A Death on Stage

Book 16: A Euphemia Martins Mystery

by Caroline Dunford

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

'A sparkling and witty crime debut with a female protagonist to challenge Miss Marple' LIN ANDERSON, Award winning Scottish crime author A Death on Stage - the sixteenth edition of the nail-biting Euphemia Martin Mysteries! Riddled with adventure, espionage and suspense _______________ It is 1914. War is underway. A group of French actors has become trapped in Britain and some of them are seeking political asylum, among these is a mathematician with whom Euphemia's friend, Mary, has been corresponding. He joined the troupe with the express intention of making it to Britain and to Mary before the war began. Euphemia's new commander sends her undercover to the theatre where the company is finishing its run, and he instructs Fitzroy to remain on medical leave. But Fitzroy has never been one to obey orders. Meanwhile, Euphemia's husband, Bertram, lies critically ill in hospital and Euphemia must employ all her strength to stay focussed on her mission. With actors and agents playing roles both on and off stage, the toughest challenge is knowing who to trust... _______________ Readers LOVE Caroline Dunford's compelling crime novels! 'Impeccable historical detail with a light touch' Lesley Cookman, The Libby Serjeant Series 'Euphemia Martins is feisty, funny and completely adorable' Colette McCormick, Ribbons in Her Hair 'A rattlingly good dose of Edwardian country house intrigue with plenty of twist and turns and clues to puzzle through along with the heroine of the book, Euphemia Martins' Booklore.co.uk

Release date: June 10, 2021

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 256

Sample

Driving to London

Fitzroy drove in a manner most unlike his usual style. No one could have called his progression slow. Even the descriptor ‘carefully’ would only be applied by the most tolerant. Yet he was not driving with his usual reckless abandonment. Instead, he appeared to be stretching out our journey to London for as long as his pre-emptive nature allowed. Every now and then he would take his eyes off the road for a good few seconds as he glanced over at me. This wasn’t as worrying as it might sound. In general, it always seemed as if he paid next to no heed to what was ahead. A honk of the horn might be the only warning some poor Sunday motorist might get to whip himself to the side of the road or risk being run into a ditch by our passing.

I knew it had been a bad idea to let him drive in the Monte Carlo rally. He thought himself an even better driver now. And he’d hardly been modest about his driving ability before.

‘For God’s sake, Euphemia, tell me what you are thinking!’

The use of my real name, rather than my spy moniker Alice, got my attention. I blinked twice and tried to focus on what he was really asking. He wanted to know if he was forgiven. I didn’t have an answer for him yet.

‘I didn’t lie,’ he protested. ‘I told you Bertram was safe, and he was.’

‘Safe in hospital after undergoing a life-threatening operation,’ I retorted.

‘Yes, well,’ said Fitzroy, his cheeks slightly tinged with red. ‘Those were details you didn’t need to know at the time.’

‘Details I didn’t need to know about my own husband?’

‘Euphemia – Alice – you were mid-mission. A serious mission, the outcome of which would have a major impact on the war. Did you think I would divide your focus at such a crucial time? It wasn’t as if there was anything you could have done to help him at that moment.’

‘I could have gone to him.’

‘And been shot for desertion? Leaving the villain uncaught? Bertram was unconscious and wouldn’t have thanked you anyway. Or do you think your bond with your husband is so spiritual he would have somehow sensed your presence and come out of his coma?’

My head snapped round at that. ‘He was in a coma? You never told me that!’

‘I checked this morning before we left, he’s out of it now. Well on the mend.’

‘You are a swine!’

I saw him wince at that. I knew I was being unfair – to a degree at least. My husband had undertaken a mission Fitzroy was too ill to complete, and had masqueraded as the master spy. Unfortunately, the mission had been a blind, to capture Fitzroy and blackmail the British Secret Service. Bertram, who is only an asset, not an operative, never having completed the training I have, was hugely out of his depth and taken hostage. At this point, as they still had the real Fitzroy and all his knowledge and skills intact, the Service disavowed the mission and forbade a rescue attempt. All of which was quite in tune with my general image of them. I expected them to deal with their spies without mercy. It was implicit in our oath. But to desert a civilian asset, a loyal subject of the Crown – the very people we were meant to protect – struck me as unconscionable.

