Mindful of her promise to Cedric that she would try to solve Emmeline’s murder if it were within her power to do so, Rose was keen to ascertain from Lavinia if she had seen anything when she had first come across Emmeline’s body in the maze. Although she acknowledged that if Theo was correct about the time of death, and Emmeline had been dead some hours rather than the few minutes that they had originally supposed, it was unlikely that Lavinia had seen anything at all. Nevertheless it was the excuse she needed to leave the room and the others behind.
At the top of the staircase on the landing, Rose was just about to make her way to Lavinia’s room when it occurred to her that Jemima was still alone in her room, no doubt miserable and upset. She had been left alone too long, Rose thought. She might not want to join them in the drawing room, but it would be for the best.
‘Jemima, it’s me … Rose.’
There was no answer to either her gentle tapping on the door or to her calling out, and when Rose tried the door it held fast.
‘Jemima, please open the door. I don’t think it right for you to be alone. You mustn’t shut yourself away at a time like this. Do come down. Felix is very worried about you as are we all, and the police will be here soon. They’ll want to speak to you.’
Rose heard both the turn of a key in the lock and a bolt being slid back before the door opened. It occurred to her then that the girl was frightened as well as upset. She wished again that Emmeline’s companion had not been left alone.
‘Is sh-she down there with you all?’
The words, when they were uttered through trembling lips, were almost spat out with an air of disgust. Even in the dim light Jemima looked ill. She had half opened the door but still stood resolutely in her room, peering out. It was obvious to even the most casual of observers that she had no intention of opening the door any further or of inviting Rose to enter inside. There were dark circles beneath her eyes which in turn were red-rimmed and bloodshot. When she spoke, her voice was accompanied by sniffing and her handkerchief, which she held rolled up into a little ball in her hand, was completely wet. Her plain clothes did nothing to alleviate the general picture of misery and despair.
Rose could barely restrain herself from stretching out a hand to the girl. She knew, however, that if she did so such a gesture of compassion and kindness would be rejected. For Jemima appeared to her to be a solitary figure. Rose thought that even if it were Felix standing before Jemima now, the intrusion by him into her grief would not be welcomed.
‘She?’ It suddenly dawned on Rose to whom the woman was referring. ‘Oh, you mean Lavinia? Jemima, listen to me. Lavinia didn’t kill Emmeline, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘We all saw her standing over Emmeline’s body with that dreadful candlestick in her hand. It was smeared with blood. There was blood on her hands and her coat, there was – ’
‘Yes, yes,’ interrupted Rose quickly, for the girl was on the verge of becoming hysterical. Jemima’s voice had risen and become quite shrill and she was afraid of it carrying to Lavinia, only a few doors down in her own room.
‘Lavinia didn’t kill Emmeline.’ Rose said the words slowly and deliberately, hoping that they would sink in. ‘She just came across her body in the maze as we did. Theo said Emmeline had been dead for hours when we found her. Do you understand what I’m saying? Lavinia didn’t do it?’
‘Then why was she holding the candlestick?’ asked Jemima doggedly, looking far from convinced.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Rose truthfully. ‘For some reason she decided to pick it up. Perhaps she did it instinctively finding it there on the ground. Whatever reason made her pick it up, she didn’t do it Jemima. She didn’t kill Emmeline.’
‘Cedric thought she’d done it,’ Jemima continued stubbornly. ‘Otherwise why would he have done what he did? All that destroying – ’
‘He didn’t think it through. He jumped to the obvious conclusion, as did we all,’ said Rose hurriedly, ‘But he was wrong. We all were. Think about it, Jemima. Why would Lavinia wish Emmeline dead? They were friends after all. It was Lavinia who invited her to stay here at Sedgwick. What possible motive could she have had for killing her guest?’
‘But if what you say is true – ’, began Jemima slowly.
‘It means that someone else killed Emmeline … yes, of course it does,’ said Rose quickly, pleased that Jemima was beginning to take in her words.
