Murder At Rudhall Manor

by Anya Wylde

  Lord Adair turned a direct gaze on Lucy. "What was the argument about?"

  Lucy dropped her lashes and looked away. "He wanted," She paused to take a sip of the wine, her face scarlet in embarrassment, "to nibble my toes."

  A brief silence later, Lord Adair leaned forward and asked, "And your reply."

  "I said my toes were fat with sharp nails and I would shove them up his nostrils if he didn't mind his language."

  "And pierce his thick skull," Lady Sedley said with reluctant admiration. "You added that in the end. I heard it all."

  "I see." Lord Adair leaned back in his seat and stroked his chin thoughtfully. He gestured towards Lady Sedley. "Continue," he ordered.

  Lady Sedley nodded and began where she had left off. "He had a habit of taking medicine for gout every afternoon. It made him drowsy and he would sleep undisturbed until the valet woke him at six for dinner."

  "We live in the country, my lord, but we like to keep London hours," Elizabeth clarified.

  "Yes, it is fashionable, isn't it, to eat dinner past five," Lady Sedley remarked. "It took me some time getting used to it, but after all one has to follow fashions of the day. I now ensure that we have our dinner no earlier than seven—"

  "Mother, allow me to complete the story," Elizabeth said impatiently. "Father departed for his afternoon nap, and mother and Peter retired to the morning room. Now, this is the interesting bit. The door to the morning room was open, and both mother and Peter could see the wooden gate at the bottom of the stairs that keep the animals from venturing upstairs. That gate was closed. It even has a bell attached to it to warn Lord Sedley if anyone is coming up the stairs."

  Lady Sedley's voice trembled. "My lord, the gate did not open. The bell did not ring. Peter and I heard nothing and saw no one go up those stairs after my husband."

  Lucy felt her flesh creep at this pronouncement.

  Elizabeth patted her mother's hand comfortingly. "Until the valet who found him dead at six in the evening. He immediately rushed down to alert us."

  "You could have overlooked a servant going up the stairs. One often overlooks their presence," Lord Adair suggested.

  Elizabeth cleared her throat," We are going through a few financial troubles. We don’t have that many servants and they were all downstairs and accounted for."

  "The valet could have killed him," Lucy spoke up, receiving a glare from both Lady Sedley and Elizabeth.

  "The physician said that from the time the valet found him father had been dead for more than an hour,” Peter suddenly spoke up.

  "Which means he was stabbed almost immediately after lying down for his daily snooze," Lucy concluded.

  "It was not a ghost," Lord Adair said firmly.

  "How could anyone have killed him? How is it possible when no one went up the stairs leading to his rooms?" Lady Sedley asked passionately.

  "A ladder outside his window? Anyone could have crept in and killed him," Lucy bravely offered.

  "A bush lies right below his window. The ground is moist enough to leave footprints. The ground, the bush and the grass below his window were untouched. And surely someone would have seen the ladder. His room faces the front of the house and the children were playing in the garden. They saw nothing," Elizabeth replied thoughtfully, for once speaking to Lucy without malice.

  "Someone could have hidden near the room and waited until the deed was discovered and then wriggled out," Lucy mused further.

  "Are you telling us how you murdered my husband? You seem adept at finding ways to kill people," Lady Sedley scowled.

  Lucy closed her mouth and decided to try to remain invisible for as long as possible.

  "What Lucy suggests is a possibility. In the chaos that followed after the discovery of the murder, the culprit could have escaped," Lord Adair said.

  "It could be someone from outside? A robber?" Lady Sedley asked hopefully.

  Lord Adair shook his head. "Someone who knew the workings of the house well. It is someone in this house."

  Lady Sedley, Elizabeth, Peter, and even the baboon turned to look at Lucy.

  Lucy paled under the glare of four suspicious sets of eyes. Surely they hadn't abandoned the idea that a ghost had done it so soon.

  She nervously swallowed a piece of orange complete with four white shiny pips.

  Chapter 9

  Lucy drained her wine glass and leaned back in her seat.

