A Death by Arson

by Caroline Dunford

  ‘Why, Miss Hill, is this a compliment?’ I smiled.

  ‘One should never confuse character with goodness or even with intelligence,’ retorted Mary.

  ‘But I thought you excelled at mathematics?’

  ‘I do,’ said Mary. Then she sighed. ‘It was not my intention to quarrel with you. It is only that I have been hearing the strangest stories about the castle, and am now somewhat concerned…’

  ‘If you are referring to the fire,’ I answered, ‘it happened long before Sir Richard took ownership. I believe it has been fully and safely restored.’

  ‘That is something of a relief.’

  ‘Which part?’ I asked, but Mary ignored my question.

  ‘I have also learned that the locals believe in ghosts and are certain this place is haunted. I would not like Lucy to learn of this. It will distress her.’

  ‘The castle being one of her main inducements to marry Sir Richard,’ I suggested.

  Mary had the grace to blush. ‘I do not believe in such things, but I would rather Lucy was not frightened by such tales.’

  ‘From my experience of visiting the Highlands, and the Scottish in general,’ I said, mentally excluding a certain butler from my list, ‘the local people are most keen on the telling of ghost stories. A great many of them claim to have “the sight” and to be in general communion with the dead. But the weather is so very bad up here, and they have neither of the resources of good shopping nor theatre to entertain them: I fear it is a necessary pastime. While there are many people clustered around the castle, Scotland is in general, I believe, a sparsely populated land. I have had occasion to walk through some of the wilder, wooded parts of the country, and it is not difficult to understand where the local belief in superstitions may spring from.’

  ‘But you do not believe in such nonsense?’ demanded Mary.

  I hesitated. ‘I have seen enough of life and death to make me perhaps more receptive to such ideas than I once was, but I am in no way a believer.’

  ‘That is no answer at all,’ said Mary, giving me a look that reminded me her mathematical world was one of absolutes.

  ‘I am sorry. I do not have a better one.’

  ‘I suppose I am left with no option but to tell you what I saw,’ said Mary. ‘Please, do not give sway to groundless superstition. Lucinda is too nervous about everything for me to confide in her and Sir Richard is obviously much engaged with his guests. It seems I have no option but to rely on your opinion for guidance.’

  I repressed the urge to apologise again.

  Mary sighed. ‘Although it is winter and the night comes quickly this far north, I have also found that the moonlight appears more effective than in England. I have come to the conclusion that this is something to do with the general darkness of the castle and its environs and our eyes adjusting to the dark, coupled with the lack of streetlamps. This gives the illusion of many things outside being outlined in silver and surprisingly visible.’

  I probed through her sentences, trying to make sense of them. ‘Do you mean you have seen a ghost?’ I asked, surprised.

  ‘I do not believe in such things,’ said Mary hotly. I raised an eyebrow and, giving another large sigh, she continued. ‘The first night I was here I drew my curtains open after dark to inspect the stars. I have a minor interest in astronomy, and, as I have indicated, there are scientific reasons why the heavens are clearer up here…’

  ‘But you saw something else?’

  ‘I would have thought nothing of it, but I saw the same thing again last night and I have a growing suspicion I will see the same tonight.’

  This time I suppressed an urge to shake her. ‘And that was?’

  ‘A silver figure walking towards the area of the castle that is yet to be refurbished since the fire. I believe it was a stable block.’

  ‘Could it not have been a servant?’

  ‘Why would someone be heading towards a deserted part of the castle late at night? I am afraid some villainy is afoot. I thought, considering your propensity to see murderers everywhere, that you would be more concerned. I have no idea to whom I should report my sightings.’

  ‘And you do not want to be thought foolish?’ I asked.

  ‘I do not wish to raise unnecessary alarums on the eve of Lucinda’s wedding, but neither do I wish to overlook something I may later have cause to regret.’

  ‘So you want me to look into it?’ I asked.

  ‘I want you to tell me who to inform!’ she said. ‘I have little reason to trust your detective abilities.’

