Murder At Rudhall Manor

by Anya Wylde

  "We should return indoors," Lord Adair said instead of answering her question.

  He offered her his arm.

  "Unless the thief did not want anyone to know he is the thief. I mean, he did not want anyone to connect the theft with the murder," Lucy mused ignoring his arm.

  "I will find the person responsible, Miss Trotter. Have faith."

  "In what?"

  "If you are innocent, you will not be punished."

  "I lost my family and spent most of my life in an orphanage. I was punished for no fault of mine. Why would things change now?"

  "That was an unfortunate incident. This is a murder which is being investigated. We are actively searching for the truth."

  "You will protect your own kind, my lord. I am the outsider," Lucy said, entering the house and yanking off her drenched woollen gloves. "I don't blame you. I would protect my friends too."

  "Miss Trotter," Lord Adair said gently, "You are wrong. I will stand by the truth, even if it means sending my closest friend to the gallows."

  "Lofty words," Lucy muttered under her breath. Aloud, she said, "No harm in me nosing about as well. After all, it is my neck that is dangling near the noose. Desperation may help me solve the case quicker than you, my lord."

  "Or blind you," he replied amused. "My advice to you is to stay in your room until the culprit is found … but I have a feeling you are going to be contrary. People are predictable, Miss Trotter."

  Lucy dropped her parasol on his foot. Her eyes flared in satisfactions seeing the knowing smile wiped off his face. "Not so predictable am I, my lord, or you would have saved you poor toe just now."

  He grinned in appreciation. "It is a wager, Miss Trotter. Let us see who finds the culprit first."

  He held out his hand, and after eyeing his masculine fingers encased in expensive leather gloves for a moment, she grasped it firmly and shook it. "It is a wager, Lord Adair."

  She unpeeled her coat. "What does the winner get?"

  "Anything you fancy," he murmured with a glint in his eye.

  "Agreed," she said promptly. "What I want, my lord, is employment. If I win, then you will have to hire me to work as your assistant."

  Lord Adair paled. "Well, now, I don't need an assistant."

  "A housekeeper?"

  "No, now see here—"

  "If you have any illegitimate children, then their governess—"

  "Miss Trotter," he scolded, "anything you fancy was the wrong thing to say … I meant—"

  "Scullery maid?" she asked in a small voice. "Surely you need a scullery maid. You must have so many rooms."

  "I have no rooms. I live under the stars," Lord Adair snapped.

  "Ground sweeper?"

  "Eh?"

  "Surely you need someone to sweep the ground before you lie down on it to sleep."

  Lord Adair opened his mouth and closed it again. He shook his head and without another word walked away.

  A mischievous smile spread over Lucy's face. He was delightfully easy to tease.

  He stopped before turning the corner and looked back at her.

  Lucy's heart started racing and her palms turned sweaty.

  His departing expression was confusing, complicated and intensely beautiful.

  She gulped.

  He sent her a parting grin before vanishing from her sight.

  She gasped and clutched the nearby hat stand for support and held on for dear life, since her knees had decided to follow Lord Adair leaving the rest of her wobbling and unbalanced.

  She sighed.

  It was awfully hard to argue with handsome men, and Lord Adair happened to be the handsomest of the lot.

  Chapter 14

  Someone had let it slip that Lord Sedley was dead. The fact was no longer a secret, and the funeral was in a few hours.

  Lucy sat at the small desk in her room watching the visitors come and go. The snow outside had been churned by numerous feet belonging to the villagers and relatives, and the beautiful sparkling white ground of the morning had turned into a slush of brown and grey.

  She was surprised that so many people had managed to make their way to the house considering the dark, roiling sky. A storm was threatening to arrive any moment. The leaves had stilled, the wind had fallen silent, and the sun cowered somewhere behind dense clouds.

  "Boo!"

  "Pat," Lucy squeaked, her hand on her thundering heart, "you frightened me."

  "I meant to," he said strolling into the room. He peeked out of the window and made a face as he watched a woman with peacock feathers in a large brimmed hat alight from a carriage. "That one," he said grimly, "tried to detach my cheeks from my face."

