Free A Death in the Asylum by Caroline Dunford Page A

ask you, Miss St John and this seems like a good time. Oh, wait a minute, they wanting to be off.’
    I was glad to discover that Merrit could indeed drive and we were soon smoothly underway.
    ‘I’ve been thinking about my position and having some talk with Mr McLeod. He’s ready to train me and I can see a number of benefits in transferring to Stapleford Hall.’
    ‘Really?’ I said. ‘A number?’ He had the grace to blush.
    ‘But even if Lord Stapleford were happy to take me on as senior footman I wouldn’t want to leave you and Mr Bertram in the lurch.’
    ‘Oh, Merrit,’ I said sadly. ‘I’m really not the one to ask. So many things are up in the air right now.’
    ‘Aye, and if our master were to take a wife, then maybe he’d want a butler? You’d not be adverse to a new maid in the household, would you, Miss St John?’
    ‘Do you mean …?’ I began. ‘But you’ve only just met.’
    ‘In our way of life, Miss St John, you don’t tend to have long to make up your mind. We live by the will of them upstairs, so I reckon we have to grab the life we want when we can.’
    ‘Is that what Mr McLeod said?’
    ‘Aye, he was right direct about that. I wondered how he might have had a disappointment like. Though from what Merry tells me the younger staff are all mad for him, so he’s bound to have his opportunities.’
    ‘Indeed.’
    ‘Have I said something to offend, Miss St John?’
    ‘No, but we came very near to that tree. I think you’d be best to keep your concentration for the road.’
    ‘But you’d put in a word with the master for Merry, would you, ma’am?’
    ‘Of course,’ I said peevishly. ‘Merry is my oldest friend. I’ll always do what I can to help. Though whether you’re a good prospect for her or not I’ve yet to judge.’
    This effectively rendered Merrit silent. It was at this point I realised that no one had told me where we were going and now I had no one to ask.
    I can only place it down to the concussion, but I lapsed into a dream-like state for the rest of the journey. My eyes were open, but my mind was occupied with the strangest images. Lord Stapleford attacked by his own moustache during a dinner party with his late father and their equally deceased Cousin Georgie, both of whom were undoing their shirt collars and pleading for windows to be opened so they could cool down before they returned. Georgie asked me if I had seen his second-best trousers. Mrs Wilson chased a figure futilely into the distance, but fell into a giant bottle and lay there trapped like a giant fly, beating uselessly at the glass. Mrs Deighton made dish upon dish of meat for Rory, all of which he dropped at her feet. I intervened in this instance only to be told that dropping meat was the best way to meet a spouse. And all of this happened under a cloud of eyes. One pair was bright blue and sparkling and another of indeterminate hue, but I knew they belonged to Mr Fitzroy, who was carrying out his threat of watching the Staplefords. In the dream I sensed he was waiting for the house to fall about their ears so he could carry off any spare guns. I was in the process of explaining to Rory how if one walked between the beams one wouldn’t fall through the floor, when I became aware of people speaking.
    ‘Euphemia?’ Bertram’s voice.
    ‘Miss St John?’ Merrit.
    ‘Oh really, Bertram, the girl is merely asleep. Let’s get into the hotel. I am cold,’ said Beatrice Wilton.
    Slowly my surroundings came into focus. The street was full of noise and bustle. Tall buildings surrounded me and the air tasted of soot. We were in London. I was desperately cold and no longer had feeling in my extremities. My head pounded and I struggled to full wakefulness.
    ‘I think I need to lie down,’ I said through shivering lips.
    ‘Of course,’ said Bertram, hurrying round to help me from the carriage.
    ‘Really, you need to escort me in!’ said Miss Wilton peevishly. ‘Not your servant.’
    ‘Merrit has