A Death of a Dead Man

Book 17: A Euphemia Martins Mystery

by Caroline Dunford

Genres: Historical Mysteries

Synopsis

Euphemia Martin's seventeenth gripping mystery is a nail-biting adventure of espionage and suspense set at the beginning of the Great War.

When Fitzroy saved his valet, Griffin, from the hangman's noose after the death of his wife, the facts behind those events were known only to the two of them. Now, years later, the body of a dead woman has been discovered, mutilated in exactly the same way as Griffin's wife, and troubling secrets from the past cast a deadly shadow over those involved.

As the war intensifies, Fitzroy is sent on an overseas mission, Griffin is arrested, and a recovering Euphemia Martins is left to get to the bottom of the situation. With her brother-in-law Hans, and Fitzroy's dog, Jack, in tow, she journeys to the University of Edinburgh's medical school, where Griffin studied many years ago, to uncover the shocking truth behind his wife's murder...

Release date: July 13, 2023

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 272

Sample

‘Euphemia? I need your help.’

The telephone apparatus had rung in my little office at White Orchards; a room that no one but I ever entered. It was where my secure line was, where I kept, in an excellent safe, any papers I was analysing for the department, and where, on the frequent occasions Fitzroy was staying with us, we made our plans.

‘Do you want to meet?’ I said.

‘You’ll have to come up to town.’ Fitzroy’s voice crackled slightly on the line, either that or he coughed. ‘’Fraid you’ll have to stay up here too. It’s bound to take some time.’

‘I can do that,’ I said. ‘Bertram understands there is a war on. You can book me into an hotel.’ I said the last part very seriously. After our last somewhat disastrous mission, one that I still had to tell my husband about, or rather the crucial personal parts, I had stayed at Fitzroy’s apartment for some time. He had looked after me well, but we both knew that that kind of behaviour, unless under extraordinary circumstances, simply wasn’t on. Even if Griffin, his man servant, was technically there to chaperone.

‘Actually,’ said Fitzroy and then repeated himself, which he never does, ‘actually, I’ve bought you an apartment. Different block to mine, naturally, but walkable distance. It’s rather nice. I think you’ll like it. I’ve kitted it out a bit. Told the store what kind of colours you like and that sort of thing. But you’ll be able to tweak it to your own tastes. Bring in your own things in time.’

‘You’ve bought me a what?’ I said. I tend to answer the telephone standing up, especially if I think I am about to be given orders, but my legs felt suddenly unsteady, there was a rushing noise in my ears, and the light seemed dimmer. I sat down. ‘You’ve done what?’

‘Oh come on, Euphemia, you’ve always known I was of above average wealth.’

‘But this is too much . . . I can’t . . .’

‘Oh,’ said Fitzroy, his voice filled with that annoying knowing tone he can employ, ‘you thought I was exaggerating when I told you I was rich. Well, I am. Positively swimming in the stuff. I own a dozen or more properties at the present. Mostly small, mostly sublets. If you like we can say you’re renting this from me for now? Does that make you feel better? I’ll have to think about the rent, obviously.’ I could tell he was beginning to enjoy himself. ‘I certainly don’t have any need for any money from you, so what should I charge you in? Certainly not cakes, your cooking is atrocious. Maybe compliments? I like it when you say nice things about me. You don’t do it often enough.’

‘Fitzroy,’ I said, trying to get a hold on the conversation. Talking to this man could be like wrestling with an oiled eel. ‘What is the mission we have?’

‘Oh, no mission. I need your help. Nothing to do with the department. Me. That should be good for a month’s rent, don’t you think? Besides, you’ll feel much more comfortable not lying to Bertram about staying with me. One less lie. A good way to go, don’t you think?’

Fitzroy had something of a – well, not love-hate relationship with my husband; more a respect-hate one. For all Fitzroy lived a louche life, he could be extraordinarily proper about how he expected me to behave, and how I should respect my husband. Or, that was, for as long as it suited him.

‘It’s not a mission,’ I said. I had learned to respond only to the parts of this kind of conversation that I really wanted to know about. This was Fitzroy in one of his odder moods.

