Free A Death in the Family by Caroline Dunford Page B

snub as a dull pain in my solar plexus. It was not unlike indigestion and perhaps appropriately so as he was forcing me to swallow the unpalatable nature of my situation.
    As he opened the door, he threw over his shoulder, ‘Do not forget to clean my bath, Euphemia. I want it to sparkle.’
    Unfortunately, as I yet had no idea where such cleaning stuffs were stored, I was unable to do more than dust it. Being a man, I doubt he noticed the difference.

Gentlemen
    I had spent far too long talking to Mr Bertram. I could only hope the family would take their time over dinner. I literally ran from room to room dusting lightly and unfortunately not being able to make the most of my opportunity to understand a little more about the Staplefords.
    I do not mean I intended to riffle through the bedchambers as Mr Bertram had accused me of, but now I had the sanction of one of the family to investigate I felt he would not object if I took the time to “notice” things. However, this would have to wait for another day.
    I had barely escaped onto the servants’ staircase when I heard the sound of female voices heading upstairs. I surmised they were retreating to the upstairs drawing room, but I thought it more than likely that various family members would also choose to return to their rooms for this or that. Already I had an impression of the family as a secretive lot, who preferred to do much of their own fetching and carrying of personal items. It was a condition I was hardly going to contest, but at the same time it strengthened my feeling that this was not a happy house and that it was full of secrets. Really, if it wasn’t for the raw and rather biological explicit aspects of murder I would have been finding the whole experience rather exciting, rather like an exceptionally good after-dinner puzzle. However, lugging a freshly dead body along a corridor had rather put a damper on the whole business for me.
    I presented myself to Mrs Wilson downstairs with a feeling of accomplishment. In return she introduced me to the mending room, where I sat late into the night darning sheets. Fortunately, as my mother had thought it essential that a young woman of breeding be capable of extremely neat hand-stitching and had at almost every opportunity sought to ensure my embroidery progressed, I found the luxury of the comparatively large stitching used in darning both slightly decadent and liberating. It was certainly easy, if lengthy, work.
    By the time the female staff were expected to retire I had made significant progress. Mrs Wilson hardly knew whether to be pleased at the work achieved or dismayed at the abilities of her most despised member of staff.
    I conjectured that she would have her revenge. I was not wrong. The next morning I rose early with the rest of the staff and set about laying the fires. Naturally, I expected my first family duty of the day would be to take Miss Richenda a hot cup of tea in my capacity as temporary lady’s maid. Accordingly, I presented myself to Mrs Deighton in good time to collect her morning tray.
    The good cook seemed unable to look me in the eye. ‘Oh well, dearie, I don’t know. I think Merry will be taking that up this morning.’
    I smiled sunnily. The last thing I wanted to do was to step on anyone’s toes in the strange internal hierarchy of the servants’ hall. ‘Not to worry, Mrs D,’ I said in what I hoped was a suitably anything-I-can-do-to-help voice. ‘I haven’t seen Mrs Wilson, but I’m sure she’ll have things for me to do.’
    ‘She’ll be with the Mistress,’ explained the cook. ‘Getting her orders for the day. Not that they won’t change at least seven times before lunch. Our good Lady Stapleford likes to keep the servants on their toes.’
    I smiled encouragingly hoping she would say more and feeling rather like one of those grinning clowns at the travelling festivals. I could only hope my attempt at sunny charm did not look as idiotic as it felt. It seemed to be