A DEATH AT
THE CHURCH
A EUPHEMIA MARTINS MYSTERY
Caroline Dunford
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter One
‘Euphemia!’ roared Bertram. ‘What have you done?’
His eyes focused on the blood spreading across the front of my wedding dress. My legs felt shaky, but I rose from my kneeling position and turned to face him. I reached out to him. My hands were scarlet with blood. Along with Hans, Richenda, and Merry, he was huddled at the small church door leading to the ante-chamber.
‘I realise I do not appear to my best advantage, Bertram,’ I said. I was proud my voice held. ‘But I only did what I had to do.’ I shook my head sadly.
Lying on the ground at my feet, Richard Stapleford, my long-held nemesis, gazed up at me with glassy eyes. For once he had nothing cutting to say. In fact, I was almost certain he would never speak again.
The others too seemed frozen in place. It was Hans who moved first. He walked quickly up to me and took me gently by the shoulders. His grey eyes stared unflinchingly into mine. ‘Where is the knife?’ he said.
‘I put it on the ground over there,’ I said, indicating a space behind me. ‘I do not think it should be kept.’ He went to retrieve it. ‘Please do not,’ I said. ‘You will spoil your gloves.’
‘I’ll keep the others away for as long as I can,’ said Richenda. ‘It won’t be that long. Hurry!’ She pushed Merry and Bertram into the room, closing the oak door behind her. Merry stumbled on the step down. Bertram automatically caught her arm, but his eyes had not left my face. He was ashen pale. Even his lips had all but lost their colour.
‘Are you alright, Bertram?’ I said. ‘You look unwell. I know he was your brother, but you cannot say there was any love lost between you.’
Merry gave a little gulping sob. ‘Oh, Euphemia!’
‘How do you want to handle this, Stapleford,’ said Hans from behind me. ‘Shall we call it self-defence?’
‘Did he attack you?’ said Merry, with what I felt was unbecoming eagerness.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Not today. Although he has done in the past.’
‘Good God,’ said Bertram. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘It was the usual master-preying-on-servant thing,’ I said, brushing it aside. ‘You must have known he was one of those men who thought nothing of forcing himself on women under his control.’
‘I know what he was, Euphemia,’ said Bertram. ‘But this?’
‘I do not believe we can move the body,’ said Hans, ‘without it being obvious. There is too much blood.’
‘Like in Shakespeare,’ I said. My vision swam. I took several deep breaths. ‘Macbeth’ I heard running footsteps. Bertram shook off his dazed state. ‘That’s it, Euphemia. You must say he attacked you.’
‘But he did not,’ I said. ‘I will not lie. Not here. Not today.’ I ran my hands over my ruined dress. ‘Do you think Richenda will have something I can borrow?’
Hans came up beside me and studied my face. ‘She is in shock, Bertram. She has no idea what she is saying.’
‘Faint,’ said Bertram desperately.
‘But you hate it when I faint,’ I said.
‘I will say I did it,’ said Bertram. ‘Claim I was protecting her.’
‘But everyone saw you standing at the altar,’ objected Merry.
‘She’s right,’ said Hans. ‘It won’t wash. Euphemia, you will have to claim he attacked you. Where did you get theknife?’
I blinked at him puzzled.
‘Think, girl, think,’ said Hans urgently. ‘We have only moments to sort your story.’ ‘It was in his chest,’ I said.
‘That much is obvious,’ said Bertram acerbically. ‘But where did you get it from?’
I barely noticed the door opening, nor what was probably the whole congregation attempting to spill into the tiny room. All I could see was Bertram’s face.
‘Dear God,’ I said. ‘You cannot believe that I did this? Bertram? You know me! You love me! We are to be married.’
But Bertram only shook his head and disappeared among the crowd as they surged forward towards me.
