What would make it harder was that I could not tell either Hans or Richenda what I was doing. I had signed a new-fangled thing called the Official Secrets Act, which prevents me on pain of many nasty and terrible things being done to me from talking about Fitzroy or his department. In similar situations past I had been in the company of others who have also signed the Act, such as Bertram, Richenda’s half-brother, or Rory McLeod, a most efficient butler and my one-time … two-times fiancée, and it had been somewhat easier.
I spent the rest of the day moving among the survivors, helping the crew with the delivery of food and drink, and scanning the faces of all the men. Far fewer men than women had survived. The men, apart from a few passengers from First Class who had commandeered lifeboats (and who I, having seen the suffering of those whose loved ones had nobly stayed behind, felt should be thrown back in the manner of imperfect fish) were in the main the men who had rowed the boats.
I made as sure as I could that I met all the men concerned. Fitzroy, love him or hate him, and most people did one or the other, was not a man I could imagine dead. The world would certainly be the darker for the loss of his irascible charm and quick wits. But he was also a man capable of great coldness who would sacrifice anyone or anything if his King or Country required it.[3]
As I made my way to the wireless room once more I pondered on what Fitzroy would have done in his final hours. Would he have fought for a place on a lifeboat or would he have been one of the ones compelling the rest to order? Of all of them I imagine he would have realised the situation was dire almost at once. I liked to think that if he had wanted to get off the ship he could have done and his absence dictated that at the end he had behaved like a true gentleman and helped women and children to safety even though he knew it would cost him his life.
I delivered my message to the wireless operator and left feeling rather low.
I was somewhat surprised to receive a summons to the wireless room later in the day. As before the first mate was waiting there for me. ‘I’m very sorry, ma’am,’ he said, ‘but we have received a further message that requires your attention.’
‘What is it now?’ I asked tersely. I was almost dead on my feet from fatigue.
The first mate coughed and looked uncomfortable. The wireless operator would not meet my gaze.
‘Yes?’ I asked imperiously.
‘If I might be so bold, ma’am,’ said the first mate, ‘as to ask if you are sure without doubt that the man they’re seeking is not among the rescuers.’
‘I have made as certain as I can,’ I retorted. ‘Obviously the ship is vastly overcrowded, and despite the sterling efforts of your crew there is still a certain amount of chaos above and below deck.’
‘You might like to check again, ma’am,’ said the first mate.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ I exclaimed. ‘Is this what they want me to do?’
The first mate shook his head. ‘No, ma’am. They’ve asked, if you are certain, if you also will check the dead before we commit any burials at sea.’
I blanched and the first mate rushed to bring me a wooden chair. I sat down.
‘They want me to do what?’ I said, shocked.
‘Look, ma’am, if you could give me a description of this man they are so eager to find, I will check the dead men.’ The first mate’s accent slipped a little. ‘It ain’t right to be asking a lady to look at corpses.’
The operator nodded his silent approval.
I did consider it, but I knew Fitzroy had been jealous of his true identity. Besides, I owed him more than one favour that I would likely now never be able to repay. I think perhaps a small part of me knew I would only be able to accept and move on from his death when I saw his body.
I took a deep breath. ‘It’s all right, Officer,’ I said, ‘I appreciate your concern, but my father was a village vicar and I have had occasion to see the dead before.’ I felt it wise not to include my over familiarity with murdered corpses at this moment.
‘I don’t think you understand, ma’am,’ said the first mate. ‘Some of these men have been in the water for some time.’
‘I imagine that would change their appearance for the worse,’ I said, bravely swallowing back the bile that was hitting the back of my throat.
The first mate winced. ‘There has already been some deterioration in the water. Even a few fish have … ma’am.’
A look passed between us and I understood. I managed to make it to the rail before I lost what poor lunch I had managed to snatch.
[2] I am sure he would argue the point.
[3] I had always assumed that, as the adage goes, this would include his own grandmother.
Chapter Three
A most surprising and ill-mannered visitor in
excellent shoes
I shall spare you the detail of my searches, but I can say that Fitzroy was not among the dead I saw. At the time I remember thinking, between retches, how very typical of the man it was to put me through such an experience for no gain. I dreamt for weeks of what I saw, and even today I still suffer nightmares. I confess that whole experience gave me a great distaste for travelling by sea.
Fortunately, Richenda shared my misgivings. That, and the fact she appeared to have suddenly acquired a small, but passionate daughter, made a continuation of the honeymoon on to Italy, as had been planned, impossible. I think even Hans was yearning for the safety and familiarity of his home. He made promises of taking us both abroad again soon, but I believe both Richenda and I had never been happier than when we set foot once more on British soil.
We had been back at the Muller estate for three days when Amy awoke with her normal morning scream. Hans and I, always early risers, were already sitting down to breakfast. His handsome face contorted with pain as the child’s cries echoed through the house. They quickly subsided and Hans who had paused mid-meal took the top off his egg with some fierceness.
‘I am sure Richenda will realise that she cannot remain sleeping in the child’s room,’ I said.