Fitzroy ignored the disavowal and went alone to rescue Bertram. He managed to do so, at severe physical cost to himself, but an even worse cost to my husband, who has a chronic heart condition. They returned with Bertram barely alive. Fitzroy got him to hospital and told me my husband was pulling – or had pulled – through.

‘I don’t ignore your courage in going to retrieve Bertram,’ I said. ‘Nor do I fail to understand why you lied to me. I was in the middle of a critical—’

‘I didn’t lie!’ yelled Fitzroy, thumping his fist on the steering wheel and almost taking us into a ditch. He swerved back and forth, regaining control of the car. In earlier times I might have made a sound of distress – not a scream, but more of a gasping yelp. Now, however, I merely braced myself and held on to the sides of my seat until the car was once more firmly on the road.

Slightly breathless from his exertions, Fitzroy repeated, ‘I didn’t lie to you. I don’t lie to you. I promised I would never lie to you.’

As he regularly lied to everyone else he knew, with the possible exception of his dog, Jack, this was a major undertaking for him.

‘Perhaps you didn’t lie, but you omitted details.’

Fitzroy made a soft grumbling sound. ‘I always do that,’ he said. ‘It’s my training.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m not cross with you about you not telling me what was happening with Bertram.’ The spy looked round with an unusual expression on his face: hopefulness. ‘I don’t like that you did that,’ I said, ‘but upon consideration I can see why you did it, for my sake as much as for the mission. If I had been preoccupied I could have come to harm.’

‘You did,’ said Fitzroy darkly. He hates it when I get hurt. This, despite him regularly getting stabbed, shot, or thrown off cliffs and gathering scars as if they are some kind of merit badge, of the sort awarded to children at Sunday school.

‘Pah!’ I said, quoting him. ‘It’s a scratch. Besides, that was my forgiving you.’

‘Everything?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t think so. I am truly grateful and humbled that you disobeyed orders to fetch him back.’

‘You would have done the same for me,’ he said, suddenly staring intently at the road.

‘You don’t have a spouse,’ I said. ‘I’d go a long way for Jack, but I’m not entirely sure I’d risk my life to rescue him from behind enemy lines.’

‘Alice! And Jack would rather lick your ankles than anyone else’s.’

‘I wish he didn’t lick ankles at all,’ I said, momentarily distracted, ‘it gives one the most peculiar feeling.’

‘So why are you at odds with me? And don’t say you’re not. I know you, and I can hear the cogs of your mind turning unkindly!’

Fitzroy is not usually given to imaginative flights of fantasy. On missions together, he is the master of practicality and ruthlessness. I am the one who looks for more gentle solutions. I sighed. ‘I imagine I am no more cross with you than you are with yourself.’

‘Ah,’ said Fitzroy, who followed me with his normal uncanny accuracy. ‘You mean because I didn’t realise it was a trap?’

I nodded. ‘It’s not like you not to thoroughly scrutinise the details of any mission.’

There was silence for a few minutes, during which Fitzroy carefully drove around a squirrel. He might have no compunction about ridding the world of his fellow man, but he had otherwise an intense regard for life. Apparently, this even went as far as squirrels. Despite their tufty tails, I always saw them as vermin. Tree rats.

Eventually he said, ‘You’ve only ever seen me prepare for missions that have involved the two of us.’ He turned to look at me, his eyebrows lowered. ‘I haven’t always been so careful.’

‘I see. Before I became an agent, I had always thought you erratic and reckless. Then when we began to work together, I was surprised at how professional you were. Was my first impression accurate?’

The spy looked back at the road and shrugged, the furred shoulders of his driving coat rippling. ‘Reckless is fair. Although I always had reasons. I would not have described myself as erratic.’

‘Method in your madness?’

