Murder At Rudhall Manor

by Anya Wylde

  Lucy emerged from behind the desk and walked over to the door. She stuck her head out and looked up and down the corridor.

  No one was around.

  Pleased, she stuck her head back in and walked over to the oval mirror.

  The girl who looked back at her was nothing like Elizabeth. Her hair was not smooth but pulled up in a messy bun. Long wavy tresses floated about her heart shaped face, the large brown eyes were frightened and the lips too full and rebellious.

  Lucy took a deep breath and sucked in her nostrils just as she had seen Elizabeth do. But her nostrils didn’t seem to stick together like Elizabeth's had.

  She tried harder, attempting to make her nose look slimmer. She sucked, pouted and moved her head to see her profile.

  It didn't work. Her nose remained tilted up and considerably bigger than Elizabeth's delicate one.

  She exhaled sharply annoyed at the foolishness that had distracted her. A bit of snot escaped her nostrils and dangled dangerously near her upper lip.

  "Handkerchief?"

  She squealed and whirled around in shock.

  A hand was waving a white handkerchief at her from one end of the olive green sofa that sat facing the window.

  Mortified, Lucy quickly wiped her nose on her own grey handkerchief and walked up to the couch.

  An amused Lord Adair was lying full length on it. He held a twinkling crystal glass filled with an amber liquid in one relaxed grip and an open book lay upside down on his chest.

  His position had hidden him from her view, but the room was clearly reflected in the window pane making it clear that he had watched her every move.

  Lucy bobbed a curtsy. "I didn't see you, my lord."

  He smiled and went back to reading his book.

  She hesitated, her eyes on his splendid form decorating the sofa. She hadn't spoken to a human being in hours and hours….

  "What are you reading?" she asked tentatively.

  "Poems by a misunderstood poet called Philbert Woodbead," he said turning a page.

  "I didn’t think you were the sort to enjoy poetry."

  "And I, Miss Trotter, thought that by now you would be bobbing along in the river of self-pity," he said, his eyes not leaving the book.

  "Well, I am not," she replied forcefully. "In fact, I am cheerful enough. Bright as a singing grasshopper."

  "Remarkable," he said, letting the book fall back on his muscular chest. "I have unravelled all the mysteries that this manor could possibly hold, and yet I am confounded as to why you are not beating your head on the cushion repeatedly and wailing like a banshee. You don't appear to be loony …." He trailed off.

  He had asked her this before, but today he was eyeing her differently, not in a condescending or indulgent way but curiously as if he truly wanted to know.

  And since she had nothing better to do, she decided to tell him.

  "Close your eyes," she said as she moved around the couch to face him.

  He promptly did as he was told.

  The sun was setting, and the red glow filtered through the gap in the curtain to fall on his peaceful face. His hands were folded together on his stomach and his ankles crossed.

  "Imagine the world is dark and stars are glittering in the sky," she said softly. A part of her wondered at his calm obedience.

  He nodded slightly, his eyes still tightly shut.

  "In the night sky," her voice trembled, "are three stars standing together in a row. Those stars are the reason I don't cry, my lord."

  His eyes flew open and understanding laced his expression.

  She continued speaking, perhaps because it was easier to share the deepest part of your soul with a stranger. "They are my parents and the sibling I never had. The stars, I mean. Miss Summer had told me when I was young that my parent's died and became stars. She said that I was lucky … because from now on they would cast their brilliant light on me. A light that would keep me safe from demons and monsters, chase away my nightmares and let nothing too harmful happen to me."

  "You believed her?"

  "I didn't at first, but over the years girls in the orphanage dropped off like flies because of disease, want or despair. The darkness evaded me. I remained sane and healthy and I learned to have faith. Faith in those stars and that they were protecting me and will continue to protect me forever."

  He masked his expression, his lids falling to shield his dark eyes.

  "Everything will be all right," she said in a small voice.

  "I will make sure it is," he replied gently.