  It was remarkable how a full stomach had given her a goodly dose of courage. It had uplifted her mood, and she hoped the same sort of pleasant contentment had washed over everyone else as well.

  At the orphanage the children had beamed after dining on bread and cheese. A quarter glass of milk and water had them burping luxuriously, while a sliver of cake had them kissing their arch enemies in delight.

  Here an entire meal fit for a poor king had not even begun to digest in aristocratic stomachs, and yet the faces around her looked discontent.

  Lucy shook her head in wonderment. The Sedley family were a strange lot. Everyone apart from Lord Adair looked just as juiceless and bitter as they had done before they began the meal.

  "Are you joining us, Miss Trotter? I think Miss Sedley proposed a game of loo," Lord Adair asked.

  Lucy looked up guiltily. She had been trying to stuff an orange into her reticule which was already swollen with bits of cake, bread and cheese.

  Lady Sedley answered for her. "I think Miss Trotter would like to retire. The children wake early and Miss Trotter is by their side from the moment they open their eyes."

  Lucy smiled wanly. It was the children who bounced on her bed and tried to prise her lids open every morning. But this one time, she chose to oblige Lady Sedley and decided to retire early. She was feeling rather content after all the wonderful food she had eaten.

  "Do come and see the kittens in the morning, Miss Trotter. Bring the children," Peter said quietly as she passed by.

  Lucy pretended not to hear him.

  Peter had converted an old orangery at the back of the manor into an animal sanctuary. She liked animals well enough, but the stories the children told her about the kind of pets Peter had kept in the past made her dread the thought of stepping into what sounded like a tropical jungle where at any moment something large and fearsome would jump out at her and eat her up.

  She muttered something intelligible in reply and quickly skated past him.

  No one else noticed her bob a general goodnight and slip out of the room.

  A single flickering candle burned on a small table casting meagre light on the staircase that led towards the kitchen.

  It was in a thoughtful mood that she made her way down the winding wooden stairway. Her shadow loomed large on the wall and she traced it as it walked. She wondered what Lady Sedley would do about the servants now that Lord Adair had decided to stay at Rudhall.

  The servants were few for such a large mansion. Lucy often found herself fetching candles, warming pan and hot water from the kitchens instead of asking one of the servants to do it. She even carried water for her basin and assisted the scullery maid with carrying buckets when she had to bathe.

  She grinned. It was a pickle for Lady Sedley. Lord Adair seemed like the kind of man who was used to luxury and would expect to find excellent service wherever he went.

  She recalled his disdain for the beautiful green silk robe that he had worn.

  A giggle escaped her.

  If the robe had bothered him, then what would he think of the musty, flea ridden mattress in the single functioning guest room? Lord Sedley had shut down most of the other rooms years ago in order to save costs, and due to lack of repairs most of them were unusable.

  How was Lady Sedley going to impress her esteemed guest?

  She was so lost in her thoughts that she blinked in surprise to find the kitchen door before her.

  She touched the thick wood fondly.

  If upstairs she had received coldness, then here at least she was welcome.

  Every
evening after the children had been put to bed and the family finished their dinner, Lucy joined the servants for a cup of tea and a bit of gossip. It had become a sort of a calming, enjoyable ritual.

  Today they would have a lot to talk to about—the balloon, Lord Adair, the theft and the murder!

  With a thrill, she pushed open the kitchen door.

  The cook paused briefly in the middle of stirring the stew. She was a stout woman with a stern, commanding face. She avoided Lucy's eyes and quickly picked up a candle and placed it on the table. She went back to ladling stew into bowls for the servants.

  Rose, the kitchen maid, slammed a cup of tepid tea next to the candle. She did not shy away from Lucy's gaze but glared at her like an angry cyclops.

  Lucy answered the glare with a placating smile.

  It didn't work. If anything it made Rose even more furious.

  Lucy hurriedly sat down on the rickety chair and pulled the tea towards herself. She took a sip, careful to keep her face neutral. She wondered if she had interrupted an argument.

  "Poor Lord Sedley," she said, hoping a bit of gossip would defuse the tension. "Terrible how he died."