That evening, despite protests from my step-father, the Bishop, I was thrown into the local jail awaiting someone senior to come down from London and take charge of the case. Thrown is perhaps too harsh a word. In truth, the local constabulary, who knew me from living on Hans and Richenda’s estate, were as confused as I was. They apologetically took my boots, gloves, stockings, and veil. The sergeant allowed Richenda’s kitchen to send down a plate of hot food. That it was a selection of meats from what should have been my wedding breakfast was spoken of by no one.
Hans came and dried my tears. With infinite practicality he brought a hot damp cloth, wrapped in a thick towel, so I could finally clean the blood and fingerprint ink off my hands. He said that Bertram was unavailable. Besides, the police only wanted me to have contact with one person on the outside. ‘As I am not related to you, I was preferred,’ he explained.
‘They all think I did it, don’t they?’ I said.
‘The circumstantial evidence is overwhelming,’ said Hans. ‘If you will not say that he attacked you...’
‘It happened in a church,’ I said. ‘In God’s house. I cannot lie.’
‘I was taught to believe that God was everywhere,’ said Hans mildly.
‘I didn’t kill him, Hans.’
‘I would very much like to believe that. Tell me what happened.’
‘I found him,’ I said. ‘He was lying there with a knife in him. Behind the wooden screen. You saw it had fallen over?’
Hans nodded. ‘It was the sound of that hitting the stone floor that brought us running. I assumed it was a modesty screen for you. To hide your dress if anyone walked in unexpectedly.’
‘I do not know. I only know that as I was standing, waiting for the you to come and escort me down the aisle –does the Bishop think that I did it? My mother?’
‘Your mother has retired to the guest chamber Richenda allocated her. The Bishop is praying for you.’
‘I see,’ I said, swallowing hard.
‘You were saying?’
‘Yes,’ I shook the cobwebs away. ‘I heard a gurgling sound coming from behind the screen. When I pushed it back, I found Richard lying on the floor, a knife protruding from his chest.’
‘He was still alive?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I knelt down beside him. He merely blinked at me. I could see at once he was beyond my skill. I told him I would fetch help.’
‘But you didn’t,’ said Hans.
‘No, he caught my wrist and held it with surprising force for a dying man. He tried to speak but could not utter the words. His lips moved, but.. it was horrible.’
Hans put one hand over mine. ‘I am sure it was,’ he said. ‘But why, then, did you not call for help?’
‘He motioned to his chest and I realised he wanted me to pull the knife out. So, I did – and then the blood went everywhere.’
‘It would,’ said Hans. ‘Did he say anything then?’
‘No. It was then strangest thing. He made a different gu
rgling sound, akin to a laugh, and then he died.’
Hans sighed deeply and bowed his head.
‘I didn’t do it, Hans. I swear.’
‘I am very much afraid you will not be believed. Not that that man didn’t deserve... I’ve had business dealings with him. He was rotten to the core. Goodness only knows what you endured as a servant in his house.’ He shook his head. ‘No one will cry at his funeral. I could...’ he hesitated.
‘What?’
‘You are on my land. My men are loyal to me. I could get you away.’ ‘Run away?’
‘You would not be able to come back. And I fear Bertram would not...’ ‘I see.’
‘You know I have always had a fondness for you, Euphemia. I could arrange something. Somewhere for you to live. Perhaps in Scotland, or even on the Continent.’ He must have read the expression on my face. ‘I do not offer this lightly. I greatly fear that you will be found guilty and hanged. I can offer you a way out. It is not an honourable course, but you will be kept safe and you will not be alone. I will visit and help you build a new life.’
‘Are you asking me to be your mistress?’
Hans gave a faint smile. ‘My primary concern is to preserve your life. Anything else... is for future consideration. I offer you a way to escape, with no conditions attached.’
I could not find the words to show how deeply he had disappointed me. Instead I dropped my gaze to the lace hem of my dress.