‘No, it’s something come out of the past. Bit of a hiccup. If it turns out – well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I need it sorted out, and you’re the only one I can trust.’

I knew he trusted me, but it did make me soften towards the idea. Fitzroy trusting me was rather like a wild wolf laying his head in your lap, and asking you to scratch him under the chin. You were fully aware that at any moment the wolf could take your arm off, but all it did was to give you a gentle lick on the wrist.

I shook my head. Thinking about Fitzroy licking my wrist simply would not do. ‘Of course I will help,’ I said.

‘Good. Catch the usual train tonight and I’ll meet you at the station.’

I agreed. There was no point in asking for more time or making allowance for my own plans. I had agreed to go and Fitzroy wanted me there now. In some matters he had no patience at all.

‘By the way, Euphemia,’ he said. ‘Bit sloppy of you not to pick up it wasn’t a mission. I didn’t use your code name. You’re slipping. Buck up, me girl.’ Then he hung up before I had time to insult him.

We had barely driven away from the station when Fitzroy took his eyes completely off the road and turned to me, frowning. ‘I think the only thing to do is hush things up. I don’t like doing it, but there’s a war on and our next mission will be upon us any instant. Probably have to break in and steal a few files, I would imagine. There might be a witness or two I’ll need to strong-arm, but frankly I think they’ll be happy to be paid off, and not have to go through it all again. I realise I’m asking a lot, but you don’t object to breaking the law for the greater good, do you, Euphemia?’

I took a deep breath. An omnibus was coming far too close for comfort. Fitzroy corrected his course without turning, presumably seeing things in his peripheral vision. I can’t say I felt scared exactly, but this was possibly the most wound-up I had ever seen my spymaster. On our missions together he always presented himself as suave and sophisticated to the rest of the world, but was sometimes a bit shouty with me. I coped with this by ignoring him when he was in a pet, and only discussing matters when he had calmed down. More than anyone I knew, despite the smooth veneer he was a passionate man – passionate about injustice, passionate about fairness and passionate about serving the Crown. His heart was in all the right places, so normally when he broke a sweat I let him rant on. However, this was the first time I could recall that a tirade had been accompanied by an oncoming omnibus. It was not a turn of events I appreciated.

‘Eric, dear,’ I said in a gentle voice, ‘do please pay attention to the road. I won’t be able to help you achieve whatever the devil you’re going on about if I don’t survive the next half-hour.’

The result was much as if I had slapped him. I never called him dear and I never spoke to him in a sweet voice. It was enough of a shock that he faced forward once more and navigated his way through the London traffic. We came rather close to a donkey cart; the poor animal gave the most startled sound. Fitzroy stuck his tongue out at it and drove on. This, if nothing else, convinced me that while the situation might be urgent, it was not serious.

In this I could not have been more wrong.

A short and mildly terrifying time later we pulled up outside the block of apartments where Fitzroy stayed while in London. ‘Thought I’d show you your place later,’ he said, hopping out of the car and coming to open my door for me. ‘Better to get business sorted out first, don’t you think?’

I nodded. He was behaving in a calmer fashion, but his eyes still had something of an intensity about them. In anyone else I might have thought they were running a fever; with Fitzroy it generally meant he had mischief in mind.

We went up in the little lift with Fitzroy bouncing on his toes, he was so eager to get inside. I knew even in this small area, and to all intents and purposes alone, he would not discuss anything of import unless we were in his car, where the outside traffic roared, or inside his home, where he considered himself reasonably safe.

Jack, his bull terrier, met us at the door. He immediately recognised me and for once managed to give an actual bark. Generally he is more inclined to whiffle. However I took this as a bark of joy as he jumped repeatedly in the air in a vain attempt to lick my face.

‘Calm down, dog,’ chided Fitzroy, pushing him into the hall to allow us access. ‘Stop that damned bouncing. I know you love Euphemia, but you’re not made of gutta-percha you silly thing, you’ll break something. Dogs aren’t meant to fly!’