  Rose took a step towards her. The cook's hand shot out and stopped her. The cook ever so slightly shook her head while the scullery maid started scrubbing the floor more vigorously.

  Suspicion was thick in the air.

  "Is Lord Adair married?" Lucy tried again.

  The handsome valet lounging near the backdoor replied curtly, "No, but it is rumoured that he was in love once. The girl was poisoned. It was the only time he failed to find a killer."

  The serving girl made a sympathetic click with her tongue. Even the cook's hands slowed in their task as her ears strained towards the conversation.

  Hodgson entered the room and joined Lucy at the table. He glared at the cook and the kitchen maid. "She hasn't done it, and even if she had, the old man deserved it," he announced. "Stop eyeing her like frightened rabbits."

  The cook scowled. "You have reason to be cheerful. You will get a nice amount in the will to retire." She banged a bowl of stew in front of him sending the contents splattering all over the table. "What will happen to us? Lady Sedley will sell this house and move to Bath. Who will hire us?"

  "She shouldn't 'ave killed 'im," Rose said, eyeing Lucy with a mixture of fear and dislike.

  "We don't know who has done it now, do we? We cannot be too careful," the valet drawled.

  Hodgson pulled out a fine cigar and lit it. "They are saying upstairs that it is Aunt Sedley's ghost."

  The valet choked on his ale.

  Hodgson chuckled and turned to Lucy. "Do you recall that time you went to call Lady Sedley down for tea and you found—"

  The valet pushed open the backdoor. "I am not listening to this," he growled before storming out of the room.

  Lucy blushed and nodded. She had found the valet in bed with Lady Sedley. It was the day Lady Sedley decided that she detested Lucy and since then tried her best to throw her out.

  The butler grinned. "Yes, well, the ghost of Aunt Sedley appeared the day after our handsome valet friend was hired. It keeps the family from becoming too adventurous and trying to discover the source of all the mysterious moans and groans."

  Lucy turned a brighter shade of red and dug her thumbnail into the cold candle wax making small indentations. She quickly changed the subject. "Shouldn’t Lord Adair be addressed as Lord Lockwood seeing as how he is the Marquis of Lockwood?"

  Hodgson's beady eyes almost disappeared as he squinted trying to remember some long forgotten memory. "I vaguely recall a scandal where his father had vanished some years ago. Lord Adair chooses to believe he is alive while the rest of England believes the elder Lockwood is dead. They treat him as they would a marquis but don’t dare call him Lord Lockwood for fear of offending him."

  "I see," Lucy said. "So he will not take the title until he is certain his father is dead. And his father has been gone for how many years?"

  "Almost ten years, miss."

  Lucy whistled. "So he is a loon."

  "Aren't we all?" Hodgson asked philosophically.

  Lucy shrugged. "I suppose." She drained her cup of tea and wiped the drop that had spilled on her chin. "Strange. I wouldn't have thought the ton would have stood for this sort of thing. I mean, how can they allow Lord Adair the luxury to choose when he takes the title? And what if he never does?"

  Hodgson shrugged. "He is the only man in England not answerable to the ton. He makes his own rules, and most of the time England follows him."

  Lucy thoughtfully pressed a fingertip on a bit of dust on the table and flicked it away. "I heard he wore a different shoe on each foot once. It became all the rage that season."

  Hodgson grinned. "I recall that summer. Men were hobbling all over England wearing one heeled boot on one foot and a flat shoe on the other."

  "And when he announced that he liked the scent of roses … English, French and Spanish girls started dousing themselves with the oil of the said flower. It caused a shortage of roses for two whole seasons." Lucy smiled. She didn’t add that she, too, had attempted to make the rose oil. Her efforts had been a disaster. The petals stolen from Mrs Bury's garden had rotted and created a dreadful stink instead of a beautifully perfumed oil.

  Rose slammed the burned part of the bread in the middle of the table, putting an end to the pleasant conversation.

