A Death in the Asylum by Caroline Dunford

don’t follow you, sergeant.’
    ‘Can I ask you to keep that description between ourselves for now?’
    ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Anything to help the police.’
    ‘And might I have your word, miss, that you won’t go blundering around in this case stirring things up.’
    ‘I have no intention of blundering.’
    ‘Good,’ said the sergeant. ‘Only this will be the third time you’ve been involved with murders around this family and that doesn’t look good for anyone. People, and I’m not saying who, might start thinking you know more than you’re saying. That you, in common parlance, know too much for your own good.’
    4 The terrible truths of what happened when I first joined service are only known to the Stapleford children and myself. See my journal A Death in the Family for full, but very secret, details

Chapter Four:

Mr Bertram Has an Idea
    Despite Merry’s roaring fire I found myself shivering. Sergeant Davies had shut up his notebook and departed leaving me with conflicting feelings. However, I was not destined to have the rest Dr Simpson had prescribed. The door had barely closed when it opened again to admit Mr Bertram. He had an expression on his face I couldn’t read and moved into the room almost on tip-toe.
    ‘I’m fine,’ I said, half-lifting my head off my pillow and immediately regretting it. ‘Or I will be.’
    ‘Good. Good. I’m glad to hear it, Miss St John. You gave us all quite a shock.’
    ‘Is there something wrong?’ I asked. ‘You’re acting …’ I broke off as I saw the reason for Mr Bertram’s behaviour had followed him into the room.
    ‘Good heavens, Bertram. This must be the warmest room in the house,’ said Beatrice Wilton. ‘So interesting how people treat their servants.’
    Mr Bertram blushed. ‘I’m sure Miss St John is very grateful to Lord Stapleford for the care he has arranged.’
    ‘Indeed, I am,’ I said, gently sliding up my pillows. ‘How may I help you? I’m afraid the doctor does not think I will be able to return to my full duties for several days.’
    ‘So we heard,’ said Miss Wilton, seating herself on the edge of a chair and sniffing slightly.
    ‘Miss Wilton is a journalist,’ said Mr Bertram. ‘She writes the Lady Grey column.’
    ‘Really, Bertram, there’s no need to explain. I doubt the girl has ever read a newspaper in her life.’ She leant forward, peering short-sightedly at my face. ‘She is very young.’
    I guessed there were very few years between us and I was sure that thanks to my father I was far better read than any gossip columnist, but it was hardly my place to say so. I smiled politely. Mr Bertram, who had cause to know that smile, rushed on.
    ‘Miss Wilton has a journalist’s mind. She may have some insights into the current situation.’
    ‘Really, Bertram, you make it sound as if we’re going to discuss the matter with the girl. You’ll confuse her.’ She turned with a smile, even more unfriendly than mine, towards me. Then she edged her chair slightly forward, blocking much of the heat from me. ‘I want to ask you some questions, Ursula – isn’t it?’
    ‘Euphemia.’
    She waved her hand dismissively. ‘Don’t worry, I will keep them simple. I only ask that you give me the facts, not your own ideas.’
    Mr Bertram coughed. ‘Actually, Beatrice, Euphemia has been most helpful in the past when there were, er, family difficulties–’
    ‘Bertram, you asked me to help. Now trust me to do my job.’
    ‘Of course, Beatrice.’
    I looked from one to the other. Surely he couldn’t have developed a soft spot for this terrible woman.
    ‘Now, Euphemia, if you could tell me what you know about Mrs Wilson’s affair?’
    ‘I don’t know anything about it.’
    ‘So you do know that she had one?’
    ‘No, I didn’t say that,’ I said.
    ‘Euphemia worked here for less than a year,’ said Mr Bertram.
    ‘Hush, Bertie. You men never realise how much servants gossip. Now, Ursula, you can tell me the