As soon as we reached the small drawing room and before I had even taken off my hat, I knelt down to greet Jack. The little dog whiffled in delight and bounced at me some more. However, now he was bouncing at a much lower altitude. He managed to lick my face a couple of times, which I made a great show of disliking, and then pounced on him and gave him a big embrace. Not all animals like to be so caught up in a human’s arms, but for Jack, with someone he cared for, it was like heaven on earth. He washed my neck so thoroughly I became convinced I must have crumbs on me from the currant bun I had eaten on the train.

Dinner at home had been impossible, if I was to reach London that night. Bertram, I hardly need add, was not happy. I left him consoling himself with the thought of a whole spotted dick to himself and commanding Giles to bring up one of his best burgundies. It was a challenge to me, as he is not at present in the best of health, but I didn’t rise to it in case he entered upon something else even more foolish.

I was finally getting Jack to be calm when I realised I could smell something delicious. ‘What is that heavenly smell?’ I asked, looking up at Fitzroy, who appeared to have removed my cases and divested himself of his coat while I had been playing with Jack.

‘Griffin has made us dinner. It’s the least he could do in the circumstances.’

‘Wonderful,’ I said. ‘I’m famished.’

Fitzroy gave a glance down at his shoes, and shuffled slightly. ‘I realised you would have missed your dinner in order to catch the train.’ This was as close to an apology as I was going to get.

‘Indeed,’ I said. ‘I should go and wash.’

‘I should think you need a bath after Jack’s lamentable behaviour!’

‘I was covered in dirt from the train,’ I said, petting Jack on the head. He leaned against my legs and gazed up at me adoringly.

‘Remarkable,’ said Fitzroy looking down at his dog, ‘any other woman he meets he does his damnedest to bite.’

‘He has good taste,’ I said, looking at Fitzroy from under my eyelashes. It was no secret between us that my partner in espionage was rather fond of female companionship. One might even say overfond.

Fitzroy made a grumbling sound. ‘I put your things in the spare room. It’s late enough you should probably stay here. We can look at your new place tomorrow.’

I nodded and went off to wash and change. My relationship with Fitzroy was close, but not inappropriate. I had stayed at his home before and had never felt in any danger of amorous advances. Fitzroy only seduces women professionally, foreign ambassadors’ wives and the like. In his private life he is only interested in consensual relationships, and I was married to Bertram.

I came back to a beautifully laden table. It even had flowers. Some excellent food and the most anxious Griffin I had ever seen, hopping from foot to foot beside the table.

‘You can at least wait until she’s finished eating, man,’ said Fitzroy to his valet. ‘Euphemia has uprooted her whole – what – week at least – for you!’

This was news to me. I looked at Griffin enquiringly. Griffin opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again having glanced at Fitzroy’s face.

‘For goodness’ sake clear off and stop hovering around like Banquo’s ghost. I’ll shout once we’ve eaten.’

Griffin, whose relationship with Fitzroy I had never really understood, but which seemed to be founded on a surly subservience, muttered to himself and withdrew to the kitchen.

I lifted the lid from one of the tureens and began to liberally help myself to some particularly nice roast potatoes. We rarely had these at home as Bertram was inclined to make a pig of himself over them.

‘Make yourself at home,’ said Fitzroy with a chuckle. ‘A real lady would help the gentleman first.’

‘When I am with you,’ I said, ‘I am never a lady.’ I had the pleasure of seeing his eyebrows rise in shock. He does so like to appear enigmatic and stoic. ‘I am your partner in espionage only. So get your own potatoes, partner.’

He laughed again, and reached over to pick up a potato with his fingers. I knew he was about to say something about not being a gentleman ever, or some old quip of his, so I cut him off. ‘I hope you washed your hands,’ I said. ‘There is no excuse when we have the luxury of hot and cold running water here.’

Fitzroy dropped the potato on his plate. ‘You are going to make someone a terrible mother.’ Then he realised what he had said and impulsively reached a hand across the table to me. He gripped my fingers. ‘You know I didn’t mean anything by that, my dear. I wasn’t thinking.’

I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat and nodded. ‘Tell me about Griffin,’ I said.

Fitzroy took his hand away and sat back. He talked while I ate. ‘You have, of course, realised that the relationship between Griffin and myself is not the usual one of master and servant?’

