A Death by Arson

by Caroline Dunford

  The speeches were all that was to be expected and none of which I believed for a moment. Richard, as a politician, has become an accomplished speaker, but I closed my ears to him. Finally, Lucinda rose and the ladies left to tidy themselves before the dancing that evening. I retreated quickly to my room, for once glad that I was on the other side of the castle from the Mullers. I got Enid to unlace my dress then I lay down on my bed to recover. Despite refusing as much food as I could without appearing rude, I felt full to bursting. I chuckled to think of Rory having to deal with the overindulging Bertram. I trusted him to get Bertram in a fit state for his dance with his brother’s new wife. If he didn’t, the results could be catastrophic. I chuckled again thinking of Rory’s struggles and my stomach spasmed. I groaned. I reached out and rang the bell, in need of a soothing cup of tea, but long before Enid returned with it I had fallen into a deep sleep.

  In fact, it wasn’t until the bells began to ring that I woke at all.

  * * *

  16I know I should not take a person in aversion due to physical features, but I confess I have never been a fan of bushy ginger eyebrows. Unless the gentleman has an excellent valet, they look, for all the world as if a dead squirrel has been plastered across the gentleman’s forehead. Dougal Kennedy clearly had no such servant in his employ.

  17Though rarely.

  Chapter Twenty

  Euphemia is unlaced

  My immediate reaction was one of confusion. Myriad bells were ringing, and not in harmony. However, I felt sure that Richard and Lucinda had returned from the church. Had I dreamed the wedding breakfast? My curtains were drawn, but Enid, as ever, must have been hurrying, for there was a slit through which a rosy light shone. I wondered if I had slept through the whole night. The bells continued to ring loudly and my head throbbed. Rising as I was from a dream state, and with so much cacophony, I found it hard to think clearly.

  I slipped from my bed and discovered I was still dressed for dinner, but my laces were loose. I held up my dress front and stumbled over to the window. Drawing back the curtains, I beheld the cause of the warm light and it was as if I had been doused in ice water, for I was immediately awake. ‘Fire!’ I screamed. ‘Fire!’

  Below, one of the outbuildings blazed. Already a line of men passed buckets and threw water onto the fire, but the blaze appeared not in the least troubled by their efforts. The flames leapt high into the night, illuminating the courtyard and the people scurrying to and fro below. As my mind tried to function, I realised some of the men carried shovels and that others were already digging. It took me a moment to understand. They were digging a ditch in the hope the fire would not cross it. They, too, appreciated that their efforts could not stop the flames, but were striving to keep the fire from reaching the castle. My one consolation was that little Amy was with her mother on the other side of the castle and so apparently in no immediate danger. As Lucinda was presumably with Richard, I knew only of Mary Hill who could still be on that floor of the tower. I opened the window and a cloud of smoke blew in, covering me in soot. I choked and coughed. Even at this distance, with the window open, the heat drove me back into the room. If the men did not get the ditch done in time, my tower would certainly be in danger. That is, if it had not already caught below, a nasty little voice whispered at the back of my mind. Could that be why no one had come to warn me? Was I already cut off?

  I coughed some more, wracking spasms that brought me to my knees. Why would they still be digging the ditch if the fire was behind them? Or was everyone dancing? Dancing in the firelight? No, silly, a voice at the back of my mind said, they think you are downstairs with the others who are dancing. No one has remembered you are up here. A tear rolled down my face. I would die up here, forgotten, roasting slowly like an excess of chicken at a banquet.

  It was an undignified situation. Without doubt, the best thing I could do was lie down on the extremely comfortable carpet – why had I never noticed it was so comfortable before? – and have a nice nap. When I woke up everything would be over. That annoying voice at the back of my mind shrieked at me not to lose consciousness, but I was quite certain I had already lost my grip on reality when the door burst open, and Bertram, his hair on end and his face covered in grime, stormed into the room.