  I bit my lip. I could understand her sentiment, but unfortunately, I was prevented from explaining that, in the end, I had indeed caught the murderer who had landed us all in jail. The person in question had taken their own life and the matter, for the sake of their family, was closed. ‘I met a footman called Rupert. I think he has duty on our floor. He might be the one to question. He worked at the castle before the fire. I believe Sir Richard’s Land Agent might also be here, but he does not have an approachable personality.14 I am afraid I have not yet encountered the butler. He would be the person to deal with this kind of situation. But there are so many of us guests and, it appears, at least twice as many staff!’

  Mary looked a little startled. ‘More than one servant per person?’

  I gave her a pitying look. It never failed to surprise me that no matter how intelligent the speaker they generally failed to appreciate how very many people were needed to keep any great houses, or even middle-sized houses, running. ‘Swans,’ I muttered under my breath. Among the privileged, it all glided along smoothly, while below stairs the servants toiled and sweated. Despite this, my sojourn of working below stairs had yielded my closest friends and some of the people I rate most highly. Despite her support of the Suffragettes, the women’s group intended to encompass all classes, Mary clearly remained unaware of the lot of the lower classes.

  ‘Or, if you prefer, you could go straight to the housekeeper, Mrs Lewis,’ I added. ‘She previously worked at Stapleford Hall and is a very straight forward and sensible woman, not in the least given to gossip.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose that sounds best. How would I go about it?’

  ‘If you want to do such a thing quietly, I would ask the maid who has been allocated to you to mention to Mrs Lewis that you wished to speak to her. She would respond as soon as she was able, I am sure.’

  ‘Very well, that is what I will do.’

  ‘I confess I do not understand your concern, Mary – Miss Hill, I mean. It is probably only a wandering tramp seeking refuge from the cold.’

  ‘Yes, no doubt,’ said Mary. ‘But I will feel happier when someone investigates.’

  ‘If you will excuse me, I have arranged to meet up with an acquaintance this evening,’ I said.

  ‘Thank you for your time, Miss St John,’ she said, and turned away. I walked slowly to the door and once it closed behind me, bolted down the hall. I was late to meet Bertram.

  * * *

  14Ha!

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rory is suspicious

  I found both Bertram and Rory waiting for me by the servants’ stairs. Rory was standing impassively, hands behind his back, while he examined the vaulted ceiling. Bertram was pacing back and forth, fob watch in his hand. He turned at the sound of my footsteps. ‘Where have you been?’ he hissed in a loud whisper. Then he grabbed my arm and pulled me through the baize door into the servants’ passage. Rory followed, but I thought I heard him sigh.

  We stood on a little landing, the bare stone steps curling up and down what appeared to be a servants’ turret. ‘Where have you been?’ repeated Bertram.

  I leaned over the iron rail and peered down the staircase. No electricity or even gas lamps lit this stairway. What little light we had came from Rory keeping his foot half in the doorway, allowing some light from the castle hallway to creep in. I sneezed. The stone felt gritty under my shoe.

  ‘Same as ever,’ said Rory. ‘All show on the f
ront and behind the scenes a somewhat more dire situation.’

  ‘It’s too dark,’ I said. ‘We cannot know if we are being overheard.’

  ‘Does it matter?’ asked Rory.

  ‘As Bertram has dragged us into this dingy …’ I sneezed again, ‘and extremely dusty hole, I assume he does not want to be overheard.’

  ‘And a slightly ajar servant’s door and loud whispering will naturally bar all notice,’ said Rory wryly.

  ‘Could we not simply find one of the lesser-used rooms?’ I asked. ‘The place seems big enough.’ I sneezed again. ‘My eyes are starting to water.’

  ‘Oh, lass, you’ve become weak and pallid among the fine folk,’ mocked Rory.

  Bertram fairly bounced on the balls of his feet with frustration. Rory took pity on him. ‘This way,’ he said, and he led us, always staying three paces ahead like a good footman, back through the baize door and towards the back of the castle.

  ‘He can’t do this,’ whispered Bertram to me. ‘He’s a valet. He will arouse suspicion.’

  ‘As you well know, he is actually a butler by trade and, I suspect, by temperament. He could look down his nose at a Duchess, if she used the wrong fork, and get away with it. I’m betting that no one will interrupt our passage.’