  An old man shuffled after the woman, his back almost bent double, and a walking stick clutched in his shaking hand.

  "And him," He shook his head in disgust, "he coos."

  Lucy bit back a smile. "You shouldn't be here."

  He nodded. "We know."

  Hepsy came and stood on the other side of Lucy's chair. "We were told to stay away from you or we wouldn't be given any pudding."

  Pat thumped Lucy's back in a brotherly fashion. "But we wanted to come and see you."

  "Your pudding," Lucy tried weakly.

  "We stole some already and hid it," Hepsy soothed.

  Lucy turned back to the window, her chin coming to rest on her hands.

  "What is a wig-eel?" Hepsy asked, copying Lucy's stance.

  "Not wig-eel," Pat chortled. "Vigil. Lord Adair's valet arrived last night. Hepsy asked him to tea in the nursery with the dolls, and he said he couldn't on account of his having to keep a vigil."

  Lucy's brow cleared. "He must have kept a vigil along with another person in Lord Sedley's room last night."

  "To keep away the thieves," Pat remarked with a superior sniff.

  Lucy shook her head. "Let me tell you a true story. It will explain why one needs to keep a vigil over a dead body."

  Pat and Hepsy nodded eagerly.

  Lucy's lips quirked. "A few years ago a very old cook in the orphanage died and up until the funeral two people were constantly in the room with the body keeping vigil."

  "Why?" Hepsy asked.

  "That is exactly what I wondered too, Miss Gardiner. Why did they sit with a corpse? Were they not frightened of ghosts and things? Or were they simply a morbid lot?"

  "And then?" Hepsy prompted.

  "Well, on the day of the funeral—"

  "Yes, yes." Hepsy straightened up.

  "Let her finish," Pat growled impatiently.

  Hepsy subsided.

  "And then," Lucy continued, "on the day of the funeral the dead cook's cheerful husband went to close the coffin so that he could carry it to the burial site, when suddenly—" Here Lucy paused.

  "What? Oh, do tell, Miss Trotter," Hepsy begged, and this time even Pat leaned forward.

  "When suddenly the old dead cook sprang into sitting position and demanded a bottle of gin, two pieces of fish and a cup of flour."

  "But she was dead," gasped Pat.

  "Ooh," Hepsy exclaimed at the same time.

  "Physicians are known to make mistakes. She was still alive when I left the orphanage."

  "So a vigil is kept," Pat said, his eyes wide in understanding, "in case the dead are not really dead."

  Lucy nodded broodingly. She hoped that this time, too, Lord Sedley would bounce out of the coffin and ask to pinch a maid's bottom. All her worries would melt away, and she would even kiss the lusty old man in relief.

  But nothing of the sort occurred. Lucy watched the coffin leave the house, and when the family came back, there was no Lord Sedley walking up the steps towards the main door swinging his walking stick in roaring fury.

  Lucy and the children watched the rest of the guests return wearing all black and heads bent low. It was as if a string had been attached to their chins and someone invisible on the ground held the other end yanking it with all their might.

  Pat sighed loudly. "I wonder how long it will
take the worms to eat him up until only the bones are left."

  "You should return to the nursery," Lucy said pushing away from the desk. She stood up and stretched. After a moment, she looked down to find the children eyeing her queerly. "What is it?"

  "We are going to uncle Dolton's house for a few weeks," Pat said staring at his boots.

  "We may not see you again," Hepsy added.

  "I am here for a month at least," Lucy lied. "You will see me when you return."

  The faces brightened.

  "Now, hurry back to the nursery, you must have a lot to pack," she continued in a high, cheerful voice.

  The children nodded, and before they knew what was happening, Lucy had ushered them outside, given them two sound kisses, a tight hug and sent them on their way in a much improved temperament.

  Lucy watched them leave with mixed feelings. A part of her was sad. She had become fond of them, but mostly she was pleased that the monsters would be out of her way and leave her to investigate in peace.

