It occurred to Rose that she had made rather a spectacle of herself. She was grateful that the sergeant had been the only person there to witness it. Thankfully none of the footmen were present so it would not form a part of servant gossip, and Cedric and Inspector Bramwell were still in the study in discussion.
‘Do you see anything of Inspector Deacon while he’s recuperating?’ Rose asked. ‘If you do, I’d be grateful if you would pass on my best wishes. And Lord Belvedere’s as well, of course. Cedric will be as upset as I am to hear about him being wounded.’
‘Yes, miss, I see a bit of him. He likes to keep his hand in, so to speak, you know, hear all about the cases that we’re investigating. My guess is that he gets a bit bored like, stuck there all alone in his lodgings with just his landlady for company. But hopefully it won’t be too long before he’s back at the Yard. The place is not the same without him there, so it isn’t.’
‘We, that is, Cedric and I, were rather hoping you’d both be investigating this murder. What is Inspector Bramwell like? Is he any good?’
‘He’s got a fearsome reputation at the Yard, miss,’ replied Sergeant Lane. ‘You don’t get to where he is without being good at your job. But he’s a lot different from Inspector Deacon in his manner and how he tackles an investigation so I’ve heard, although I’ve not had the pleasure of working with him before. He’ll not take any nonsense and, between you and me, he can be somewhat abrupt, but he gets the job done.’
‘Goodness,’ said Rose, ‘he sounds rather frightening. But I’m awfully glad you’re here.’
‘Oh, he’s that, miss,’ agreed the sergeant, a twinkle in his eye. ‘I think I’d better warn you that he’s none too fond of amateur sleuths, so if you have a mind to investigate this murder yourself you’d do best not to say so to him.’
‘Well, my lord, this is a rum go and no mistake,’ said Inspector Bramwell, sitting himself down heavily in the seat offered him.
He was quite a bulk of a man and it occurred to Cedric that it might have been wise to have offered him a sturdier chair in which to take the weight off his feet. The young earl was doing his best not to show the disappointment he felt on finding that Inspector Deacon would not be investigating Emmeline’s death. Unfortunately he had taken an instant and probably wholly unreasonable dislike to the fellow sitting in front of him.
‘I feel pretty shaken up about it, I don’t mind telling you,’ Cedric concurred. ‘No doubt Sergeant Lane has already told you that Miss Simpson and I have had some experience of this sort of thing. But it’s somewhat different when it occurs in one’s own home. I still can’t quite believe it’s happened, and the maze of all places, I – ’
‘Now then, my lord, I’m sure it’s awful for you and all, but there’s no use crying over spilt milk or pretending like it’s not happened, because it has.’
‘Oh,’ said Cedric, somewhat taken about by the man’s rudeness. ‘I was just saying that – ’
‘I’m sure you were. But we’ve got a murder to investigate and there’s no time to waste. We need to get down to business, so to speak.’
The inspector paused to give Cedric a particularly penetrating stare. It gave Cedric the opportunity to look at the man more closely. As he described him to Rose later, Inspector Bramwell was of middle age and of heavy build, and had small, watery grey eyes and a double chin. His suit and shirt, although both of reasonable quality, looked a couple of sizes too small for him so that the buttons on his shirt threatened to come undone, and his stomach bulged over the waistband of his trousers in a way that was not at all becoming. To make matters worse, he persisted in continually mopping his brow with his handkerchief during their conversation, although the study was far from warm, the fire having not long been lit. The variance in manner and appearance between Inspector Bramwell and Inspector Deacon could not be greater and Cedric found it disquieting. He felt his heart sinking.
‘I understand there was some delay in notifying us of the death,’ the inspector said at last, ‘but we’ll come to that later.’
Cedric felt himself go red and turned his attention to studying an invisible fleck of material that he had just noticed on his trouser leg. He spent a moment or two engaged in flicking it away, wondering how the inspector would take the news that in addition to his tardiness in notifying the police of the murder, some of the evidence had also been tampered with, and he again was the culprit. It was a moment or two before he looked up and met the inspector’s gaze.