‘I wasn’t especially concerned over my own safety, I suppose. I’d been in the game ten years, and was close to considering myself immortal!’ He gave me a swift smile. ‘I had no desire to shuffle off this mortal coil, but I was daring.’

‘Humph!’ I said, summing up what I thought about the male notion of being ‘daring’.

‘I admit I made mistakes, Alice. In those few weeks we had training Bertram to pass as me, I didn’t think of mixing in any actual spycraft. I concentrated on the look of it. I thought the only danger to him would be if he was caught out as an imposter. I trained him, as best as I could in such a short time, to notice if things were going awry and how to extricate himself diplomatically. It never entered my head that the mission was a trap. That he needed to learn more physical skills.’

‘I expect you thought if you did teach him things of that nature he might try using them again.’

Fitzroy gave an assenting grunt.

‘My husband is nothing if not brave.’

‘Too damn brave for his own good. And for your good too!’ snarled the spy. ‘You’d go to pieces if anything happened to him.’

For once, I didn’t disown my weakness. Fitzroy made another grunting noise. This time more surly.

‘What I should have done,’ he continued, ‘was sit down and go over the entire mission from an asset’s point of view. It never entered my head it could be a trap, but if I’d been going and it had turned out to be a trap I’d have—’

‘Winged it,’ I said. ‘You’d have made it up as you went along.’

‘Well, you know now, Alice, how many plans are a bust within minutes of engagement.’

‘Most,’ I said. ‘At least, most of yours.’

Fitzroy gave me a pained look, but let me take the point.

‘I didn’t think it through from your husband’s point of view. For that, I wholeheartedly apologise.’

The spymaster looked at me with an expression closer to humble than I had ever thought possible. ‘You were still knocked up from your previous mission,’ I said.

‘More than I realised,’ said Fitzroy.

‘I believe understanding one’s own limitations is a necessary precursor to working with others.’

‘Touché.’

‘That really doesn’t make it any better, you know.’

‘I know,’ said Fitzroy quietly. ‘I was too . . .’

‘Too busy being rude to me?’

‘I admit I wasn’t in the best of shape myself,’ said Fitzroy. ‘You know where I’d been and what I’d seen. I arrived at White Orchards barely able to stand. Only you saw how ill I was.’

I nodded. ‘So why were you such a pig to me?’

Fitzroy’s shoulders sagged. ‘Do we have to go over old ground? It’s in the past, isn’t it?’

‘You were the one who suggested we talk on the way to London,’ I exclaimed. ‘You said we needed to sort things out.’

‘Well, I’m an idiot.’

‘That’s one thing we can agree on. Now, spill!’

‘Oh, very well,’ snapped the spy, ‘if you must know, I thought we had got too close on that last mission and we needed more distance between us.’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t understand. You came to my home. How is that creating more distance?’

‘Don’t be wilfully blind, Alice! That’s not the kind of distance I meant.’

I gasped as if hit in the solar plexus. ‘You mean an emotional distance? You mean . . . you’re fond of me?’

‘You know I am,’ said Fitzroy. ‘You are the only person I count in this world as a friend. But, no, I didn’t mean that. I meant that you were getting too fond of me!’

I turned in my seat at that. ‘If you weren’t driving, I’d slap you! I’ll have you know I love my husband!’

‘I could pull over if you wanted to slap me,’ said Fitzroy, his tone reverting to his usual teasing manner. ‘I’d rather you didn’t make a habit of it, but the last time you slapped me, we did get on rather well afterwards. I could allow it one more time. Overlook the superior officer bit.’

‘Senior,’ I corrected automatically. ‘You should have talked to me at White Orchards. Let me know what you were thinking. By pushing me away like that all you did was put me off kilter for my mission, as well as causing you to make mistakes – mistakes that involved my husband.’

‘I wasn’t myself,’ said Fitzroy.

‘No, I see that now. I knew you were unwell. I didn’t realise you’d lost your mind.’

Fitzroy flashed me a grin. ‘I’ve never been that big on sanity.’