Hans patted my hand. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘It is a lot to think about. Such a reversal in your fortunes, and on the cusp of your matrimony, is not an easy thing to comprehend. But, Euphemia, you are in real danger. Let me help you. I will leave you now to think on matters. You are a sensible woman. I am confident you will make the right choice. I will return in the morning for your decision. It is already very late, and you must be exhausted.’ He lifted my right hand to his lips and kissed it. I said nothing. He called for the local bobby to let him out of the cell. The man came quickly. A clink of keys, footsteps, and I was alone again. I managed to wait until then before hot tears spilled down my face.
Although I could contain my sobs, I could not stop the tears which flowed on and on. I brushed them angrily away. Night drew in. Opposite my cell stood an unmanned desk. I assumed this was to leave me the illusion of privacy, for there was nothing between myself and the open bars of the cell wall. Sanitary amenities were the lowest possible. An oil lantern burned at the empty station, throwing shadows of the bars across the cell. A single high and tiny window let in a sliver of moonlight. I sat in the corner and gazed up through the miniscule opening. Under this moon I should have been in my marriage bed with Bertram. What had Hans had called it? A reversal of my fortune? My chest heaved as I struggled to contain my weeping.
A long shadow blotted out much of the light. ‘What an affecting sight!’ said a familiar voice. I would have known that Scottish accent anywhere.
I sprang to my feet and ran to the edge of my cage. ‘Rory!’ I cried. ‘Have you come to help me?’
Rory McLeod was Bertram’s former factotum, and my old comrade-in-arms from my days at working as a maid at Stapleford Hall. Once, we had been more than that.
‘You mean make you an offer like that German, Muller?’
‘What? No. Of course not! I... You were listening!’
He was no more than a solid shadow in the dark. I could barely make out the features of his face by the lamplight, but I knew at once that his mood was what I had feared most –one of jealousy and resentment that cast me as a villainess.
‘I forgot,’ interrupted Rory in an unpleasant tone, ‘the likes of me are not good enough for you. Only a gentleman can take your fancy.’
I clasped one cold bar in each hand. ‘Bertram’s status had nothing to do with my decision to accept his proposal.’ My tears had stopped at the sight of what I had thought to be my old friend, but now I began to feel a deep concern. What was it Rory had gone on to do after leaving Bertram’s employ? ‘You are with the police now?’ I asked.
‘I am,’ said Rory. ‘Pure chance that I was in the area. I have just closed another case. Successfully. I believe the perpetrator will hang.’
‘And you are here to investigate my case?’ I said, trying hard to keep the hope from my voice. Rory might be angry with me, but I knew him to be a fair man. We had worked together on enough cases that I knew he believed in justice.
He moved away for a moment then reappeared with a small stool. ‘I have read the report of the local sergeant. He included not only a good description of the scene of the crime, but also some detailed witness statements. For a country policeman, he has done an excellent job.’
Rory sat down on the stool. I stood holding onto the bars. I had little choice. The only furniture in my cell was a low bed, screwed to the floor. ‘An excellent job,’ he continued. ‘There is little more to investigate.’
‘You have found who attacked Richard?’ I gasped, barely able to believe my ears.
‘Oh, Euphemia, I think we both know who killed Richard Stapleford. Do you know, among all your wedding guests, there is not one who believes you to be innocent?’
Chapter Two
Rory’s one concession to our previous association was to allow me a blanket. I heard him tell the local sergeant that I was certain not to be one of those prisoners who escaped their fate by suicide. His final words to me were to tell me that he had arranged transport to take me to London, where his chief inspector would also look at my case. However, he told me he expected that I would not be given bail and that the decision would be to move straight to prosecution. When I asked him if he thought I had killed Richard, he gave the first sign of any real emotion and sighed.
‘Och, Euphemia,’ he said, ‘you’ve changed so much from that bonnie, wee lassie I first knew, I could not say what ye would be capable of now.’