‘I daresay I’ll go about this investigation slightly differently to what you’ve been used to. Inspector Deacon and I do things differently, I’d imagine. No doubt he was mindful that the murders he was investigating were at the homes of the gentry and so liked to tread careful like, so as not to ruffle any feathers.’ The inspector snorted and leaned forward in his chair. ‘I work differently, my lord. I have no qualms about ruffling feathers. In fact, I rather enjoy it. And it makes no difference to me whether a murder’s occurred in a slum or an ancestral home, or whether the victim is a lady of the streets or a member of the British aristocracy. Me, I treat them just the same. That’s not to say that I don’t care, because I do. They all matter to me and I’ll do all that I can to see that those responsible are brought to justice.’ He sat back heavily in his chair. ‘I do hope I have made myself clear, my lord?’
‘Perfectly, Inspector,’ replied Cedric, quite at a loss as to what to make of the man.
‘Right, now that we have got that out of the way, I’ll ask you about who’s staying here at Sedgwick. Friends and family, I gather, a proper little country house-party, am I right, eh?’
Cedric noticed that the inspector had an irritating habit of jabbing the air with his finger when putting a question. He decided there and then that he disliked the man very much.
‘The people staying at Sedgwick this weekend, Inspector, are myself and my sister, Lady Lavinia Sedgwick. Miss Simpson, who is a friend of us both is here too, as are Dr Harrison and his fiancée, Miss Brewster, who are guests, and finally a number of acquaintances of my sister. Friends made during her recent travels on the Continent. I’m afraid I know very little about them, except that the woman who was murdered was Emmeline Montacute, of whom you probably know more about than I do myself.’
‘Is that so?’ said Inspector Bramwell. ‘Well, suppose you tell me what you do know about your sister’s new friends. Let’s start with their names.’
‘Very well,’ said Cedric rather coldly.
He considered that it was a significant disadvantage for a man in the inspector’s position to have such an unfortunate manner about him. His inclination was to be as unhelpful as possible, but instead he took a deep breath and decided to address himself to a space just above the inspector’s shoulder so that he was not obliged to look the man in the eye.
‘Well, first I suppose there is Miss Jemima Wentmore. She was a sort of friend-cum-companion to Miss Montacute, I think; her exact position was never made very clear. Then there is Felix Thistlewaite. I’m afraid that I don’t know much about him except that he has a rich old aunt who was paying for him to go on a sort of European tour before he settled down to work as an articled clerk at some London legal establishment. Poor devil, his last few days of living the life of a man of leisure have been completely ruined for him.’
‘Well, I’d say he was jolly fortunate to have gone on his European tour. Not all of us have a rich old aunt to treat us,’ said the inspector. He looked at a place a little distance behind Cedric. ‘Are you getting all this down, Lane?’
Cedric assumed that the sergeant must have nodded, for he did not hear him reply. He had forgotten that Sergeant Lane was there and imagined that was the inspector’s intention. Suspects and witnesses were far more willing to speak freely if they were not constantly reminded that every word they uttered was being written down. He wished he could catch Sergeant Lane’s eye for he considered Inspector Bramwell was unlikely to be the sergeant’s cup of tea.
‘Anyo
ne else?’ enquired the inspector, turning back to scrutinise Cedric, ‘or is that the lot?’
‘There’s just Count Fernand,’ began Cedric.
‘Count Fernand?’ said the Inspector snorting. ‘Isn’t he a character out of Dumas’s The Count of Montecristo?’
‘Very likely, Inspector,’ agreed Cedric. ‘Fernand Mondego, if I am not mistaken, was Count de Morcerf.’
‘Well, and who’s this fellow of yours, my lord, when he’s at home?’
‘I wish I knew. He’s a count from a far off land, that’s all I know about him. He’s a dashed evasive fellow when it comes to providing details about himself. Damned if I know which country he hails from. When I enquired, when we were first introduced, why, blow me if the chap didn’t mumble. I didn’t feel I could ask him again. Awfully bad form you know, Inspector, to show one’s not been listening to one’s guest, what. But he gets on well with the ladies.’