Hans bit savagely into a piece of toast, but being a gentleman he chewed and swallowed before he spoke. ‘I have offered her the choice of experienced nannies and children’s nurses, who may have a better idea of how best to help Amy.’
I poured him a cup of tea, rather than the more enlivening coffee. ‘Are you regretting bringing Amy back with us?’ I asked gently. ‘I think it unlikely Richenda would agree to give her up.’
‘No, of course not,’ snapped Hans. ‘Though even if I were I could hardly turn the child out. She has been through more than enough.’ He sighed. ‘I had hoped Richenda would take better to motherhood.’
I sat bolt upright in my seat. ‘That I will not allow,’ I said firmly, ‘Richenda is devoted to the girl and has barely left her side since she was pulled from the sea.’
‘Yes, but Euphemia,’ answered Hans. ‘I am not at all sure that is the best way to handle a child. Was your mother by your side day and night?’
‘I was encouraged towards independence,’ I admitted, ‘but not at the age of two.’
‘At two I was in the care of nursery maids. It was a treat and a pleasure to visit my mother each day. Certainly, there was no question of my keeping my mother from my father’s side. Such a thing would have been thought preposterous.’
I sensed that this was the root of the matter. Not only had Hans lost his honeymoon, he was now losing his bride. It was not a topic of which I could talk openly, of course. Indeed, Hans’ frustration must have been severe for him to refer to it in front of me even obliquely. I was surprised. It had hardly been a love match, but then Hans did need an heir for his estate and Richenda, though certainly not old, was not in the first bloom of youth. I suspected Hans wanted to sort out the matter of his line quickly.
I found myself blushing and became particularly attentive to my sausages.
‘Do you think, Euphemia, you could try and persuade her to accept some staff to help with the child? I will give her free rein o
n the appointments. We cannot go on like this.’
‘Of course,’ I said, ‘I will certainly speak to her.’
‘Perhaps you could also mention that her … er … absence from my … er …’
Dear God, did the man think he actually had to spell it out to me? The breakfast table was no place for the discussion of conjugal rights at the best of times – with his wife’s spinster companion, it was wholly inappropriate.
Fortunately my blushes and Hans’ behaviour were saved by the arrival of the Mullers’ butler, Stone, a man as solid, reliable, and silent as his name.
‘I apologise for the interruption, sir, madam, but there is a man, I believe a professional man not a tradesman, who desires a conversation with Miss St John. He says, and, if I may be so bold, appears, to have been traveling all night, and has a message of the utmost urgency for her.
‘Then I must see him,’ I said, rising gratefully from the table.
‘Do you want me to accompany you?’ asked Hans, who had also risen as if I were a proper lady and not merely his wife’s companion.
‘No, thank you, Hans,’ I said. ‘I am sure Stone is more than capable of judging the man’s character, and he has assured us this caller is no tradesman.’
‘But he didn’t call him a gentleman,’ pointed out Hans.
Stone, who had been silently standing by, impassive as a monolith, spoke once more.
‘I would not like to attach the title of gentleman to the caller, sir, but I believe him to be as respectable as any professional can be.’
There was the vaguest sneer over the word ‘professional’, for Stone, as with any good servant, regarded with unease a man who made his living by working in any other capacity.[4]
I muttered something indistinct to them both and hurried to the morning room where I was sure Stone would have put our visitor. I did not wait for him to announce me, but showed myself in. It had occurred to me on my short trip through the house the man might be an associate of my mother and be bringing me news of her or my little brother. My mother was as keen as I that my true identity stayed hidden, and only under the direst of emergencies would she have sent me a message directly.
Awaiting me was a young man with a particularly cultivated moustache and oiled black hair, in a suit that had clearly been cut unostentatiously by the best tailors. These attributes might indeed have signalled him as a successful tradesperson, if it hadn’t been for his overly long face and slight overbite, which marked him as at least related to the aristocracy if not part of its elite. As he turned towards me there was an intimation about him of the devil-may-care confidence that Fitzroy had always displayed. I recognised him for what he was at once: a man in the special service of his country. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach.
‘You come from Fitzroy,’ I said bluntly.
‘Indeed, Miss Martins,’ he said, using my real name.
‘So I take it he’s not dead?’
The man threw back his jacket flaps and sat down. ‘Oh no, he’s still quite dead.’
I gave him a hard stare. It was the height of rudeness to sit uninvited, and even more so to take his seat while I remained standing. I did not like him. I trusted him even less.
I sat down opposite him on the edge of the sofa, my back ramrod-straight as my mother had taught me. I, at least, would display proper breeding.
‘Really dead or conveniently dead?’ I asked.
The man spread out his hands in front of him in a mock-helpless manner. ‘As far as I am aware he is dead. The department has had no news of him since he boarded the Titanic.’
‘I see. How do I figure in all this?’
‘That is also something I am at a loss to know,’ said the young man, shifting his seat to focus his attention more intently on me. ‘From our records you appear to have had no more than the mere passing acquaintance with Fitzroy.’
‘Indeed,’ I said coldly.
‘So you weren’t secretly his lover?’
I shot out of my seat. ‘I have no idea why you have come here, but if you are intent on nothing but insulting me I must insist you depart at once.’