‘H-h-yes,’ I said through a soft piece of steak. ‘He can be quite rude, but he’s totally loyal to you. And he is a doctor of some kind?’

‘Consider any questions rhetorical, please, my dear Euphemia. I don’t enjoy seeing you masticate.’

I pulled a face at him, but kept my mouth shut.

‘In a nutshell, Griffin was once John Griffin MD, a worthy local general practitioner and newly married to the lovely Megan Luckett. He had opened up a surgery in the suburb of Wimbledon. Megan, who was the sister of a university classmate, had been used to living in Scotland. She found the metropolis both exciting and a little overwhelming. So when she told her husband that she had a growing sense of unease, he put it down to the much more populous nature of her new environs.’

‘He was wrong,’ I said flatly. I could feel my appetite draining away. In all the time I had known Griffin there had been no mention of a Mrs Griffin.

‘Sadly, yes. The young couple had had something of a whirlwind romance, and he perhaps didn’t know his wife as well as he thought he did. As circumstances would later show, Megan proved to be a young woman of considerable fortitude and courage. Perhaps if she had been of the weaker, more clingy type of female, she might have survived.’

I pushed my plate away from me. By now my appetite had entirely vanished.

‘I did suggest we waited until after dinner,’ said Fitzroy gently. ‘The tale only gets worse, but I think I can spare you the grisly details. Suffice it to say, Megan began to think she was being followed. Her husband gave her a nerve tonic and attempted to soothe her fears. He put aside more time to spend with her, shortening some of his surgeries, and made the effort to take her out and about in the metropolis in the hope she would become more used to the crowds. He felt that in his company she would feel safe. A not unreasonable thing for any ordinary man in ordinary circumstances to think. However, this did mean that Megan was frequently seen outside the home, by his side, looking pale, sometimes frightened, and apparently never willing to engage in conversation with anyone.’

‘You mean it looked as if her husband was controlling?’ I said.

Fitzroy nodded. ‘Then one day, when she was alone in their house, Griffin having gone to visit a wealthy client at their home, she panicked when she thought she heard a noise in the house and fell down the stairs. This left her with a bruise on her face, and considerable bruising on her body.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Are you certain it was the stairs?’

‘You are thinking what the police thought,’ said Fitzroy. ‘Does Griffin strike you as a wife-beater?’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ I said. ‘I am aware people can conceal their natures if they wish.’

‘Sadly, I have to give you that,’ said the spy.

‘I take it she was murdered?’

‘Yes,’ said Fitzroy. ‘In a spectacularly unpleasant way.’

‘And Griffin was accused?’

Fitzroy nodded. ‘No, not exactly. He was considered, of course, being the husband. But then he killed someone else, quite neatly as it happened, and immediately handed himself in. If I hadn’t interceded he would have hanged. As it is, he is on a sort of permanent parole – I have custody of him.’

‘If I may be direct . . .’

‘Are you ever anything else with me?’

‘I take it you saw an opportunity to have a servant who would be utterly loyal to you, because betraying you would mean a speedy trip to the gallows. Effectively you have a servant who is as indentured to you as a slave.’

‘That is not putting it in its best light,’ said Fitzroy. ‘But essentially, yes. However . . .’

‘However, you would not have taken him on unless you were convinced of his innocence.’

‘Oh no, he isn’t innocent. At least not of the crime he committed.’

I stared at him bewildered.

‘The police considered Griffin for his wife’s murder, but they could not prove it. Griffin, it transpired, was smarter than your average police inspector, because he did track down who murdered his wife.’

‘Oh, I am glad he got justice,’ I said.

‘Yes, I suppose you could say that. Griffin murdered the man in cold blood and then gave himself up.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Oh, I see.’

‘You know me well enough to know that if someone harmed you . . .’

‘You would kill them,’ I said. ‘The difference is you wouldn’t hand yourself in.’

‘No, I wouldn’t. I also assume you would also kill someone who harmed me and feel no need to hand yourself over to the civilian authorities?’

‘Of course,’ I said in a matter-of-fact tone that I knew would have shocked Bertram, ‘but with either of us it is likely to be a foreign agent who ends our existence. I take it Megan had no such nefarious connections, poor woman, and was the victim of some mentally unsound person.’