I sat back in my seat, relaxing properly for the first time since we’d set out. ‘So where are we going? Which hospital is Bertram in, and where am I staying? I suppose as you’ve got Griffin I could stay with you. He’s a chaperon of sorts.’

Fitzroy snorted. ‘You’d be better getting Jack to defend your honour. Which he would, by the way. He always tries to bite my lady friends. You’re the only woman he’s taken to.’

‘Jack bites your paramours.’

‘Clever dog,’ said Fitzroy. ‘We have to go into the office first. It seems we both have a new commanding officer. Ex-army man, invalided out of the regulars and into the SIS. Apparently rather clever, so they moved him sideways.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘We don’t have another mission yet, do we? I want to spend time with my recovering husband.’

‘It will be fine,’ said the spy. ‘I expect he wants to assert his dominance by shouting at us a bit. You know what these higher-ups are like.’

But it didn’t turn out to be like that at all.

Introducing Colonel Morley

The name plate read Col. J. Wilfred Morley. Fitzroy sniffed in a sneering way, but he knocked on the heavy oak door. A firm, deep, masculine voice called, ‘Enter!’

We went in to find a large comfortable office. Shelves on two sides of the room were packed with books. Worn spines mixed with brighter hues, suggesting the books were for more than show. I felt hopeful. The third side of the room had a large window which let light flood in. A scarlet, Indian rug dominated the centre of the floor. It looked like the real thing, brash and bold and not some pale English imitation. Across from us was a decent-sized old desk. In front of it were two most uncomfortable-looking chairs whose curly cane backs were barely the suggestion of support. Each had a single cushion. Behind the desk stood a tall, broad-shouldered man in uniform. He was looking down at the desk as his large hands shuffled papers into piles. His thick, dark hair had a faint sprinkling of white. I guessed him to be over forty years of age. His cap lay beside his swagger stick, both neatly placed to one side of his working area.

‘Mrs Stapleford, I presume?’ he said, still not looking up. ‘Do come and take a seat. Close the door, please.’

‘And Fitzroy,’ said Fitzroy.

The Colonel did look up at that. He had classic English good looks, with a lantern jaw, pale rather piercing grey eyes, and the white line of a scar that ran from his left ear to the corner of his mouth, giving him a slightly rakish appearance which was at odds with everything else about him. He held himself like an army man, completely erect, shoulders well back, and with the kind of personality that filled the room. The air suddenly became rather close. This was clearly a man used to command. I tried hard not to be impressed.

‘Ah, yes,’ he said, studying Fitzroy in the manner of a man about to place a bet on a horse at the races, and not too sure of the pedigree of the one before him. ‘I believe I’m seeing you after luncheon. My secretary will have the details. To your left on the way out, neat little thing with freckles and curls – Dorothy. Likes to be called Dotty. Goodness knows why.’

His voice was pleasant too. He was well-spoken, with mellow tones, and not the strident sound of your usual half-deaf army man. Clearly, he hadn’t been placed too near the artillery.

Fitzroy froze at my side. The Colonel nodded at him.

‘You may not be aware, sir, but Mrs Stapleford and I are partners.’

‘Of the romantic sort?’ asked the Colonel mildly.

At this point I think both Fitzroy and I blushed red. I’m not entirely sure, as I suddenly found the view out of the window fascinating.

‘No, sir,’ said Fitzroy, and I could hear him swallowing his anger at being asked this, ‘professionally. I trained Alice.’

I managed to face the room again with this clear explanation.

‘I am aware,’ said the Colonel. He sat down and gestured to me to take a seat. Fitzroy pushed something into my hand. I pocketed it as I moved forward and sat down. Fitzroy, who hadn’t been invited to sit, lingered. I could feel his presence like a warmth at my back.

‘Was there something else?’

‘No, sir.’ I heard the rustle of fabric moving and realised Fitzroy must be saluting him. Shortly afterwards, the door closed. I wondered if the Colonel knew he had made an enemy for life.