  My eyes fluttered open. I lay on a settee in the downstairs room where the Staplefords had held their family council. My head ached abominably and the tartan covers did nothing to help. Richenda’s voice said, ‘Honestly, Euphemia, if you must make a spectacle of yourself do try and make sure your dress is properly fastened. When Bertram carried you out into the courtyard you caused quite a commotion.’

  I struggled to sit upright. My bodice and my person parted company. I caught the material to my front and blinked round at the room. ‘You could have fastened my dress,’ I said – or tried to say. My voice came out as a hoarse whisper and the effort of speaking the words cut into my throat like broken glass.

  ‘There’s only us in here,’ said Richenda. She stood by the window, looking out. I must have been asleep for some time, for the light outside had shifted from night to the greyness of dawn. ‘Besides, Mrs Lewis thought that as you had fainted we should leave it be. However, now you have regained consciousness I shall ring for a maid to aid you.’

  Two questions warred for prominence in my mind. ‘Are you cross and is the castle burnt?’ I spoke as economically as I could.

  ‘Why should I care?’ said Richenda with a high little laugh. ‘It’s not my castle.’

  I put my head back down on the pillow that someone thoughtful, presumably not Richenda, had put under my head. A cough spasmed through me, but it was nothing like the fit I had had in my bedchamber. It slowly occurred to me that in opening the window I had allowed my room to be overcome with smoke and in doing so half suffocated myself.

  ‘You are very lucky to be alive,’ said Richenda, again with her increasingly uncanny ability to echo my thoughts.18 ‘If Bertram had not seen you leaning out the window – although in your state of undress I imagine not a man in the courtyard missed you – you would have choked to death.’

  ‘Oh, dear God,’ I murmured. ‘How will I ever face anyone again?’

  ‘You are covered in soot,’ said Richenda, ‘and besides, I do not believe anyone was looking at your face. If you are fortunate, no one will have recognised you.’ Then she sighed. ‘Provided Bertram can keep his valorous act to himself.’

  ‘Is he well?’

  ‘The excitement of –’ she looked me up and down, ‘seems to have quite bypassed his heart condition.’

  ‘Why the courtyard?’ I gasped.

  ‘Why indeed,’ said Richenda. ‘Hans had to help him carry you in here.’

  And there was the root of the trouble. Hans had seen me en déshabillé. ‘It must have been very dark,’ I croaked.

  ‘Not with the firelight,’ snapped Richenda.

  ‘I am sorry,’ I said as contritely as my injured voice would allow. Then, mercifully, Enid arrived to fasten my dress, wash the soot from my face, find me cushions to help me sit up, and even bring a drink of tea sweetened with honey to soothe my poor throat. During these ministrations Richenda kept her back firmly turned to me as she watched through the window. Once Enid had left I asked timidly. ‘What is happening?’

  ‘One of little Lucinda’s wedding presents has gone up in smoke,’ said Richenda. I waited for more information. ‘The outbuilding he was turning into a stable block for her is burnt out.’

  ‘But it did not reach the castle?’

  ‘No,’ said Richenda. ‘You were never in danger. It seems the people here have learned their lesson from the last fire – or my brother, for once in his life, sought out decent advice. They knew exactly what to do in the case of fire.’

  ‘What started it?’ I asked.

  ‘No one knows,’ said Bertram, striding through the door. He wore no jacket and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. He was covered in grime, but grinning broadly. He took two quick steps an
d knelt by my side. ‘But you are safe.’

  ‘I believe I must thank you for my rescue,’ I said. The tea was helping my voice enormously. ‘You were quite the hero.’

  ‘And you were quite the idiot for opening the window,’ muttered Richenda. Bertram and I ignored her.

  ‘I understand,’ I said blushing furiously, ‘that I was…’

  Bertram raised an eyebrow. ‘That you were what, Euphemia?’

  I cast my eyes down. ‘Not entirely respectable when you found me. I am very sorry.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ said Bertram in an all too cheery voice. ‘Is that why Richenda is so upset? Honestly, everyone was looking at the fire, not you.’