  ‘Unless we come across someone we all know,’ muttered Bertram darkly.

  Rory had us quickly at a small saloon, decorated startlingly in yellow and green tartan. No one was in there for the simple reason that it was as cold as an icehouse. There was no fire, so I helped Rory start one. Bertram looked on in awe, as if we were conjuring the flames with mystical powers. Within a very short time, we had a roaring blaze. Then the three of us drew chairs around the hearth and settled down to talk.

  ‘This is rather nice, isn’t it?’ I said, thinking aloud. ‘Companionship by the fireside and not a murder in sight.’

  Rory threw me a strange look. Bertram said, ‘Do not tempt fate, Euphemia. It is only by the grace of God that Richenda was not more badly hurt.’

  ‘Bertram, have you ever considered that perhaps we look too hard for mysteries? Could this not only be an unfortunate accident?’

  Bertram opened and closed his mouth several times, but no sound emerged.

  ‘I, for one, do not believe it to be an accident,’ interrupted Rory, ‘and that is the reason I wished to speak with you. I am not comfortable about that Susie Ellis.’

  Bertram found his voice. ‘McLeod, we should call her Ellie like Amy does, to avoid confusion.’

  Rory shrugged. ‘If you wish. Ellie appears to me to be most distracted. On more than one occasion I have found her some distance from the nursery suite, in areas of the castle I believe she had no cause to be.’

  ‘Was she lost?’ I asked.

  ‘That was, indeed, what she would have had me believe,’ said Rory.

  ‘But you don’t?’ said Bertram.

  ‘I cannot put my finger upon it precisely,’ said Rory, ‘but she doesnae feel right. I have worked with many servants now and there is something that’s not quite right. Not in the same way as I knew from the first that there was something wrong with Euphemia.’

  ‘I am sitting right here,’ I protested. ‘Besides, there is nothing wrong with me.’

  Rory looked at Bertram. ‘I knew she was hiding secrets from us all.’

  I paled slightly. It was true: Rory had been the only one to doubt my persona as a bona fide servant, from almost the moment he met me. I knew his judgement to be acute when his feelings were not too deeply involved.

  ‘Did you ever get her to tell you what they were?’ asked Bertram curiously.

  ‘I am still here,’ I said, pronouncing each word with considerable weight.

  ‘No,’ said Rory. ‘I did not.’

  ‘Did you know her mother is about to marry a bishop?’

  Rory raised an eyebrow. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘So are you suggesting Ellie is hiding something?’ I asked, desperate to draw the attention away from myself. Their tone had been jocular and I knew in their own way they only meant to tease, but I was not ready to reveal to either of them my true ancestry. Although I feared if my mother got her way they would, all too soon, know all my secrets.

  Rory shrugged. ‘I don’t know that I can say, more than she feels wrong.’

  ‘Have you ever found her outside the castle?’ I asked, a thought striking me.

  Rory shook his head. ‘No. She might be able to convince me to give her the benefit of the doubt if she has lost her way in the corridors, but were I to come across her in the castle grounds I would have to draw Mr Muller’s attention to it.’

  ‘And you have reason to go back and forth to see to the automobile?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s not a horse, Euphemia,’ said Bertram. ‘It doesn’t need feeding. Besides, Rory is acting as my valet.’

  ‘I do go out from time to time,’ interrupted Rory. ‘In this weather it is not a bad idea to turn the engine over every now and then, and tomorrow – if you can spare me, Bertram – I thought I might have a look at the spark plugs. The trip up here being her first run, I’d like to take a proper keek under the bonnet, make sure it’s all fine. The last thing I want is to break down when we are on our way home,’ he finished, leaving us all with the thought of how little we would like to be stranded at the castle.

  ‘But it’s the wedding!’ protested Bertram.

  ‘Aye, I ken,’ said Rory, suddenly going very Scotch. ‘I wasnae aware I was invited.’

  ‘Well, you’re not, but…’

  ‘I’ll make sure you’re all kitted out and then I thought I’d away to the garage. One of the kitchen maids has said how she’ll bring me out sandwiches.’