‘Excellent officer, Eric Danvers,’ he said. ‘Been on too loose a leash though.’ He picked up an open file on his desk, lifted it and scanned the papers inside. ‘For rather a long time, if these reports are correct. Needs to be brought back into the fold.’

There was an uncomfortable pause between us. The Colonel closed his file and put it down on the desk. I wondered what he was waiting for me to say. He’d called Fitzroy ‘excellent’, and I wasn’t about to contradict that. How the Department had chosen to deploy him had never been my concern. I was more curious about his surname. He’d always refused to tell me it, but somehow it seemed familiar.

Eventually, I said, ‘Is it an issue that he chose to train me? That he swore me in?’

The Colonel blinked once and gave a shrug. ‘I shouldn’t think so. It would have been more normal for him to consult his superiors, but I imagine he thought the project would be refused as you are female.’

‘Is that your view, sir?’

He brightened perceptibly at this. ‘Not at all. I couldn’t care less if you were a dancing rhino, Mrs Stapleford, as long as you get the job done.’

‘I’m glad to hear it, sir.’

The Colonel smiled for the first time. ‘You were expecting some aged, white-bearded, be-monocled spy, who would blench at the sight of a woman, and demand you were removed from his presence?’

‘Not quite, sir. But I am aware that there has been some resistance in the Department.’

He picked up another file. ‘Ah, yes, Danvers punched out a senior officer.’

‘I don’t know, sir. I wasn’t there.’

‘But he mentioned it?’

‘Only that there was some resistance,’ I said loyally.

The Colonel sat back in his seat. ‘Can you defend yourself?’

‘Yes, sir. I can also shoot, ride, encrypt and decrypt code, analyse information, run an asset, perform dead drops, recover dead drops, drive a car, and, I believe, I am generally of basic competence in all activities that might be required in the field.’

‘Are you indeed? That wasn’t quite what I meant, but it will do.’

I kept silent.

‘Do you enjoy working with Danvers?’

‘We make a good team,’ I said. ‘I understand the way he thinks and he understands me.’

‘Yes, I can see that would be an advantage in a partnership,’ said the Colonel. ‘Especially as no one else in the Department seems to have a clue about his methods.’

‘As you said, sir, before he trained me he mostly worked solo.’

He picked up yet another file. ‘Yes, the whole story of how you met, his assessment of you, and final recruitment, is most unorthodox, but makes excellent reading. Is it true?’

‘Without seeing the report I can hardly say,’ I said.

‘So you’re aware that Danvers is one of those agents who, er, edits their reports?’

‘I have yet to read one of his reports, sir. We have discussed missions, and I believe my point of view has been included in some.’

‘Yes, well, that’s something you have to start doing at once. I need written reports from you on your activities. You might have been Danvers’ trainee, but you sound and look as if you are able to stand on your own two feet.’

‘You want me to be a solo agent?’ I asked, forgetting to add ‘sir’, as I was so aghast.

‘I want you to be capable of being one,’ said the Colonel, folding shut this last report and putting it down.

He sat back in his chair. ‘I am inclined to take your word that you and Danvers have a professional relationship. However, the two of you working exclusively together has provoked comment. In fact, I might say the pair of you are the talk of the Department. The gossip I’ve heard about you, Mrs Stapleford, would make a stablehand blush.’

‘I had thought better of the British Intelligence Service, sir,’ I said tightly.

‘I have no idea how they normally behave. I’m ex-army. Lost part of my leg a few months ago.’ He must have seen my surprise. ‘Oh, I’ve got a thing to replace it. I can stand and walk, but riding is difficult and marching would be impossible. As I have more brains than the average army officer I’ve been promoted and dropped in here. The idea being, I presume, that I will bring a different, and more practical, angle to the shadowy game that you lot play.’

‘I see, sir.’