  She looked at him then and for the first time in her life a tiny, tiny seed of trust for a man wormed its way into her heart and buried in deep.

  He ignored her after that and picking up the book started reading once again.

  Chapter 24

  "I will make sure it is," Lucy mimicked Lord Adair's words with a grimace. In the light of the day, they sounded hollow.

  Mere platitudes.

  And besides, how in the world was he supposed to help her if he spent his time reading poetry, standing on one leg— and she had even caught him dancing with the cook. What in the world was he doing romancing the kitchen staff she couldn’t say.

  What she could say was that the man was an utter loon and undependable.

  Which was why she had once again taken charge of her destiny and decided to slither across the floor and enter Elizabeth's rooms to look for the jewels.

  The slithering went well. She entered the room without being caught.

  It was a largish room.

  The walls were papered blue, patterned with pretty little white flowers, the pillows and cushions were sapphire hued, while the carpet was a sort of dull grey blue.

  It was a becoming colour for a carpet. A more brilliantly coloured carpet like the cushions wouldn’t have looked right and, in turn, cushions the colour of the carpet would have been too dull.

  As for the ceiling, it was a light azure mimicking a cloudless sky.

  Even the vase on the side table and the giant mirror above the dressing table were copper tinged with blue.

  In short, it was all very blue.

  And it all flowed along very nicely with Lucy's blue thoughts. Pleased, she slipped into the room like a freshly oiled latch.

  The room was devoid of any living occupants.

  She moved further into the room.

  Her heart gave a sudden hop of fear.

  The room was devoid of living occupants, but was it, she wondered, empty of the dead?

  Her reason for being suspicious was the tall wooden door on her right. This tall wooden door had a gap at the bottom and through that gap a haze of mist was seeping out.

  Was this mist Aunt Sedley?

  Lucy opened her mouth to ask and then closed it again. What if it wasn’t aunt Sedley? What if it was some other ghost?

  At that moment, she realised something critical …

  Ghosts were like dogs.

  She expanded on that thought. If you knew the dog, then you wouldn’t be frightened, but if you didn’t know the dog, then it was best to be wary. Which was why she decided to be wary of this new ghostly mist.

  Another frightening thought slammed into her ribs as the scent of charred paper meandered over to her nose.

  What if it wasn't a ghost at all—her heart started beating rapidly—but smoke bellowing out of from below the closet door?

  "Fire!" Lucy let out a war cry.

  In the midst of a life threatening situation, great men have been known to balk, but not Lucy. No, she was proud of how steady her fingers were and how clearly her mind was functioning.

  Swiftly she scanned the contents in the room and spotted the ewer by the window filled with icy water.

  She tilted her body at a sixty degree angle and launched herself across the room.

  She landed safely and grabbed the ewer with firm, brave hands.

  A deep breath later, she flew back towards the closet, wrenched open the door and flung the water inside.
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  When the frightened haze disappeared from her vision, she spotted an even more terrifying sight…

  A dripping Elizabeth was sitting on a red velvet stool near a dressing table with a drenched book in one hand and a drooping cigar in the other.

  "You were smoking," Lucy stammered in horror. "I thought … fire … Goodbye."

  ***

  That last incident had admittedly shaken Lucy. Every single strand of hair on her head quivered whenever she thought of the red eyed, soaking Elizabeth.

  It was bound to happen. The hope in her heart had to at some point duck its head back into its shell like a frightened turtle. Hence, she crept around the manor for the rest of the day avoiding all human contact.

  Night time, however, was a different story. The house was asleep, her three favourite courage inducing stars were shinning and the fat moon was dangling in the sky.

  The trouble was that it was dark and, unfortunately, she was not an owl or a firefly or a fruit eating bat. She needed a candle if she wanted to continue hunting for the jewels.

  She nervously sucked on a dry tongue. She didn’t mind lighting a candle and letting it sit on a table far from her ignitable self, but to actually hold one for an extended period?

  Her hand started trembling. What if she tripped and the candle slipped from her fingers, rolled across the floor and reached the curtains, all before she had picked herself up.