The man sat back once more. ‘Interesting,’ he said softly. Then more boldly he added, ‘I apologise unreservedly, ma’am. That Fitzroy would ask me to call upon you for this task is extraordinary. I can only surmise he held you and your abilities in the highest esteem.’
‘And what task might that be?’
‘Oh, didn’t I say? He wants you to be his executor.’
[4] The fear is always that the man may have made his money in trade.
Chapter Four
In which things become even more like a dream
– and not a very nice one at that
At this point the young man, who hadn’t seen fit to give me a name, not even a false one, reached down beside his chair and picked up a small attaché case. He held it out to me, forcing me to come and take it from him. As I took it, he held on for a moment. ‘Are you accepting the duty to be Fitzroy’s executor?’ he asked.
I hesitated. A last wish is, to me, a very serious thing. ‘What does it entail?’ I asked.
‘I have no idea. Fitzroy kept his other life very private.’
‘But Mr Edward …’ I said, thinking of the one man I knew he had worked alongside.
The young man shook his head.
‘Whatever is in his will, he made it clear he wanted you specifically to deal with it, so I assume it must be within your capabilities if that is what is making you hesitate. He would hardly ask a civilian to do anything serious.’
I shrugged off the insult and retreated with the case. I slid the catches open and took out a small envelope. The seal had already been broken. My eyebrows rose.
The young man waved his arm about in a dismissive fashion. ‘That’s just the letter naming you. Everything else inside is all still sealed and intact.’
I was confident Fitzroy could have worked his way around any seal, but something about the eager anticipation in my visitor’s manner suggested he did not know the contents of the will and thoroughly wished to.
Inside the case was one large packet. It was about the width and breadth of a folio case and a couple of inches thick. Pressing it between my fingers I concluded it contained only papers. A lot of papers. The packet itself was wrapped in sealed brown paper, and further wrapped with string, with a number of wax seals affixed.
On the front in large cursive script was my real name. I had no idea if it was Fitzroy’s hand as I had never seen it, but it was elegant and yet precise, which reminded me of him. It was certainly secure. It seemed Fitzroy had intended to send a severe message that it was not to be opened by anyone but me.
‘And if I hadn’t accepted?’ I asked.
‘It was all to be burned unopened. He specified that too.’
I placed the package back inside the case and pushed the catches back into place. I rose.
‘Well, my thanks for delivering this to me. I will ring for Stone to show you out.’
‘Aren’t you going to open it?’
‘I am. But not in your presence. It seems Mr Fitzroy went to a lot of effort to ensure that the contents were for my eyes only, and I intend to keep them that way.’
The young man got to his feet, tugging down the sides of his jacket in an ill-concealed display of irritation.
‘I can find my own way out.’
‘Considering your areas of expertise, I’m sure you will not mind if I get our butler to ensure you leave the premises.’
The young man seemed caught between flattery and feeling insulted. He struggled with his expression for a few moments and then gave a bark of laughter.
‘Fair enough.’
I watched Stone escort him to his small automobile from the window. I had a good view of the drive, and I waited until he had driven out of sight. Then I waited a little longer just to be certain.
Hans was still waiting for me in the breakfast chamber, so I hurried to my room and placed the pack
age on my dressing table. Before I left the room I checked the window was bolted shut. I didn’t think he would return, but with those sorts of people one could never be sure.
Of course I would dearly have liked to open the packet and reveal the contents, but I had already been away too long. As it was I had to think up a believable story about my visitor. At the moment I could only think of throwing Stone’s reputation to the wind and saying it was indeed a tradesman trying his luck. But then I remembered Rory, who had once been butler at Stapleford Hall, telling me that it wasn’t by their tailoring that he knew the upper classes from the simply rich, but by their pocket watches and above all their shoes. It would grossly unfair of me to blame Stone.
‘Is everything all right?’ asked Hans, looking up as I re-entered the breakfast room. ‘I was all set to seek you out, but Richenda assured me you are more than equal to dealing with one gentleman.’
Richenda had indeed joined the table. She did not look well. There were bags under her eyes and her skin was sallow. She looked very, very tired, which as all women know is one of the worst looks to wear.
‘Where is Amy?’ I asked.
‘She has gone back to sleep,’ said Richenda. ‘So I thought I would try to take a little breakfast.’
I slid back into my seat and signalled to Stone to bring me fresh coffee. I could see Hans beginning to bridle, so I cut in quickly before he could speak. ‘Richenda, I don’t think this situation can continue.’
Richenda’s nostrils flared and her face took on a rosy hue. Now I had to cut her off quickly before she went into a tantrum. These are, since her marriage, happily rare, but always bad and one at breakfast can destroy the whole day. I said what I thought would be most likely to take the wind from her sails.
‘I do not think it is fair to Amy.’
Only her finishing school training and the fact her mouth was full stopped Richenda’s jaw from dropping. Hans watched me hopefully. He knew I had to make this good. I used an old trick of Fitzroy’s of sandwiching bad news between good.
A Death for King and Country - A Euphemia Martins Murder Mystery (Euphemia Martins Mysteries Book 7) Page 2