He narrowed his eyes, slightly. ‘I suspected you might. You’ve always been rather a fish out of water, haven’t you? Makes for a good agent – the outsider perspective. But when it comes to Danvers, I’m torn between allowing you to work together and splitting you up to maximise my resources. I don’t doubt he trained you to fit in with him—’

‘We do argue,’ I interrupted without thinking. ‘I’m not some kind of lackey for him. He takes me seriously. We complement each other in the field.’

‘I can imagine that. I can also imagine he might take fewer risks with you around. It’s clear from his reports that he is both fond and watchful of you. And yet, his most stunning achievements, before you, have been when he is at his most reckless.’

‘You mean I might be holding him back?’ I said.

The Colonel leant forward over the table. ‘Mrs Stapleford, would you mind terribly remembering to call me “sir”. If we had met at a dinner party, I would never have expected that but as you are a serving junior officer I rather do expect it. If you’d been a man, I would have bollocked you several times already for your insubordination.’

I blushed a fiery red. ‘My sincere apologies, sir. I haven’t been into the Department often. I am still learning the protocols, sir.’

‘And I can’t bring myself to shout at a woman just because she is under my command. We must all strive to overcome our failings.’

‘Indeed, sir.’

‘So, I have a tricky little situation I think you might be just the man – er, woman – for. Don’t know if you were ever into the theatre? Always enjoyed a good play, myself. Anyway, we have a number of French and Belgian theatre companies looking to flee here. Don’t blame them, myself, but the Lord Chamberlain’s office is getting a bit touchy that they might bring over the wrong kind of play, or suddenly surprise us with a pro-German song. Or wave the wrong flag. Sing the wrong anthem. You get the idea.’

‘I can see those actions wouldn’t be wanted, sir, but why is the Lord Chamberlain involved?’

Colonel Morley frowned. ‘The Lord Chamberlain has to license any play that is performed on the British stage. We’d look a right lot of ding-dongs if he licensed something that proved to be a German revue, wouldn’t we?’ He wiped a hand across his forehead and murmured, ‘Ding-dongs!’

‘If it helps, sir, Fitzroy swears in front of me all the time. My vocabulary has been significantly enlarged since we first met.’

Morley looked up, eyes wide for a moment. ‘Does he, by Jove? Well, I may be able to respect you as an agent – we’ll have to see how things go – but I’m damn well not going to use the kind of language you’d find in the trenches in front of you. I’m surprised at Danvers.’

‘So what is it you want me to do, sir?’

‘How’s your memory?’

‘Good enough, I think, sir.’

‘It’ll need to be. I want you to go undercover as an understudy in a play that’s rehearsing. There’s a man, playing the character of Argent Foil. Calls himself Pierre Marron, says he’s a Belgian. His real name is Dieter Braun – almost clever what he did with his name – and he’s a mathematics genius. Says he’s up for betraying the Kaiser if he can come and live here. In love with someone – another mathematician. A woman, as it turns out – named Mary Hill. Just as well really. Wouldn’t have been able to help him otherwise.’

‘I know Mary Hill,’ I said. ‘Not well, sir, but our paths have crossed.’

‘Yes, I know you do. I hope it won’t prejudice your judgement. Wouldn’t do for your friend to get mixed up with a double agent, would it?’

‘Not at all, sir. So you want me to check him out?’

‘Exactly. Get me a report on him that covers his habits, his likes, where he goes when he’s not at the theatre, what he does there . . . You know the kind of thing.’

‘A full profile, sir,’ I said, nodding.

‘You know how to do that?’

‘I’ve done character analysis before, sir. Fitzroy has trusted my judgement.’

‘Really?’ said Morley looking vaguely interested. ‘I didn’t think he trusted anyone, as a matter of principle. If that gets around no one will believe you’re not lovers.’

‘Sir! I have a husband.’

‘Yes, I’ve read about him. A bit of the true blue. Seems a smart chap. Shame about that last outing. Pity about his dicky heart too. Could have used him. Still, he lets us have you.’ He passed me a sheet of paper. ‘This is where your digs will be while you’re at the theatre. See Dotty on the way out and she’ll get you over to the wardrobe people. What was it Danvers gave you as . . .