clapped each other on the back.

  ‘Rolly, my old school chum! Still making a fortune in chopsticks?’

  ‘Dickie, you old merchant-of-death, you!’

  Lord Richard’s face suffused with an unattractive plum hue. ‘Now, Rolly, old man …’

  ‘Jolly insightful of you to get onto that French gun business. Pity you didn’t tip a fellow the wink.’

  ‘Where’s your man?’

  ‘Parking the jalopy.’

  ‘Drink?’

  It was clear the gentlemen did not need my presence, so only pausing to cast a quick eye over the stairs to ensure Susan had done her job, I signalled to her to leave the hall. Rory had already vanished.

  I went through to the kitchen to check that suitable drinks had been laid out in the various parlours upstairs. A very dishevelled-looking footman assured me that Mr McLeod had ensured this had been done before they set out to check the site. He then left, declaring his intention of ridding himself of his mud before dinner, and wearing a decidedly wounded air.

  ‘I’m thinking he’s no love of our country,’ said the chef, grinning.

  ‘I think you will find he has no love of wearing it,’ said Rory from behind me.

  I jumped. ‘Do you have to move around so silently?’

  ‘Part of the butler training. Now, Euphemia, what was that all about?’

  I explained the stair situation. Rory listened frowning. ‘You’ll need to keep an eye on that,’ he said obscurely and headed out.

  The next few hours vanished as a thousand and one little tasks and forgotten things made themselves known. There would only be the three gentlemen for dinner tonight but, now it was more than family in residence, I knew Lord Richard would be unprepared to overlook any teething problems.

  Once I felt I had the situation under a reasonable semblance of control I retired to the housekeeper’s room, with the intention of making a list of what remained outstanding and what could only be done tomorrow. I took out a sheet of writing paper from my desk and stared at it for a few minutes. It was no use. Now I had stopped being busy I could not rid myself of the suspicion that Susan’s actions had been deliberate. I could tell Mr Bertram of my suspicions, but I quailed internally at the thought. I did not relish awakening issues from the past, especially as they had concluded so unfortunately. However … there was nothing for it, I would have to investigate by myself.

  By now, I reasoned, the gentlemen would be gathering for dinner and most of the staff caught up with the preparations. It would take only a moment to make my way to Lord Richard’s room and check all was in order. Much as I disliked the man, I felt I could not in conscience do otherwise.

  However, luck was not on my side. I had just gained the upper landing and was about to open Lord Richard’s door when I heard the sound of footsteps behind me and Rory’s voice explaining to the young bootboy when he was allowed on the floor. I darted round the corner only to find myself at a dead end facing a lone door. The footsteps continued. It seemed Rory felt it necessary to show the lad every door. I did the only thing I could and slipped into the room ahead of me, fervently hoping it was unoccupied. Merry and I had been given the layout of the bedrooms, but Rory was charged with allocating them to the guests, so I really had no idea of what I might find within.

  In this, luck again was not with me. A portmanteau stood neatly on one side and a fine suit was hung over what I believe is called a gentleman’s valet, but denotes a wooden frame rather than a servant. I had entered McGillvary’s room. There were no sounds from the adjoining bathroom, so I crossed my fingers and waited for Rory to move on. Shortly afterwards the footsteps did begin to fade and I heard the bootboy’s voice, this time repeating nervously the occupants of each room. I was about to make my escape when I caught sight of the book on the bedside table. It was a compendium of conjuring tricks. Without thinking what I was doing I picked up the book and began glancing through it. All I could think was how much Little Joe would enjoy this.

  Before I could bring myself to the consideration of the impropriety of my actions there was a noise at the door. I tore my eyes away from the fascinating intricacies of how to make a lady in a palanquin vanish4 and saw to my horror that the door handle had begun to turn.

  4 To this day I do not know how the trick is done.

  Chapter Three

  The Nature of Gentlemen

  ‘That’ll do, Bobby. If you forget, you come and ask me. I’d rather you did that than I had gentlemen coming to me bootless and angry.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Right, off you go. Supper is due and that looks suspiciously like mud under your fingernails. You’d better get cleaned up before Miss St John sees.’

  ‘Oh, right you are, Mr McLeod.’

  The door handle stopped turning and I began to breathe freely once more. I mastered my desire to flee immediately, but I still exited the room all too soon. On my headlong flight towards the kitchen I ran straight into Rory.

  ‘It is not necessary, Euphemia, to attempt to knock me flat on my back to get my attention,’ he said, the faint touches of his Scottish burr softening his words. ‘Likewise I suspect it is not necessary, nor seemly, for you to appear so flustered. Our guests deserve a calm environment. It appears to me, with the exception of your behaviour, all is running well, no?’

  ‘How can you say that?’ I answered breathlessly. ‘Susan almost caused a serious incident this morning.’

  ‘I think that is open to interpretation,’ said Rory, frowning.

  ‘What else could it be? She hadn’t wiped the beeswax off the treads properly and Mr Bertram almost fell. I noticed in time and called to him to stop.’

  ‘People do make mistakes. The last owner said she was an exemplary worker.’

  ‘I have this feeling s
he doesn’t like the Staplefords much.’

  ‘Be very careful, Euphemia. There is enough ill will here without you implying such a serious accusation.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘When I said you should be stricter with the staff I never meant you to forget they are people – hard-working people – and sometimes we all make mistakes. I understand this is new to you and you need to make your authority felt, but accusing the staff of attempted murder is not the right way to go about it.’

  ‘I’m not saying she meant to kill him,’ I began.

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘I don’t think she’d thought it through. And when she learned it was Mr Bertram, not Lord Richard, she was very upset. Ask him, if you want. He’ll tell you the same.’

  ‘I am not in the habit of bothering the family with below-stairs issues and I trust neither are you.’

  I sighed. ‘Look, all I am saying is, I don’t think she would have minded if Lord Richard had fallen on his – his … er …’

  ‘Arse? You may have something there. I’ll have a wee word with her myself. As you foiled her terrible scheme,’ he grinned, ‘she’d be a fool to try anything like it again. I do not believe we have anything to worry about.’

  ‘I hope you’re right, Rory.’

  ‘I usually am. And, Euphemia, I won’t ask what you were doing up on the gentlemen’s floor but, now we have guests in residence, I would strongly suggest you do not go unaccompanied up there again. The nature of gentlemen is not to be taken lightly.’

  Hatefully, I felt myself blush from head to toe. I dropped my eyes and said nothing. Rory walked off.

  The morning of the 11th dawned grey and drizzling, quite unlike how I understood the month of August to be, but then we were in the wild north and who knew what was normal here? Certainly, no one seemed that put out by the drizzle. The only difference it seemed to make to the local people was the men squashed tweed caps on their heads and the women moved their shawls from around their shoulders to cover their hair. I sat in my parlour going over the menus one last time and attempting not to be dispirited by the patter of rain against the window. In a fit of extravagance I had even asked for a small fire to be lit in the grate and the whispering crackle of the flames was as comforting as the small heat they gave.