A Death in the Pavilion (Euphemia Martins Mystery 5): A gripping wartime mystery

by Caroline Dunford

Overview

'A sparkling and witty crime debut with a female protagonist to challenge Miss Marple' LIN ANDERSON, Award winning Scottish crime author

A Death in the Pavilion - the fifth edition of the gripping and twisty Euphemia Martins Mysteries!
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Euphemia Martins, the estranged granddaughter of an Earl, entered service incognito with the Stapleford family to save her family from destitution and from that moment on she acquired the bothersome reputation of finding dead bodies.

Now promoted to the role of paid companion to the deplorable Richenda Stapleford she is staying at the country estate of Hans Muller upon whom Richenda has matrimonial designs. Mere weeks after their arrival Richenda's twin brother, Richard, dispatches a servant bearing news of shocking accusations concerning Muller.

Euphemia finds herself unravelling an old murder with Richenda as her unlikely ally but delving into the past sets off a dangerous series of events in the present and it's not long before Richenda, her step-brother Bertram and Euphemia find themselves in dire peril (again!)
Could it be that Hans Muller is not the charming man he appears but capable of the most terrible crimes? As usual it is up to Euphemia to solve the mystery using her quick wits and her unswerving sense of justice.
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Readers LOVE Caroline Dunford's compelling crime novels!

'Caroline Dunford writes amazing books. The characters develop throughout the series and get better and better. This is a fabulous book' ***** Reader review

'These are wonderful mysteries, with great characters and good plots. I highly recommend them...' ***** Reader review

'Enjoyable read have read all in the series can't wait for new stories' ***** Reader review

'I love the Euphemia Martin's Mysteries' ***** Reader review

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781783755394
Publisher:	Headline
Publication date:	03/20/2014
Series:	Euphemia Martins Series , #5
Sold by:	Hachette Digital, Inc.
Format:	eBook
Sales rank:	737,608
File size:	180 KB

About the Author

Having previously worked as a journalist and then a psychotherapist, Caroline Dunford enjoyed many years helping other people shape their personal life stories before taking the plunge and writing her own stories. She has now published almost thirty books in varying genres, ranging from historical crime, to thrillers and romance, including her much-loved Euphemia Martins mysteries and a new series set around WWII featuring Euphemia's perceptive daughter Hope Stapleford. Caroline also teaches creative writing courses part-time at the University of Edinburgh.

Read an Excerpt

Three pairs of eyes looked at me with varying levels of suspicion. Muller nodded slightly and I rose. Richenda began to protest as I exited the room. On the short walk to meet this stranger, I can put it no other way than to say a dark prescience began to overtake me to the extent that I would not have been surprised to find him stretched out on the fine Persian rug with his throat cut. Later, when I came to know Gilbert Barker, I would think it was a very great shame this did not happen.

The ubiquitous Lucy showed me to the library. She left me at the door. My fingertips trembled against the cold metal of the door handle. I gave myself a mental shake. I told myself that this was only words. People were behaving oddly tonight, but considering how volatile the Staplefords had been over the years this situation should not be rattling me as much as it was. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Mr Gilbert Barker stood there very much alive. He was tall and thin with short, curly ginger hair. He wore a suit of the best cut but it sat uneasily on him. An unflattering five o’clock shadow framed a thin, pinched face set with dark eyes. His age could have been anywhere between thirty and forty-five. He had what can only be described as a lived-in face.

‘Euphemia,’ he said and gestured to a seat. ‘I had the maid bring a decanter and glasses. I think we are both going to need some whisky.’

‘I do not believe we have been introduced, sir.’

‘Oh, no need to call me sir, Euphemia. After all you don’t exactly work for Sir Richard any more. Barker will do.’

‘And Miss St John will do for me,’ I replied making no move towards the indicated seat. Barker walked across and sat down in one of the seats. He poured two glasses of whisky, one much larger than the other, which he placed in front of himself. ‘Do at least close the door behind you, Euphemia. There is a draft.’

‘I will happily do so from the other side,’ I said, turning to go.

‘Miss St John, you have secrets. Ones I think you do not care to share.’

I pushed the door hard closed behind me, took my seat, and demanded, ‘What secrets?’

Barker shrugged. ‘I have no idea, but obviously ones you don’t want shared with your current employer. I shall have to ask Stapleford to fill me in. And make no doubt he will. I am his right hand.’

Internally I let out a great sigh of relief. He knew nothing. But since I was here I might as well get the interview over and done with. ‘What do you want?’ I asked.

Barker pushed the smaller glass towards me. I pushed it back. He picked it up and poured it into his own glass. ‘I hate waste,’ he said.

I did not repeat my question, but waited. Obviously a little of Fitzroy had rubbed off on me. However, while I had never had any doubts that the spy Fitzroy would shoot me if he had to – with I hoped a soupçon of regret, I had never felt that physical violence hovered about him as it did with Barker.

Barker took a sip of his whisky. He gave me a thin smile. ‘I can say one thing for this German, he knows his whisky. But then foreigners are often more accurate on these things than real gentlemen. It’s all to do with keeping up the pretence, isn’t it, Euphemia?’

It hovered on my tongue to tell him that he should know. Clothes do not maketh the man and all that, but I refused to allow myself to be baited and sat quietly with my hands folded in my lap.

‘If Sir Richard had not briefed me fully on you and your services to the family,’ said Barker, ‘I might take you for the insipid companion of moderate intelligence that you are pretending to be, but we both know that is far from the truth.’