He took the lamp with him when he left, plunging me into darkness. In equal parts exhausted, terrified, and heartsore, I eventually fell asleep, but my pillow was damp with tears.
I awoke the next morning to the sound of jangling keys. I had long learned the trick of awakening without opening my eyes. The key turned in the lock and the door creaked open. Someone came into my cell, but I did not hear the cell door being relocked. Cautiously, I opened one eye.
There, leaning against the back wall of my cell and regarding me with his arms crossed, was the spy I knew as Fitzroy, and more recently by his first name, Eric. We had not parted on good terms, but not exactly on bad terms either. I suppose it may have been called a truce. He had lied to me, and he had, if not directly caused, then at least failed to prevent a tragedy in my family. I understood the decisions he had taken – that way of thinking creeps into your soul when you work for long enough with an agent of the Crown. He did – does – bad things, so that the balance of justice and safety is preserved in the country.
I had thought myself rid of him. I had promised Bertram that I would never see him again. And yet he, of all people, now stood in my cell.
I sat up, pulling the blanket around my blood-stained dress. ‘ Good morning,’ I said.
The spy raised an eyebrow. ‘My wedding invitation get lost in the post?’
‘We did not exactly part as friends,’ I said.
Fitzroy rubbed a hand over his forehead. ‘Perhaps not. But I had thought we had reached an understanding. You do not actually hate me at this moment, do you?’
‘No,’ I said.
Fitzroy pushed away from the walk and began to pace the cell. ‘Mind you, I might have taken my welcome for granted and attended your ceremony anyway if I thought it was going to be this interesting.’ He paused to look at me. A frown briefly passed over his brow. Then he began to pace again. ‘You never do things the easy way, do you, Euphemia?’
‘I didn’t kill him!’ I cried, rising to my feet.
Fitzroy didn’t even pause in his pacing. He merely batted my statement away with his left hand. ‘Oh, I know that,’ he said.
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I came forward, dropping the blanket to clutch on his sleeve and stop him from moving. ‘They have found the killer?’ I stared up into his face. I noticed he was unshaven and there were shadows around his eyes. He frowned down at me.
‘No, I don’t believe so. Even in the country they normally let one person out when they accuse another, don’t they?’ ‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘How do you know I didn’t do it?’
The frown deepened. ‘Because I know you,’ said the spy. ‘I’m well aware that you believe in justice, and Lord knows if any man deserved to feel the dagger of justice in his heart, it was Richard Stapleford. But you would never take it upon yourself to do so – and in a house of God to boot? You’ve got vicar’s daughter written through you as clearly as if you were a stick of Brighton rock. This was a vicious, hate-filled attack – not your style at all.’
I prevented him from continuing by throwing my arms around his neck and sobbing loudly into his shoulder. Although he always claims he is no gentleman, Fitzroy did as any gentleman might in such circumstances: he froze in horror. To his credit he did not push me away.
I released him and looked up. ‘Everyone else believes me to be guilty,’ I said, the tears rolling once more down my face. ‘My mother, the Bishop, probably even little J-J-Joe.’
‘Bertram believed you, did he not?’
My voice dropped to a whisper. ‘No. He said so at the time. He turned away from me.’ My voice broke on this last sentence and I bowed my head. ‘I am sorry,’ I said. ‘I do not appear able to stop weeping.’
Fitzroy stepped towards me and placed his hands on my shoulders. He leaned forward and his breath was warm against my ear. ‘I am here. You are safe.’
He turned me round and pushed me gently me out of the cell, sitting me down behind the desk. He swept the papers off it onto the floor and sat on the edge of it, looking down at me. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I would have been here earlier, but the news of your arrest only reached me in the early hours of the morning. I would not have had you spend the night in a cell if I could have avoided it.’
‘Rory and Hans both said I will hang,’ I said. I had to clutch my hands together to stop them trembling. ‘This all feels like a nightmare. I keep thinking I will wake up.’
A Death at the Church Page 1