  ‘Except for you and Hans,’ said Richenda.

  ‘Well, Hans is a man of the world,’ said Bertram. ‘As am I.’ He turned his attention back to me. ‘But I am also a gentleman. And I assure you, Euphemia, I was more concerned for your safety than the state of your apparel. As I am sure was Muller.’

  Richenda snorted loudly.

  ‘Oh come on, Richenda!’ said Bertram. ‘I grant you it has all been a bit dramatic, but it is not as if anyone has died.’

  Hans entered the room as Bertram was offering this cheery opinion. His face, too, was covered in soot and his expression sombre. ‘I only wish you were correct, Bertram,’ he said sadly. ‘But two bodies have just been found in the ruins.’

  * * *

  18If our situations had been somewhat different I might have remarked we were spending too much time together, but then that was my employ!

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chief Inspector Stewart

  The local constabulary were sent for and all the guests were requested to stay at the castle. For once, I felt I could retire to my room, which Enid had swept clean of soot, as I could not possibly have anything to do with this turn of events. I requested a light breakfast of toast and more tea with honey and prepared to spend the rest of the day in bed, recovering both my voice and my dignity. So I was somewhat surprised when Enid appeared around lunch time with a summons for me to speak to the Police Chief Inspector.

  The Chief Inspector, a tall, rangy man with a remarkably thick and bristly blonde moustache, dressed in green tweed and with only a slight Scottish lilt to his accent, greeted me warily. He had set up his office in what was clearly intended to be a study. Although shelves lined the wall, they were only half full. A rather lovely rosewood desk had been dragged into the centre of the room. The Chief Inspector had been seated behind it on a grand carved chair, his sergeant on a plainer seat to his left, but he rose as I entered. ‘Miss St John, I presume?’ he said in rather a gruff voice.

  ‘Indeed, but I am at a loss…’

  ‘Please.’ He indicated I should sit in a chair in front of the desk and sat down himself. He shuffled some papers on his desk and made a puffing noise into his moustache. ‘This is somewhat irregular, but Sir Richard has insisted that you are interviewed.’

  ‘I can hardly see why,’ I said as calmly as possible. Inside I was seething. Trust Stapleford to try and bring me into all this. ‘After the wedding breakfast I retired to my room – the maid Enid saw to me, and I remained there until I foolishly opened the window and was overcome by smoke. I am indebted to Mr Bertram Stapleford for saving me.’

  ‘We have heard about that incident from several sources,’ said the Chief Inspector. Behind him his sergeant obviously suppressed a snigger. I sat a little straighter in my chair and did my best to channel my mother’s most disapproving demeanour.

  ‘And?’ I asked. ‘If you know I was in my room at the time of the fire, how can I possibly help you in your investigation?’

  ‘It has been brought to our attention that you have been involved in several previous – er – suspicious demises.’

  ‘If you know that,’ I answered as cuttingly as I could, ‘then you will also know that at no time has any suspicion been cast upon me.’

  ‘We are awaiting confirmation about the incidents from head office,’ said the Chief Inspector, who huffed ferociously into his moustache again.

  ‘Ah, I see,’ I said. ‘Someone has been casting aspersions. Do you have the offence of libel in Scotland?’

  ‘Defamation,’ said the Chief Inspector shortly. ‘I am not suggesting that…’

  ‘But someone else is,’ I said baldly.

  The Chief Inspector sat back in his chair. ‘I am afraid, ma’am, that you are not at all what I was led to believe. Shall we start again, Miss St John? I am Chief Inspector Robert Stewart from Inverness, and I have been charged with investigating this situation. I am not familiar with either the current inhabitants of the castle or the previous owners, who I believe are also on the premises. I am, therefore, somewhat over-reliant on what supposedly respectable members of this establishment have told me.’