But if she had thought that Jemima would be relieved to discover that her hostess was not the murderer, she was mistaken. If it was possible, even more colour had drained from Jemima’s face and her bottom lip had started to quiver. Jemima clung to the doorframe, as if for support, as realisation dawned on her.
‘Someone else killed Emmeline,’ she half whispered, ‘Oh my God, no!’
‘So they know I didn’t do it?’ said Lavinia, sitting up.
She had been reclining on her bed, bedclothes pulled tight up to her neck. She had been so still that Rose had at first thought she was asleep. But when she looked closely, she found that Lavinia had instead been staring into nothingness, her eyes wide open. And when Rose had spoken, Lavinia had roused herself quickly enough as if leaving behind some troublesome dream.
‘Well, I suppose I should feel relieved, shouldn’t I? That no one thinks I’m a murderess anymore, I mean? But the truth is that I don’t feel anything at all ... I still feel numb ... I still can’t quite believe what’s happened, even though I saw her body with my own eyes and picked up that awful candlestick –’
‘Why did you do that? Why did you pick up the candlestick, Lavinia? Why didn’t you leave it where it was?’ asked Rose curiously.
‘I don’t know ... Why did I do it?’
Lavinia sounded vague. The look on her face showed clearly that she was trying to cast her mind back. She clung at her bedspread as the awful image sprung up before her, and she passed her tongue over her lips, as if she suddenly found them dry.
‘Here, have some water,’ said Rose, passing her the glass of water beside her bed. ‘I wonder if it wouldn’t be better for you to have some brandy.’
‘I’ll be all right in a minute or two,’ said her friend, taking a few sips. ‘It’s just so frightful. But I want to remember why I did it, picked up the candlestick, I mean. It does seem such a strange sort of thing to have done, doesn’t it? The police are sure to ask me, aren’t they, and I haven’t the faintest idea how to reply.’
‘Did you see the candlestick before you discovered Emmeline’s body?’
‘Yes … now I come to think of it … I am sure I did. Yes … that was it.’ Lavinia closed her eyes to enable her to think better. ‘I came across the candlestick first. It made me stop, because I wondered what it was doing there. It seemed so out of place. It was gleaming in the sun and I thought how bright it looked, only it seemed to be smeared with something, and I wondered what it was. So I picked it up to have a look. I didn’t know what it was, only that it was red. I didn’t realise it was b-blood. All the time I was thinking: why would someone throw away a perfectly good candlestick in the maze? And then I thought that I recognised it, that I had seen it somewhere before.’
‘Where had you seen it before, Lavinia? Here at Sedgwick?’ asked Rose eagerly. ‘Please try and think. It could be very important.’
‘It seemed familiar, so I suppose I must have seen it at Sedgwick, mustn’t I? But I’m not sure where. I wonder if I passed it every day without noticing it, as if it had become part of the wallpaper. Do you think that very likely, Rose?’
‘Yes I do. We’ll have to check with the servants to see if any of the candlesticks are missing.’
‘Won’t the police be doing that? Can’t we leave it to them?’
‘Yes, of course, it’s just that – ’
‘It’s just that Cedric has asked you to investigate,’ said Lavinia, giving her an ambiguous stare.
‘Yes, do you mind awfully?’
‘That you intend to take it upon yourself to find
the murderer, or that you’re still in love with my brother and he with you?’ Lavinia was looking at her closely, and Rose felt herself blush.
‘Both I suppose,’ she stuttered.
‘Well, I would like you to investigate this murder,’ said Lavinia. ‘You seem to have quite a knack for it. Murder does seem to be rather attracted to you. I daresay that the police will get there eventually, but it may be rather good to have you there sleuthing away to keep them on their toes. I say, do you think it will be the same inspector fellow that investigated at Ashgrove? He investigated the murders at Dareswick too, didn’t he? I thought he was rather handsome, didn’t you? Not that I think he liked me very much. That sergeant of his certainly didn’t.’
‘Scotland Yard is being brought in to investigate Emmeline’s death, and Cedric did ask the chief constable if it might be Inspector Deacon and Sergeant Lane.’
