Free A Death in the Family by Caroline Dunford Page A

is the hand of God alone who should decide who lives or dies!’ I exclaimed.
    ‘Or a jury of 12 good men tried and true?’
    ‘Well, yes. There is that,’ I conceded. Mr Bertram was a most annoying man.
    ‘Besides, Euphemia, my father is involved in some business deals, which I think I say without fear of compromise are at the heart of the nation’s interest.’
    ‘So now you are saying that rather than bringing scandal to your family the police may choose to conceal the truth? You confuse me, sir.’
    Mr Bertram took out his pocket watch. ‘I confuse myself, Euphemia. Let us say that while I believe the police would be unwilling to look the other way in the face of actual evidence, influence may be brought to bear to close the case quickly, discreetly and without too deep an inquiry.’
    ‘But that is wrong!’
    ‘From a moral standpoint I agree, but as a member of the family, should this have been Richenda taking her revenge, I cannot be other than grateful that she will not hang for it.’
    ‘But what if it was not her?’ I persisted.
    Mr Bertram rose, shutting his watchcase with a snap. He frowned heavily. ‘You really are a most annoying girl and I am late for dinner. I only came to find another pair of cufflinks. The chain of this one is broken.’ He took a broken pair of jade-set links from his pocket. ‘And I find myself embroiled in an ethical and moral dilemma.’
    ‘Please go,’ I responded, quite forgetting myself. ‘A small thing like justice should never get in the way of fine dining.’
    The frown vanished in a laugh. ‘I have been a staunch devotee of Mrs Deighton ever since I was old enough to sneak into her pantry by myself and steal one of her currant buns, but I should never call her handiwork fine dining. Hearty and wholesome is a more fitting description.’
    I jumped to my feet and stamped my foot. ‘By all means put pies before justice!’
    At this Mr Bertram laughed even harder. ‘My dear girl, this has been the most trying of times, but you positively inspire me. I confess in part my unwillingness to come forward with this book has been due to my inability to trust anyone. You, on the other hand, are undoubtedly trustworthy. And again I suggest you are quite in the wrong situation.’
    ‘I have little choice, sir,’ I responded through gritted teeth.
    ‘Then, I feel you will be a most refreshing addition to the household.’
    ‘But the book!’
    ‘Euphemia, I must go!’
    ‘But, sir!’
    Mr Bertram sighed. ‘I offer a compromise. I suggest we pool our obvious intelligences and see what we can discover between us. That neither of us approaches the police without fully appraising the other of what we have learned.’
    ‘You are proposing we act as a team?’ I was astonished.
    ‘Obviously, some of Richenda’s ideals must have rubbed off on me. And you have access to the servants’ hall and their gossip as I do not.’
    ‘If Mrs Wilson has me dismissed I will feel I must reveal what I know before I leave.’
    ‘So this is your idea of not blackmailing me? Shame Euphemia!’ I could not meet his eyes. ‘Very well,’ continued Mr Bertram, ‘while we are engaged upon this enterprise I will ensure that you stay on staff. I am not entirely sure how I will do so, but I will.’
    ‘Thank you, sir,’ I said and curtsied.
    ‘Don’t curtsy to me, Euphemia. I do not believe you.’ On which obscure utterance, he threw his broken cufflinks into the tray on the dressing table. He then opened the small box and extracted a small silver set. He fitted these into his shirt without a word. Indeed if we had not but recently been in deep conversation I would have thought him ignorant of my presence. My heart sank as I gained yet more understanding of what it was to be a servant. Mr Bertram completed his task. Shot his cuffs and checked his appearance in the mirror. Apparently satisfied with what he saw he turned to exit the room without so much as a glance in my direction. I felt his