  The butler sobered and said quietly, "They will most likely blame you, Miss Trotter." He jerked his chin at the cook's back. "The servants will stick up for each other and the family will stand together. You are an outsider and have been here only three months. Apart from that, you have stumbled upon too many secrets. It was Lord Sedley who had insisted that you stay. He said he enjoyed looking at a pretty face, but when you thwarted his advances …." The butler shook his head. "Be careful, my dear, is all I can say."

  "Lord Adair will uncover the truth," Lucy said weakly.

  The butler eyed her silently, too soft-hearted to take her last hope away.

  Lucy picked up the candle and, without waiting for the warming pan, departed for her room.

  She crept into her cold bed and extracted a piece of cake from her reticule. It was in a sorry state but still delicious.

  She bit into it and chewed thoughtfully. She had awakened that morning with a song on her lips and a bounce in her step.

  Her life had been dull, plodding along like an old cow, but happy and peaceful.

  She had prayed for excitement. She had wanted things to happen—the world to spin—and for her to float down the rushing tide of life.

  "I am a fool, an idiot, a blasted nincompoop," Lucy growled whacking her head with a pillow, "wanting excitement, the world to spin …Stupid, stupid, stupid."

  She was floating down a rushing tide all right just as she had desired, but instead of gliding down on her back while sunnily watching trees and birds go by, she was wet, cold and flopping about.

  The river was tossing her up and down, the water creeping into her ears. She was splashing around trying to keep afloat. A passing fish was delightedly slapping her tired arms with its tail fin—

  She blinked back to the present.

  "Halfwit, halfwit, halfwit." She resumed beating her head against the pillow.

  Everyone in the house was accusing her of crimes she had not committed. Lord Adair would stand by his kind, the servants would glue themselves together, and she would end up lurking alone in the corner trying to merge with the wallpaper.

  They would recall her presence eventually when the time came to name the culprit.

  She closed the reticule and put it away. She adjusted her head on the pillow and stared at the orange she had left for the scullery maid near the cold, empty grate.

  She was alone, an outsider and dispensable. Hence, it was only natural that she would be blamed for the murder and the theft.

  A hint of panic unfurled in her stomach.

  She had to do something to save he
r bacon. She wouldn't let them lead her to the gallows passively.

  She would fight, she told herself fiercely.

  The next moment she deflated. Her days of employment were numbered, and she had yet to be paid for her three months of work. If by some miracle she was saved from the gallows, then what? Where was she to go?

  She sighed and turned on her side trying to get warm.

  The back of her hand fell on a smooth, hard surface.

  She sat up and reached for the tinder box. The click-click of someone striking the tinder box always made her feel a touch uneasy. Still, she had learned to ignore her discomfort.

  She lit the candle after only a brief hesitation.

  A small parcel sat on her bed wrapped up with a bit of twine.

  She unwrapped it and found a crudely painted, round wooden blob-like thing. A small note accompanied it which said,

  Dear Miss Trotter,

  I hope you like the brooch that Pat and I made for you. I hope you had a good birthday. And I hope we can have a holiday tomorrow because you have drunk lots of wine today and have a headache when you wake up.

  Love,

  Miss Hepsy Gardiner

  Nursery,

  Second floor,

  Rudhall Manor,

  Blackwell.

  Lucy clutched the wooden brooch to her heart. She had forgotten that it was her birthday. She closed her eyes and plunged headlong into a deep blue weedy pond of self-pity.

  "Pathetic state of affairs," she muttered as she drifted off to sleep, "truly pathetic."

  Chapter 10

  Lucy's head let out a soft, gentle snore as it slipped off the pillow, and her trim legs wrapped themselves around the warm quilt more comfortably. Her palm was tucked under a flushed pink cheek while her full lips formed a sweet little pout.

  The bed was larger than the tiny cot she had been used to at the orphanage. Hence, over the last three months, she had developed an admirable way of using up the extra space by emulating a greedy boneless cat sunning itself on a rooftop.

  She would begin by laying down flat on her back, move her feet thirty degrees to the right, tilt her head approximately ten degrees in the same direction and stretch all her limbs out as much as possible.