  The children may have become sentimental thinking she was going to die, but Lucy had not forgotten the horrifying antics they were capable of.

  She recalled the time they had slathered a sticky paste of flour and water all over her hair while she slept. It had taken her three whole hours to clean the muck out of her hair. Her arms had been aching dreadfully by the time she had finished.

  Shuddering at the memory, she banged the door closed in relief.

  ***

  Lucy surveyed the contents of her cupboard. Three morning dresses, which were meant to be white but were now grey with age, lay folded neatly on a shelf.

  Two faded evening dresses, one of which had tiny eyelets all over and often frightened her half to death, sat next to the morning ones.

  Finally, right at the bottom under her chemises, she found a well patched, thick woollen dress in a wonderful colour of dirt. She pulled it out and laid it on the bed.

  She cocked her head to the side and fingered the rough material.

  It would do.

  Next, she pulled open the drawers in the small desk in her room, her mind busy while her hands worked.

  She had been the last person to see Lord Sedley alive, she thought, as she searched through the drawer's contents. And not only had she seen the hideous blob, but she had gone on to have a full blown argument with him in front of witnesses.

  She paused to inspect the yellow yarn she found in the bottom drawer. She flung it back with an impatient shake and continued her search as well as line of thought. She had arrived a mere three months ago, and in such a short time it was impossible to expect she had formed an everlasting bond with anyone in the manor. Her position as a governess ensured that she belonged neither with the servants nor the family.

  She stood up clutching a pair of scissors and some green thread. She placed it next to the dress.

  It suited everyone in Rudhall to have her proclaimed the culprit. She dragged a shawl out of the cupboard and flung it about her shoulders.

  A thrill went through her small, slim form.

  She was not going to let them win. She, Miss Lucy Anne Trotter, was going to unmask the criminal.

  Her chin jerked up and her eyes flashed.

  She strode out of the door and down the stairs. She was no longer going to sit and think and muse and mull.

  It was time for action. She had a plan.

  An excellent plan.

  Rose sauntered by carrying an armload of laundry. She paused long enough to send Lucy a superior look.

  Lucy smiled philosophically. Ah, the silly maid would learn the truth soon enough. She chose to forgive the poor mortal creature, for the maid knew not what she was doing. She was blowing raspberries at Lucy—the great Lucy Anne Trotter—who would go down in history as the greatest investigator ever known to mankind.

  The very same Lucy Anne Trotter who would soon unmask the killer and present him or her on a gilded platter to Lord Adair. Oh, the foolish maid would be sorry then. So, so sorry.

  Rose narrowed her eyes.

  Lucy sniffed smugly, raised her nose in the air and then promptly tripped over her feet.

  She lay face down like an egg dropped from a height spread out all over the floor.

  A giggle somewhere behind her made her scramble back up. Her face was bright red as she scuttled towards the door.

  Her ego was bruised, but her heart was no less determined.

  ***

  An hour later, Lucy peeped into the morning room from the corner of the French windows.

  No one was around.

  She clutched the bundle she was holding close to her chest with one hand and opened the window with the other.

  Once again, moving her eyeballs from side to side to ensure that she was alone, she stepped into the morning room and quickly closed the window behind her.

  Thereafter, she tiptoed her way across the room and attached an ear to the door. Hearing nothing she bravely pulled open the door. This was more difficult considering the bundle she was carrying, but by twisting and turning her fingers in the most painful and awkward manner, she managed to touch the handle with the tip of her thumbs and pushed.

  The door swung open easily and she almost somersaulted into the hallway in surprise.

  After calming her jogging heart, she took a deep breath and scurried towards the wooden staircase, turned the corner and finally sprinted towards her room.

  It was remarkable. She had managed the entire thing without anyone seeing her, or more importantly, seeing the bundle she was carrying.

  She tipped the contents on the floor in her room, a pleased smile on her lips.

  She was ready for the next part of the plan.

  As she worked, she couldn't help feeling slightly smug. Lady Sedley and Peter had been sitting in the morning room, and they had claimed seeing no one go up the stairs towards Lord Sedley's room at the time he was murdered.