‘More or less,’ said Fitzroy. ‘The thing is, how she died was never released to the press. It was, as I said, rather nasty.’

‘Oh,’ I said.

‘Exactly. Another young woman was found two days ago killed in exactly the same way.’

‘So Griffin didn’t kill the murderer?’

‘No, it appears he killed an entirely innocent man, and I’m going to need your help to save him from the noose.’

‘So what I think is we bury Griffin’s connection to the case,’ said Fitzroy.

‘How can we do that?’

‘You don’t think I didn’t do some tidying at the time, do you?’ said Fitzroy. ‘All we need to do is remove the files that connect him to his original persona. Morley wasn’t around then, so I doubt he’s ever paid any attention to who works with me.’

‘He’s been here,’ I said. ‘He knows Griffin used to be a doctor.’

‘Yes, well, I doubt he knows the details,’ said Fitzroy, waving his hand. ‘I mean our lot won’t give two figs about this new case. It’s a domestic crime. As long as the regular police force don’t come a-knocking it should all be fine.’

‘Do you even know where these files are?’ I said doubtfully.

‘Oh yes,’ said Fitzroy. ‘You don’t think I’d put my name to something I didn’t keep track of, do you? There’s a couple of places I think we should – er – visit.’

‘And no one will notice they are gone?’

Fitzroy sighed. ‘Of course we will replace them with forgeries. Decent ones. I’m owed a couple of favours by the right people.’

‘Criminals? Can we trust them?’

‘No, people in the department. We have some excellent forgers working for us. Think about it. We always have the right papers, don’t we?’

‘I hadn’t really thought . . .’

‘So, there you go. I’d ask Griffin to help do the deed, but I don’t think it’s his forte.’

‘Have you told Griffin what you intend?’

‘No, I told him I had to speak to you first. We can call him back in and thrash it all out. Well – I mean tell him what we are going to do and that will be it. Should even be able to fit in some time to take you to a show, as well as installing you in the apartment.’

‘Eric, I don’t think it’s going to be as easy as that.’

‘Why not?’ said Fitzroy.

‘Because Griffin will want to know if he did in fact kill an innocent man.’

Fitzroy shrugged. ‘I have no doubt he didn’t mean to. Kind of thing that could happen to anyone who isn’t a professional like us.’

‘I don’t think he will see it that way.’

‘You think he’ll feel guilty?’ said Fitzroy. ‘I expect he will, but he’ll get over that.’

‘No, you idiot. He will want justice.’

‘Justice?’

‘Justice for his wife.’

‘Bugger,’ said Fitzroy. ‘Do you really think so? Bugger. Bloody journalists. If they hadn’t put the whole thing on the front page we could have dealt with it without him ever knowing.’

From a tactical perspective I could entirely see Fitzroy’s point. The last thing we wanted was attention drawn to him, or any of his associates like myself, from the general authorities. We could get Morley to intercede, but whispers spread when civilian forces are concerned. Both Fitzroy and I used our social connections to gain access to events and to people quietly and clandestinely when our country needed us to. Neither of us wanted to shine a spotlight on the espionage side of our lives. However, if I were Griffin I would want to know if I had killed the wrong man, and more to the point I would want to find my wife’s real killer and avenge her death, although hopefully this time he would let the civilian authorities do the job.

Fitzroy and I took the dishes through to the kitchen. This was unheard of, although on missions we were both able to fend for ourselves. Griffin was sitting at a kitchen table. He shot to his feet and Jack began barking excitedly. I fed Jack some scraps to quieten him while Fitzroy explained his plan. I saw immediately from the look on Griffin’s face that he felt exactly as I had feared. Fitzroy noticed it too, and immediately knocked any other ideas on the head.

‘No,’ he said. ‘None of us will be looking into this new murder. We don’t need the attention, and more importantly we have other things to do. I am due in France at the code-breaking station, and Alice will be starting on some critical analysis while I am away. And I absolutely forbid you, Griffin, on pain of being considered in breach of our agreement and thus returned to jail, to investigate this, or cause it to be investigated i. . .