Free A Death in the Pavilion by Caroline Dunford Page A

furnace. ‘Good heavens,’ I said looking at Bertram as I realised how our passions had got the better of us in a very unsuitable way. ‘What must you think of us?’
    ‘Oh, he probably thinks we killed her,’ said Bertram sitting down on the bench and momentarily dropping his head in his hands. ‘Everywhere you go, Euphemia,’ he said shaking his head. ‘Everywhere you go.’
    ‘If you don’t mind,’ said Bennie, moving forward, ‘I will check the young lady is properly dead.’
    ‘As opposed to improperly?’ asked Bertram sounding near hysterical.
    Bennie bent over a Lucy for a moment. Then he straightened and said, ‘Yes, I am sorry to say Lucy is dead. I’ll get a couple of the garden hands to carry her into the house.’
    ‘You shouldn’t move a body,’ I blurted out. Bennie looked at me in surprise. ‘Not if you think there has been foul play.’
    ‘Who would want to hurt Lucy?’ he asked. ‘She’s a parlour-maid. Of no importance to folk like you.’
    ‘I’m sure she was important to someone,’ I said in a small, tight voice as I thought how Bertram and I had argued over her body.
    Bennie considered me for a moment. ‘Then I suppose the proper thing to do is fetch the master of the house. You better do that, Miss. I’ll stay here with Lucy and this gentleman.’
    ‘Bertram Stapleford,’ said Bertram, ‘I arrived a few moments ago. Muller invited me.’
    ‘As you say, sir,’ said Bennie. ‘The master is in the factor’s office. As you go into the stables it is the door on the right, miss. Please don’t go disturbing Mrs Muller with this. It’ll be shock enough when she hears about it. I don’t want her having to deal with the body.’
    ‘Of course,’ I said automatically. Bennie gestured towards the stable block, a neat square of buildings that lay at the foot of a shallow hill. They were large enough to appear near, but in reality it took me a good few minutes to reach them, and when I did I was out of breath and my hair had flown loose from its pins.
    I ran under the grand archway entrance and opened the first door to my right. I didn’t think to knock and so it was I found myself facing a startled Muller and a tall red-haired man in a tweed suit, who were leaning over some plans on a large desk. ‘Lucy’s dead,’ I said breathlessly.
    They both spoke at once.
    ‘Who is Lucy?’ said Muller.
    ‘Lucy, good God!’ said the red-haired man.
    And then helpfully I burst into tears. Muller was at my side in an instant, guiding me into a chair and pressing his handkerchief into my hand. ‘She’s one of the parlour maids, sir,’ said the factor.
    ‘How awful,’ said Muller. Then he turned his attention again to me and placed one hand lightly on my shoulder. It felt a little beyond appropriate, but at the same time extremely consoling. ‘You poor girl,’ he said. ‘You’ve had a terrible shock. Grodin, you must have some brandy in here somewhere. Fetch Miss St John a glass.’
    ‘No, really,’ I gulped. People always press brandy on me when I am upset. I hate it.
    Muller held the glass to my lips. ‘A sip,’ he said gently. ‘It will help strengthen you.’
    I took a sip. As soon as the fiery liquid hit the back of my throat I began to splutter. Muller set the glass down and knelt down beside me. ‘Come on, Euphemia,’ he said kindly. ‘You’re made of stronger stuff than this. We need to know how the accident happened. Where …’
    I cut him off. ‘It wasn’t an accident. She’s been murdered.’
    ‘Grodin,’ said Muller, ‘get up to the house and see what’s happening. This poor girl is hysterical. Send Lady Richenda to us and I’ll meet you up there.’
    I heard the bang of the door as Grodin left. Muller got up and sat on the desk in front of me. ‘My dear Euphemia, a death is a terrible shock. I know you’ve had more than your fair share of troubles both at that hunting house in the Highlands and at that terrible wedding fiasco, but you mustn’t