‘Well, there you go,’ said Lavinia. ‘It’ll be them.’
But as it happened, she was only partly right.
Neither woman was inclined to hurry downstairs to join the others in the drawing room. Rose found it pleasant in Lavinia’s room, and the old feeling of camaraderie that they had shared in the dress shop seemed to have returned for some time at least. She assumed that Cedric was still out by the maze awaiting the arrival of the police. She very much feared that Vera had been unable to keep herself from going over to speak to Theo. The result of which was likely to have been ructions or, at the very least, a chilly reception. How she pitied the count, stuck as he was in the room between the two.
When Lavinia and Rose did at last begin to make their way downstairs, they stopped at Jemima’s door on the way. Rose had previously arranged for Jemima to come down with them, as neither Jemima nor Lavinia had indicated that they wished to enter the drawing room alone. Both women anticipated being met with inquisitive stares.
Jemima still looked pale, but to Rose’s relief she appeared more composed than before, holding herself upright with her head thrown back as if prepared to meet the onslaught of compassionate looks and stares that would greet her when she encountered the others. It would certainly be an ordeal, Rose thought, to someone who kept herself so much to herself. She noticed that Lavinia and Jemima both looked at each other warily. Rose wondered if Lavinia had overheard her conversation with Jemima, in particular the girl’s assertion that Lavinia had killed Emmeline.
Despite her posture, Jemima still appeared hesitant at leaving the safety of her room. She closed the door behind her gingerly and held back from the other two, walking in their wake as she had always done with Emmeline. This suited Lavinia well enough but Rose hung back slightly, not wishing the girl to walk alone. In such a fashion they made their way along the corridor and across the landing to the top of the grand staircase leading down to the hall below.
All at once, Jemima seemed to come alive and dashed to a window, in the process almost upsetting a houseplant that was perched rather precariously in front of it on top of an Edwardian, mahogany plant stand.
‘Whatever are you doing, Jemima?’ asked Lavinia haughtily, her voice rather cold.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jemima said apologetically, making sure that the plant pot was securely positioned on its base. ‘I was just wondering whether one could see the maze from here. It’s silly I know, because even if one can, it’ll only be the outside hedges, not the inside. But I can’t bear to think of poor Emmie’s body lying there all alone in the cold. I didn’t even go over to see her, to say goodbye. I suppose it was the shock. I was afraid to go too close … afraid of what I might see. But I should have made myself, shouldn’t I? I should have gone to her, I should – ’
‘Well, I should consider yourself lucky, if I were you,’ interrupted Lavinia, both sounding and looking far from compassionate. ‘I saw Emmeline’s body and it was frightfully awful, I can tell you. I saw all the blood and where – ’
‘We’d better go down,’ Rose said quickly, noticing that Jemima had gone an unhealthy shade of greenish-white. ‘The others will be wondering where we are.’ She glared at Lavinia, who merely raised her eyebrows, made a face, and did not look the least bit repentant.
Silently they made their way downstairs, this time Rose bringing up the rear. She would have followed the two other women into the drawing room had her attention not been caught by the opening of the study door and hearing Cedric’s voice from within. Her instinct was to go to him, but it was obvious that he had company and was in the middle of a conversation, odd words of which she could just make out. She looked at her wristwatch and was surprised by how long she had spent talking to Lavinia in her room. Unless she was mistaken, the men from Scotland Yard had arrived.
Rose decided to make her excuses and loiter in the hall. She realised then how very much she wanted the men to be Inspector Deacon and Sergeant Lane. If it were them, then everything would be all right. She had every faith in the inspector’s police methods and skill at arriving at the truth. And he had considered her an ally rather than a hindrance, keen to obtain her views. Rose blushed, even though there was no one there to see her. The thoughts that she had had before came flooding back. There had been some unpleasantness when Inspector Deacon had realised that she had withheld some information from him and suggested an alibi to a suspect. Of course, she knew she had done it all with the best of intentions. But she could see how he might have been annoyed at the time. And now he would think she had done it again. Worse than that, he would think badly of Cedric. They would both go down in his estimations.