  I raised an eyebrow at this and Bertram, catching my eye, coughed loudly, ‘A good plan, McLeod. The house will be in chaos.’

  ‘Does that mean we need extra eyes on Richenda?’ I asked.

  ‘I think Richard will be too caught up with his new bride to worry about Richenda tomorrow,’ said Bertram.

  ‘And tomorrow night,’ added Rory.

  ‘Quite,’ said Bertram shortly, ‘I think if Richenda takes reasonable precautions she will be perfectly safe. As Lucinda has decided she wants to embrace the Scottish tradition of walking to the local church, Richenda won’t even be attending. She’ll wait at the castle for the congregation to return for the wedding breakfast.’

  ‘We are meant to walk down to the village church?’ I asked. ‘I mean, that is a sweet custom, but it’s not as if the Staplefords are known here.’

  ‘Hardly the Laird, you mean?’ said Rory. ‘Maybe not the historical Laird, but they’ve brought a guy lot of employment to the area. Stapleford’s even convinced the Laird’s son, who lives in a big house in the village to come. He wanted his father to come too, from what I’ve heard, but the old man must be pushing ninety. Still, you’re right in thinking that is the local family here. Stapleford is merely the banker.’

  ‘The old family did not move away after the fire?’ I asked.

  ‘From what I have learnt …’ said Rory.

  ‘I do not pay you to gossip with the servants,’ said Bertram hotly. I suspected he was beginning to feel left out.

  ‘I thought, seeing as this is Sir Richard’s house, it was worth seeing the lay of the land,’ said Rory softly.

  Bertram huffed. ‘I suppose you are right.’

  ‘As I was saying, the old Laird and his family moved into the largest house in the village. The servants believe he speculated on the stock market in the hopes of raising the funds to rebuild the castle, but did not have much luck.’

  ‘Is he bankrupt?’ I asked. ‘Did he have dealings with Richard’s bank?’

  ‘That is not impossible,’ said Bertram. ‘That may be how Richard heard about the castle in the first place. But it would have to have been the son, not the old man.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rory. ‘It seems the family tried for the better part of two generations to hold on to the land, but Stapleford
’s generous offer came at the right time. I would not be surprised if Stapleford sold it as being best for the local people too. He learnt a lot from his dealings at his Highland lodge.’

  I shivered, remembering my unfortunate experiences there.15

  ‘I think,’ said Bertram suddenly, ‘that Euphemia should stay with Richenda.’

  ‘And miss the wedding?’ said Rory. ‘Oooh, man, ye have a nerve to ask that of a lassie.’

  ‘I am not a man,’ said Bertram. I saw Rory suppress a smile. ‘I am a gentleman!’

  Before the serious bickering could commence, I interrupted, ‘I would much rather not have to gaze on Richard’s face as he takes his bride to be his wife. There seems no harm in Lucinda and I feel rather sorry for her.’

  ‘Euphemia,’ said Rory warningly, ‘I hope you’re not going to interfere.’

  ‘It might surprise you to know that only last night I was asked to help persuade the young woman to go ahead with the wedding – and I did.’

  ‘Euphemia!’ gasped Bertram.

  ‘She has few options,’ I said defensively, ‘and we have seen Richard show her nothing but kindness.’

  ‘If you are about to say you think he has changed –’ began Bertram.

  ‘No, of course not. I believe him to remain the dangerous, greedy, self-centred murderer we all secretly think him to be – but I suspect all of us would be in much greater danger if he felt himself crossed.’

  ‘I don’t know if I should be impressed by your practicality,’ said Rory, ‘or depressed by your flexible morality. Ye were always such a defender of the weak and innocent.’

  I blushed furiously, ‘I hope I still am, but I am now wise enough to know that one must work within the confines of society – especially if one is a female – and … and … and I don’t think she’s actually in danger from him, do you?’ I finished weakly.

  ‘Frankly, I have no idea,’ said Bertram.

  ‘Oh, don’t look at me as if I have disappointed you,’ I snapped back. ‘I will stay back with Richenda. If you feel you have a strong objection to the marriage, Bertram, you can jolly well speak up at the ceremony!’