  ‘Sir Richard told you that I cause trouble,’ I surmised. ‘And despite the fact there is nothing to link me to last night’s occurrence, he has insisted you interview me – and considering that as well as holding a minor title he is also an MP, you felt it would do no harm to comply. In fact, you might also have felt it would harmed the helpfulness of the – er – locals if you did not comply. Plus, if you are anything like your sergeant, you may also have been curious.’

  At this, the sergeant turned a satisfactory shade of beetroot. The Chief Inspector turned and muttered something sharp under his breath to the sergeant. Then he turned back to me. ‘Yes, not at all what I was led to expect,’ he repeated. ‘You assess the situation admirably, ma’am. You are quite correct in thinking I would have ruled you completely out of the investigation if there had not been whispers about your previous adventures, and if you had not decided to miss the wedding ceremony. You must admit it sits oddly that one would travel all this way only to forgo the wedding itself.’

  ‘But surely Mrs Muller has explained?’

  ‘Mrs Muller currently feels unable to answer questions, and as she is in a delicate situation…’

  ‘And has recently fallen down the stairs and sprained her ankle,’ I broke in. ‘And was thus unable to walk to the church along with everyone else. I, as her companion, stayed behind.’

  Stewart huffed several times into his moustache before saying, ‘That would account for it, yes. Will Mrs Muller be able to confirm that you did not leave her side at any point? Only we have a witness who places you on the ground floor, near the main entrance, when the wedding party returned.’

  ‘I left her when we heard the bells celebrating the wedding. She wished to quickly bathe and change her dress.’

  ‘You did not stay to help her?’

  ‘I am a companion, not a maid,’ I said icily.

  ‘Forgive me. I am not intimately acquainted with the duties of a companion. I had thought they were a relic of the older generation. Mrs Muller’s husband is still alive, is he not?’

  ‘Yes, and often working away from home in the City for days at a time. His estate is in the country.’

  ‘And this is where you reside with his wife and …’ he rifled through some papers, ‘his adopted daughter. A strange fancy to adopt a child when he has a wife able to bear him children.’

  ‘That is the Mullers’ business and of no bearing to the current situation.’

  ‘That we shall see. I understand that the Stapleford seat is bequeathed to whichever of the Stapleford heirs first has legitimate offspring. Which would be your employer, Mrs Muller, yes?’

  ‘And she has given away that right to Sir Richard as a wedding gift to him and his bride.’

  ‘Very thoughtful, I am sure, but that leaves Mr…,’ he searched through his papers some more. ‘Mr Bertram Stapleford.’

  I looked at him blankly. How could we have missed this? Richenda forgoing her right in law did not automatically mean Bertram had forgone his. ‘Bertram is unmarried,’ I said.

  ‘A state I am sure the gentleman could rectify if he wished. I believe he has an extensive estate in Norfolk?’


  I thought of the sinking monstrosity that Bertram called home, but instinct warned me not give away how well I knew it. Fitzroy would never have given away information so freely. The Chief Inspector was throwing out lures left and right, probing for something, anything to latch onto. I would have to guard my temper and ensure that I was not the lead he decided to follow. I did not feel particularly alarmed as I had nothing to do with current events, but neither did I wish to be dragged into another murder. Even I felt it was becoming far too habitual.

  ‘Have you been aware of anything unusual happening at the castle?’

  ‘I have only been here four days,’ I responded. ‘I do not know what is usual in this part of the world.’

  ‘For Scotland?’ asked the Chief Inspector.

  ‘I meant for the current environs,’ I said. ‘The castle and the staff are mostly new to me.’

  ‘Mostly?’

  ‘I have previously met Mrs Lewis,’ I conceded.

  ‘Ah, yes, Mrs Lewis. The housekeeper who was here when the castle had the previous, more disastrous fire.’ I heard the note of self-congratulation in his voice. He had linked me with the previous fire.

  ‘Indeed, I believe it happened long before we met.’

  ‘And how did you meet, exactly?’

  ‘In working for the Mullers, when circumstances required we return to Stapleford Hall, shortly after which I met Mrs Lewis.’

  ‘At a previous New Year celebration, I believe?’