  Lucy chuckled. If they admitted that they had not seen anyone go up the stairs, then it was clear who the murderer was… or rather, who the murderers were.

  Lady Sedley and Peter had killed Lord Sedley.

  Lucy added the finishing touches and surveyed herself in the mirror.

  Her smile broadened. All she had to do now was to follow Lady Sedley around. The woman was bound to let something slip or try and talk to Peter about it.

  And for that Lucy's attire was perfect. She could shadow Lady Sedley with no fear of being seen. She was as good as invisible.

  For Lucy had disguised herself as a tree.

  Chapter 15

  "Ack." Elizabeth muffled a screech.

  "Blargh," Lucy softly exclaimed.

  "What in the devil's name have you done to yourself?" Elizabeth growled.

  Lucy inched her head out from behind the scantily clad statue of Apollo. "I don't know what you mean."

  "Why are you dressed like an unwashed potato?"

  "I am not dressed like a potato."

  "You look like one."

  Lucy shook a branch at Elizabeth. "Potatoes do not have leaves or stems protruding out of them."

  "A turnip then."

  A twig poked Lucy in the eye. She straightened the branch atop her bonnet that kept dipping and sourly faced Elizabeth. "Why are you lurking in the hallway?"

  Elizabeth scowled. "I can do as I please. This is my house." She added as an afterthought, "Miss Turnip."

  "But why are you scuttling around on all fours?"

  "I dropped an earring, Miss Turnip."

  "Shall I help you look for it?" Lucy asked witheringly.

  "No, Miss Turnip."

  "Are you certain?"

  "Go away."

  "Truly?"

  "Yes."

  "Don't be shy."

  "I do not," Elizabeth snarled, "want your help."

  "I never offered to help you."

  "You did."

  Lucy stuck her tongue out. "Liar, liar, chicken little vampire."

  "What?"

&nbs
p; "What, what?"

  "Leave," Elizabeth fumed.

  "Not leave but leaves, I have leaves stuck all over."

  "That is not what I meant and you know it."

  "Do I?"

  "Yes, you do."

  "I do what?"

  "Aaaargh"

  Lucy smirked and turned away to look towards the main entrance. Elizabeth had been trying to rile her up by calling her all sorts of vegetables. Hah! Now that same pestering snoot looked ready to explode into a number of angry pieces.

  Her grin widened as the angry snorting noises continued behind her. She ignored them and instead focused on what was going on downstairs.

  Hodgson was standing with the door open. Lady Sedley appeared to be giving him some instructions while he was nodding vigorously in response.

  Lucy arched her neck like an inquisitive flamingo. A moment later, just as she had expected, Lady Sedley, wrapped in a scarlet coat with a small black hat perched atop her blonde head, walked out into the sunshine.

  Lucy gathered her skirts and stepped out from behind the statue.

  Elizabeth, too, stood up, and after throwing Lucy a final disgusted look pelted down the stairs.

  Lucy frowned. Was Elizabeth planning to shadow her mother as well?

  There was only one way to find out. She shuffled her way to the top of the stairs.

  The next part was more difficult. Her makeshift costume would allow her to blend in with nature easily enough. Once out in the open she could mingle with the trees and the buds, flit about the garden like a wood nymph and call upon sparrows, squirrels and bees.

  But inside Rudhall manor she stood out like a dog with two tails, a bird with teeth or a skinny elephant.

  Lucy had been right to be fearful. A person wearing twigs and things did stand out when walking down a grand oak staircase whose fifth, seventh and twelfth step creaked under stress.

  And Susan, the upper housemaid who had a remarkable talent of efficiently transforming from a lady's maid into a washerwoman at a moment's notice, was no exception. She swooned at the sight of Lucy drifting down the stairs.

  But before the maid had entirely collapsed in dead faint, she managed to let out a blood curdling scream that seemed to imply that Aunt Sedley's ghost had sprouted from the ground like a living shrub.