Cedric noticed that the inspector was studying him closely. He wondered whether he had overdone things a bit and blushed. It occurred to him that the inspector might not be so much of a fool as he first appeared.
‘So if I understand you rightly, my lord, you have certain reservations about Count Fernand?’ Inspector Bramwell did not wait for Cedric to answer but turned instead to address the sergeant. ‘Take a note of that if you will, Lane. Our Count Fernand requires some further scrutiny.’
There were a few moments of silence as the Earl of Belvedere and the inspector from Scotland Yard regarded each other. Cedric braced himself to face the verbal onslaught which was surely inevitable. Inspector Bramwell would require him to explain why he had deliberately meddled with the evidence and delayed telephoning for the police. And how he would answer, he was not quite sure. He had a story to hand that he had gone over and over in his mind but, now that he had come face to face with the inspector, he felt it wouldn’t do. Inspector Bramwell was unlikely to swallow it. More than that, he realised, while Inspector Deacon would have been annoyed, he would have let it go with a reprimand. Inspector Bramwell was a completely different kettle of fish. He doubted very much whether he would be so obliging.
‘Thank you, my lord. That will be all for the present time.’ The inspector seemed to stifle a yawn. ‘You may go back to the drawing room and join the others. We shall of course want to speak to you later. There’ll be one or two questions that we shall want to put to you.’ He turned his head to look at the policeman. ‘Sergeant, I’d like you to talk to the servants now, hear what they’ve got to say for themselves.’
Sergeant Lane got up from his chair and taking his notebook and pencil with him made to leave the room. Having got to the door he half opened it, but lingered a moment or two as if reluctant to go.
‘What?’ Cedric looked at the inspector in amazement. ‘I mean to say, don’t you want to ask me some more questions? You haven’t asked me anything yet about Emmeline; where I was when she was killed, who I think might have wanted to hurt her, that sort of thing.’
‘All in good time, Lord Belvedere. By your own account you hardly knew Emmeline Montacute.’ Inspector Bramwell looked up at the door, as if suddenly aware that Sergeant Lane had not left. ‘Still here, Sergeant? Ah, is that footsteps I hear in the hall? Possibly the ladies have come down now?’
‘Odious man, the inspector’ said Cedric to Rose, when he caught up with her later in the drawing room. ‘He’s a damned rude sort of chap. Goes out of his way to be so, as far as I could tell. Can’t make him out at all. He didn’t ask me any questions about the murder, just said that he would speak to me later, and he’s sent poor old Sergeant Lane off to interview the servants. Bring back Inspector Deacon, I say.’
He turned and for the first time registered the presence of the other women in the room.
‘I say, I’m pleased you managed to persuade Lavinia and Jemima to leave their rooms. I got the distinct impression that the inspector was none too pleased that we hadn’t all kept together in one room. Heaven knows what he thought either of them were going to do.’ He studied them closely ‘My sister at least looks to be bearing up quite well after the shock. That’s to say she looks an awful lot better than she did in the maze. I’ll just go and have a word with her. Do you think that I should offer my condolences to Jemima, or would that be bad form?’
‘That would be kind. Tell me, is Inspector Bramwell really so awful, Cedric?’ Rose asked, worried. ‘Sergeant Lane said he was good at his job.’
‘Oh, I’m not saying he’s not sharp,’ reassured Cedric, ‘because I think he is. It’s just that he seems to go out of his way to put people’s backs up. And he has an odd way of doing things, although I suppose there must be some method in his madness.’
Chapter Sixteen
Having interviewed the servants, Sergeant Lane returned to the study. Although some considerable time had elapsed he was not unduly surprised to find the inspector in exactly the same position as when he had left him, namely settled comfortably in Cedric’s buttoned-velvet captain’s chair, and seated behind his large, walnut, estate desk. Due to his build, the sergeant had considered Inspector Bramwell to be more of a man for quiet contemplation than physical activity. He cast an anxious eye at the chair wondering how the spindles were bearing up under the strain of Inspector Bramwell’s not insignificant weight.
‘Ah, Sergeant, back are you? No doubt with some tales to tell. And I’ve not been idle, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve been finding out all there is to know about the unfortunate Miss Emmeline Montacute.’
