sake, come in and shut the door before anyone else hears you.’
I did so and stood nervously twisting my hands together.
‘Sit down,’ said Mr Bertram. ‘Would you like a small sherry?’
I managed to nod my head. It was such an extraordinary gesture on his behalf that I could not speak. He poured me what was indeed an extremely small sherry and held it out to me.
‘Thank you.’ I sipped daintily at the liquid. The fire that spread across my tongue was most welcome for I was still a trifle damp from the outside. However, as the liquor hit my stomach it reminded me in all the commotion that I had eaten no breakfast of my own. Mr Bertram pulled his chair opposite mine and sat down.
‘Euphemia, I know you have imagined a fondness for Rory McLeod …’
I choked slightly. ‘I hardly know him.’
‘It is quite in character for one such as him to be adept at wheedling his way into the affections of the weaker sex.’
I set my glass down on a small table. ‘Such a one? Weaker sex ? When have I ever seemed weak to you?’
This brought a smile to his lips. ‘I am well aware you are an extraordinary servant, Euphemia. I believe, once we have passed through this period of unpleasantness, you will find the situation of housekeeper far more suited to your talents than the lowly station of maid.’
‘But he’s innocent!’
‘How can you possibly know?’
‘There’s no evidence.’
Mr Bertram began to tick the points off on his fingers. ‘For no good reason, he left his position as loader to Mr Smith …’
‘That was my fault.’
‘I am sure that is what he wanted you to think. He even tried to call you to his defence. Is there anything you could have said that proved his innocence?’ Mr Bertram regarded me with what I felt sure he thought was a kindly smile. I thought he looked infernally smug and my fingers itched to slap him.
‘No,’ I admitted, ‘but you have said nothing to prove his guilt.’
Mr Bertram abandoned his point checking and sat back in his chair. He gave a deep sigh. ‘It’s more complicated than you imagine, Euphemia. I’ve known Smithy since I was his fag at school.’ He must have seen my bemusement. ‘It’s an old-fashioned system, where a new boy must run and fetch for an older.’
My mind boggled at the thought of Mr Bertram fetching and carrying. ‘Be his servant?’
‘If you like, though it’s not put in those terms. Anyway, it’s not a nice thing to do. It’s a rite of passage experience. The kind of thing that’s meant to teach you your place.’
‘Did Lord Richard do it too?’ I asked fascinated.
‘I presume so,’ said Mr Bertram shortly. ‘It’s not to the point.’
I forgot myself so far as to snort.
‘But Smithy,’ continued Mr Bertram, ‘was different. An absolute English gentleman. He couldn’t have been kinder to me if we had been brothers.’ He stopped. ‘Actually he was a damn sight kinder. But the point is, he was a very decent fellow, perhaps the more so because he wasn’t through-and-through English. His mother came from good stock, but his father was Korean. Something big in Korea back then, but he’d always carry the mark of not being quite British. It seemed to make him determined to be better at being British than the rest of us – and he was.’
‘I’m sorry you lost your friend,’ I said.
‘So am I.’
We were both silent for a moment.
‘Smith?’
Mr Bertram smiled. ‘That was his father changing his name to fit in. Just like the ridiculous names they gave him.’
‘His mother didn’t have a say in it?’
‘Apparently she adored his father. She must have, to marry him in the first place.’
‘Poor woman. Are there other children?’
‘A younger brother and sister.’
‘It’s all very sad, but even more unlikely a Scottish grocer’s son would have a death wish against a half-Korean British gentleman. Surely their paths would never have crossed until today?’
‘Probably not,’ said Mr Bertram.
I did so and stood nervously twisting my hands together.
‘Sit down,’ said Mr Bertram. ‘Would you like a small sherry?’
I managed to nod my head. It was such an extraordinary gesture on his behalf that I could not speak. He poured me what was indeed an extremely small sherry and held it out to me.
‘Thank you.’ I sipped daintily at the liquid. The fire that spread across my tongue was most welcome for I was still a trifle damp from the outside. However, as the liquor hit my stomach it reminded me in all the commotion that I had eaten no breakfast of my own. Mr Bertram pulled his chair opposite mine and sat down.
‘Euphemia, I know you have imagined a fondness for Rory McLeod …’
I choked slightly. ‘I hardly know him.’
‘It is quite in character for one such as him to be adept at wheedling his way into the affections of the weaker sex.’
I set my glass down on a small table. ‘Such a one? Weaker sex ? When have I ever seemed weak to you?’
This brought a smile to his lips. ‘I am well aware you are an extraordinary servant, Euphemia. I believe, once we have passed through this period of unpleasantness, you will find the situation of housekeeper far more suited to your talents than the lowly station of maid.’
‘But he’s innocent!’
‘How can you possibly know?’
‘There’s no evidence.’
Mr Bertram began to tick the points off on his fingers. ‘For no good reason, he left his position as loader to Mr Smith …’
‘That was my fault.’
‘I am sure that is what he wanted you to think. He even tried to call you to his defence. Is there anything you could have said that proved his innocence?’ Mr Bertram regarded me with what I felt sure he thought was a kindly smile. I thought he looked infernally smug and my fingers itched to slap him.
‘No,’ I admitted, ‘but you have said nothing to prove his guilt.’
Mr Bertram abandoned his point checking and sat back in his chair. He gave a deep sigh. ‘It’s more complicated than you imagine, Euphemia. I’ve known Smithy since I was his fag at school.’ He must have seen my bemusement. ‘It’s an old-fashioned system, where a new boy must run and fetch for an older.’
My mind boggled at the thought of Mr Bertram fetching and carrying. ‘Be his servant?’
‘If you like, though it’s not put in those terms. Anyway, it’s not a nice thing to do. It’s a rite of passage experience. The kind of thing that’s meant to teach you your place.’
‘Did Lord Richard do it too?’ I asked fascinated.
‘I presume so,’ said Mr Bertram shortly. ‘It’s not to the point.’
I forgot myself so far as to snort.
‘But Smithy,’ continued Mr Bertram, ‘was different. An absolute English gentleman. He couldn’t have been kinder to me if we had been brothers.’ He stopped. ‘Actually he was a damn sight kinder. But the point is, he was a very decent fellow, perhaps the more so because he wasn’t through-and-through English. His mother came from good stock, but his father was Korean. Something big in Korea back then, but he’d always carry the mark of not being quite British. It seemed to make him determined to be better at being British than the rest of us – and he was.’
‘I’m sorry you lost your friend,’ I said.
‘So am I.’
We were both silent for a moment.
‘Smith?’
Mr Bertram smiled. ‘That was his father changing his name to fit in. Just like the ridiculous names they gave him.’
‘His mother didn’t have a say in it?’
‘Apparently she adored his father. She must have, to marry him in the first place.’
‘Poor woman. Are there other children?’
‘A younger brother and sister.’
‘It’s all very sad, but even more unlikely a Scottish grocer’s son would have a death wish against a half-Korean British gentleman. Surely their paths would never have crossed until today?’
‘Probably not,’ said Mr Bertram.
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