The door of the study opened further and a man came out.
‘Sergeant Lane,’ Rose said with relief, stepping forward. ‘Oh I am so glad it’s you and Inspector Deacon that they’ve sent. It would be too awful if it was anybody else.’
‘Miss Simpson.’ Sergeant Lane looked equally pleased to see her. ‘I wondered whether you’d be here as soon as I heard that the murder had occurred in the grounds of his lordship’s estate. I said to myself, so I did, I wonder if Miss Simpson will be there to give us a hand.’
‘Well, I’d be very pleased to. Where is Inspector Deacon? Is he in there?’ She indicated the study with a wave of her hand. ‘With Lord Belvedere?’
‘No, miss.’ Sergeant Lane looked distinctly uncomfortable.
‘What’s the matter?’ cried Rose, becoming worried. ‘Where is Inspector Deacon? Why isn’t he here with you? Who’s in the study with Cedric?’
‘That would be Inspector Bramwell, miss. It’s him that’s been sent down with me.’
‘Not Inspector Deacon?’ Rose felt fear rising inside her.
She knew instinctively something was wrong. A part of her did not want to know why Inspector Deacon was absent. But another part of her wanted to know very much. Even before she asked her question, she dreaded the answer.
‘Where is Inspector Deacon, Sergeant? Why isn’t he here with you?’
‘I’m afraid he was shot, miss.’
Sergeant Lane’s words hung in the air, and it was a moment or two before Rose could comprehend what he was saying. And if it hadn’t been for the sergeant’s quick thinking in grabbing a chair and placing her very gently in it, then she thought later that she would surely have slumped to the ground as Vera had fallen, on being told of Emmeline’s death.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Miss Simpson, Miss Simpson, are you all right?’
Out of the corner of her eye Rose could see Sergeant Lane’s face peering over her full of concern. His voice sounded anxious. She thought she should say something to allay his fears, but she could not think of what to say; words seemed inadequate.
‘I’m awfully sorry, miss, I daresay I should have softened it a bit. It’ll be the shock, miss, on top of the murder that happened here. I wasn’t thinking straight. Of course you’d be upset, knowing him as you did – ’
‘Was he hurt?’ Rose said at last. ‘When he was shot, was he hurt?’
She saw the pain and confusion on the sergeant’s face. How ridicul
ous her question sounded even to her own ears. Of course he was hurt; he was worse than that. He was dead, lying on some slab in a mortuary somewhere, or perhaps he was already buried in the ground, the funeral long over and done with and all the time she had never known.
‘Yes, miss, he was hurt bad,’ said the sergeant. ‘He was shot twice. We were investigating a burglary and … well, I won’t go into all the details. But he was lucky too. One of the bullets went awfully near one of the main arteries so the doctor said. If it had gone any nearer that would have been it for him. The second bullet – ’
‘What … What are you saying?’ cried Rose as the significance of his words finally sank in. ‘Are you saying he’s alive? He’s not dead? Is that what you are saying?’
‘You thought … Oh, miss, I’ve made a right mess of this, haven’t I just?’ exclaimed Sergeant Lane, chuckling in spite of everything. ‘Lord, miss, no. Inspector Deacon’s not dead. Like I said, he was badly hurt but he’s recuperating and should be as good as new, except for his leg, that is. It’s likely that he’ll walk with a bit of a limp and he might need a stick, but there’s plenty of poor blighters you see worse off than him.’
As if as one, their minds drifted off to the casualties of the Great War, of which Rose’s father had been one. The men who had returned with troubled minds or with missing limbs, who were still common enough sights to remind those who had survived of the great sacrifices made by a generation of men.
‘You’re right, Sergeant,’ Rose said quickly, getting up from her chair. ‘I didn’t quite understand what you were saying, and on top of the murder, well … I’m afraid I found it just too much. But I am quite all right now. And I’m jolly glad Inspector Deacon will be all right.’
03 - Murder at Sedgwick Court Page 13