Inspector Bramwell leaned back in his chair making it creak and Sergeant Lane wince. The inspector gave his subordinate a smug smile.
‘Have you, sir?’
‘I have. I hope it’ll throw some light on the circumstances leading up to her untimely death. I find it helps to have a picture in my mind of the murder victim. As Lord Belvedere says, it seems she was an heiress. You’ve no doubt been in some of them Montacute department stores, Sergeant.’
‘One or two, sir.’
‘All over the place they are, least in all the big cities. Owned by her father, they are. She stood to inherit the entire Montacute fortune on his death, so she’d have come in for a pretty penny. Of course, we’ll have to find out what happens to the money now she’s dead. Who’ll inherit the fortune, that’s what we’ve got to find out.’
‘It should be easy enough, shouldn’t it, sir, to find out who’ll inherit her father’s fortune? All we need to do is have a word with the man himself. Speaking of whom, have you been able to notify him about his daughter’s death?’ The sergeant sighed. ‘I think I’m right in thinking she was his only child. The poor fellow will be grief stricken.’
‘Yes, she was an only child, and no I haven’t been able to get hold of Montacute,’ replied the inspector. ‘I managed to get hold of Montacute’s secretary though, a chap named Stapleton, who informed me the gentleman’s off on his travels acquiring new merchandise to sell in his department stores. Went to New York, so Stapleton says, and been gone some two months all told. I thought we’d have to cable him but, as fortune has it, he’s due to dock in Liverpool in a day or two. The secretary’s making his way down there now so as to be there to break the news to him as soon as he disembarks. He’s awful keen to make sure Montacute hears the news about the daughter from him, poor fellow, and not from the newspapers. Of course, we’ll make sure one of the local constables accompanies him.’
‘Well, I daresay that’ll make our job easier,’ muttered Sergeant Lane. ‘I wouldn’t have recognised the poor girl as being Miss Montacute. I can’t say I’ve ever seen a photograph of the young lady in the society pages, which seems strange given her position.’
‘That’s because the old man has kept her cloistered away in the Scottish Highlands. There’d been a kidnap attempt made on Miss Montacute some years back, which you may remember. It was foiled just in time, but I understand it was a very close thing. It put the wind up Montacute something dreadful, so I’m told. He was
driven half mad with the worry of it all, quite convinced another attempt would be made to snatch his daughter unless he took steps to ensure her safety. Not content with residing in as remote a place as possible, he also took measures to ensure that no photographs of his daughter ever appeared in the newspapers.’
‘Yet, despite all that,’ Sergeant Lane said reflectively, ‘someone did manage to get to Miss Montacute.’
‘They did indeed, and kidnap, or should I say a failed kidnap attempt, must be one of the motives that we shall have to consider. It would appear that the girl was rather reckless about her own safety when given the opportunity. She waited for old Papa to go off on one of his travels, which I am given to understand happened infrequently, and then did a moonlight flit, so to speak, with that companion friend of hers, Miss Wentmore. It was quite a shock for poor old Stapleton, who’d been charged with the daughter’s safety in his employer’s absence. Most indignant about it he was too. Said there was no reason for them to leave the way they did.’
‘Oh?’
‘Mr Montacute’s only stipulation was that a number of servants should accompany them for their own safety. The secretary’s been beside himself with worry. The girls had left no indication of where they’d gone or when they’d be back. He and the servants had been praying that they’d be returned and safely ensconced in the Highlands before Montacute arrived back from America.’
‘Poor fellow, I don’t envy his task,’ said Sergeant Lane, producing his notebook and jotting down a few notes. ‘I take it Montacute is likely to hold him partially responsible for his daughter’s death?’
‘The man thinks he’s likely to lose his job over it,’ confirmed the inspector. ‘Damned unfair, of course, because girls are dashed independent these days. Stapleton tells me he holds Miss Wentmore responsible. He’s of the opinion that it was all her idea. Says Miss Montacute would never have considered doing anything so foolhardy left to her own devices; says what happened is solely due to Miss Wentmore and the influence she had over the girl.’
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