  She could potentially set the house ablaze.

  She didn't want Lord Adair to go up in flames simply because she had tripped. He was too handsome. It would be sheer injustice if a man like him departed this world without first producing beautiful children.

  But she couldn’t very well flounder around in the dark either, hoping her small paws would miraculously land on a bag of jewels.

  The pugs barked for attention. In spite of the trouble they had got her into with Lady Sedley, she had once again sneaked them up the stairs for a cuddle. They were irresistible.

  "Do you think I can hold on to a candle for one night? Or perhaps two?" she asked the animals.

  They licked her face.

  She grimaced. "Comforting to see you have complete confidence in me."

  Another lick had her giggling.

  "Ugh, you smell rotten. Fine, I shall take the plunge. Dip my toes in frigid waters, charge towards the fight and slay the enemy. I shall survive the holding of the candle," she promised them.

  "Scared of a candle?" Aunt Sedley asked sailing into the room.

  The room immediately turned cold. The pillows started inflating and deflating, while the quilt raced about all over the bed.

  The pups hid under Lucy's skirts. She stroked their heads comfortingly. "You have left your hair undone," she commented.

  "Mr Brown prefers it this way," Aunt Sedley replied shyly.

  "Ah."

  "I glow in the dark," Aunt Sedley said after a moment. She was floating on her back, her hands moving as if she was swimming in mid-air.

  "Hmm," Lucy replied. She detached herself from the pugs who had latched onto her skirts with their teeth and went to look for the tinder box.

  "I could light your path. You wouldn't need a candle."

  Lucy jerked her head in the spirit's direction almost hurting the muscles in her neck. "Would you truly do that for me?"

  "I would, but I can't. I am going with Mr Brown for a celebration."

  Lucy went back to hunting for the box. "What are you celebrating?"

  "His sister just died. It is her funeral."

  "Oh, I am so sorry."

  "Don't be. It is a happy occasion. He is very fond of his sister and now he will have her back in his … dead."

  "In his dead?"

  "I was going to say life, but changed it to dead because …." Aunt Sedley trailed off.

  Lucy cleared her throat, "Yes, well … Congratulations."

  "Thank you."

  "And the hairdo looks lovely on you."

  The ghost simpered.

  Lucy continued, "I have nothing important to report."

  "Eh?"

  "About the murder."

  "Oh, yes … Well, I will be back and you can tell me all about it," Aunt Sedley said distractedly. Her limbs were already fading.

  "Goodbye," Lucy curtseyed.

  Aunt Sedley waggled her fingers in response. Her voice echoed around the room, "I will be back. I promise next time I will try and help you, Miss Trotter. I will be your firefly… firefly … firefly…."

  "No, she won’t," Lucy muttered to the pups. "Lazy lump of—"

  "I heard that," Aunt Sedley's faraway voice growled.

  "I am sorry," Lucy yelled back.

  The ding dong of a grandfather clock was all she got in reply.

  ***

  Around two in the morning, Lucy's part frightened part hopeful ear emerged from her room and weaved its way around the manor. The candle periodically trembled in her grasp, and the hot wax dripped onto the back of her hand making her jump and stifle a squeal.

  The ear attached itself to various doors on its way to Elizabeth's room, straining to hear a single sound. The ear was disappointed until it plastered itself against Lady Sedley's gleaming oak door.

  A hint of sound, a shuffle … Was someone speaking?

  Lucy moved her nervous toes closer to the door, her ear now completely flattened against the wood.

  Someone was speaking. If only she could hear the words … Shifting even closer, she brought her palms up to cup her ear.

  Did someone say governess?

  Her body tilted leaning heavily against the door; the door that belonged to Lady Sedley's room, the door that had not been locked, the door that could not, even it wanted to, hold an entire human body resting against itself.

  It had to happen and nothing in the world could have stopped it. No physics, no magical light from the stars, no quick thinking acrobatics could have stopped Lucy from tumbling into the room at that point.

  From beneath naughty sheets the valet and Lady Sedley eyed her sprawled form in disgust.

  Lucy scrambled up and dusted her skirt. "Where am I?" she asked after a tense moment.

  Lady Sedley growled in warning.

  "Egad." Lucy fluttered her lashes at the couple on the bed. "I am in your room … How? … I don’t know what happened. I was asleep on my bed … Did you bring me here?"

  The valet raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

  Lucy widened her eyes. "If you didn’t bring me here, then … Oh, I must have walked in my sleep. I often do this sort of thing … stroll around at night. It comes on like a fit, particularly on moonless nights."

  "If what you say is true, then I," Lady Sedley snorted, "am a molting duck."

  "Quack, quack?" Lucy queried.

  Lady Sedley narrowed her eyes. "If I catch you lurking upstairs, prowling in the night or eavesdropping ever again, then you, Miss Lucy Anne Trotter, will be sleeping in the stables."

  Lucy quietly slinked away after that.

  ***

  One would think that after so many violent disruptions and tragic ends of complex plans, Lucy would give up. Anyone would have and anyone should have for the sake of other people's health and safety, but consider Lucy's position.

  She was a suspect in a murder case. She was alone with not a single soul to call her own. She had limited time within which she had to prove her innocence and save her slim, pretty neck and admirable earlobes.

  Those earlobes deserved to live.

  And was being caught snooping, drenching a fellow human with icy water or playing with the chickens worse than murder and theft? She had already been charged with the worst, and these small hiccups where she tumbled into other peoples' rooms were not important.

  What was important was to keep her heart beating, her lungs functioning and the livers and kidneys continuing to do what they were supposed to be doing. She couldn't stop hunting for clues.

  That would be foolish.

  She would keep trying until she found the jewel
s and the murderer or she was packed off to Bedlam.

  Feeling better after this short discussion in her head, Lucy meandered towards the upstairs study. She wanted to recreate how a thief could have stolen the jewels.

  Perhaps he had left some clues that had been missed by others near the crime scene.

  It is said that when faced with bad luck once, become a hedgehog. Retreat into your spiny shell and do not emerge until misfortune hobbles away with the moon.

  And if it is not a saying, then it should be because if it had been said, then Lucy would have heard it, and if she had heard it, then she wouldn’t have tested her luck.

  Lucy pushed open the door of the library and bad luck eyed her like a fly rubbing its hands together in glee sitting atop a basket of overripe fruit.

  Ian was sitting at the desk trying his best to finish off his late father's bottles of wine and whiskey.

  He leered at her. "Come to keep me company, eh?"

  "Mr Sedley. I am sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you," Lucy said inching back towards the door.

  For a sozzled creature, Ian moved mighty quickly. He was beside her in a flash. "Not at all. It is a delight to see you staggering in here on such a cold night. An ant that has come sniffing for bits of leftover dinner … me being the dinner."

  "I am not hungry," Lucy protested, her feet ever so slowly moving backwards.

  "Have a nibble. You will find that you are starving," he said catching her around the waist.

  Lucy eyed his hairy chin, yellow teeth and sharp nose in horror.

  She inhaled sharply and was treated to a blast of sour whisky fumes emanating from his mouth. She cursed and twisted in his grip.

  He smirked.

  She gripped his hair and tried to yank it with all her might. His hair was oilier than usual. The greasy strands slipped right through her fingers.

  Lucy had a frightening thought. She was about to be ruined forever.

  "I told you I will back to help you," the ghost of Aunt Sedley remarked irritably.

  The temperature immediately plummeted and the room chilled at the spirits arrival. The cushions gave a nervous twitch and the drapes shivered.

  Aunt Sedley crossed her arms and scowled at Lucy. "You need to learn how to trust people. You hurt my feelings, and don't you dare mention my lack of heart or the fact that I said people and not spirits or spiritoo … I see, we are short on time. Ian getting frisky, is he? Watch his finger! Now, this is what you must do …."