‘Sit down please, Mr Thistlewaite. We need to investigate all possible motives before we can eliminate them.’
‘Which is why I didn’t want to say anything, Inspector. This was what I was afraid of, that you’d twist my words,’ Felix said, somewhat reluctantly sitting down again. ‘My opinion, for what it’s worth, is that if Vera had decided to kill anyone it would have been that cad of a fiancé of hers, Harrison, not poor Emmeline.’
‘Quite so. Now, let’s move on to when Miss Montacute’s body was discovered. I understand that Lady Lavinia had gone on ahead to look in the maze for her friend. According to the constable’s notes, the rest of the party, of which you were one, followed some three quarters of an hour later and found Lady Lavinia standing over the body with a candlestick in her hand. Is that right?’
‘Yes, quite correct.’
‘And everyone, quite understandably, assumed that Lady Lavinia had done the deed?’
‘Yes. Of course, thinking about it now, it’s quite ridiculous to think that Lavinia could have done anything of the kind.’
‘But understandable given that you didn’t know then that Miss Montacute had been dead some hours,’ Inspector Bramwell said, briskly. ‘Did Lord Belvedere tamper with the evidence at the scene?’
‘Inspector!’ The abruptness of the question had caught Felix unawares. He opened his mouth and then shut it again, reminding the inspector of a fish.
‘It’s a simple enough question, Mr Thistlewaite. Please answer me yes or no. Did Lord Belvedere meddle with the evidence?’
‘Why don’t you ask him?’
‘Because I’m asking you. Did he, or did he not, tamper with the evidence?’
‘Well,’ Felix sank back into his chair, ‘if you must know, he took the candlestick from his sister and wiped it. Then he instructed Rose to take Lavinia into the house to be cleaned up and have her clothes washed.’
‘Did he indeed?’ The inspector looked at him with interest. ‘I take it no one took it upon themselves to try and stop him?’
‘I jolly well did, Inspector,’ said Felix indignantly, ‘but the earl wouldn’t listen to me, told me to go to the devil, would you believe? There was nothing I could do. Miss Simpson tried to reason with him too, but he was having none of it.’
‘Didn’t anyone else try to stop him?’
‘No. I think everyone else was in shock, or just didn’t think. We were all pretty shaken up, I don’t mind telling you, seeing Emmeline’s dead body like that and Lavinia standing over her with that damned candlestick in her hand.’
‘Were you all there to see that?’
‘Yes, everyone … oh … wait a minute. I remember now … Vera, Miss Brewster, wasn’t there. She said she was feeling unwell, so she didn’t join us in the search. I say, it’s rather funny when one comes to think of it.’
‘Oh, what is?’ The inspector looked at Felix with renewed interest, and even Sergeant Lane looked up from his notebook, his pencil hovering above the page like a wasp.
‘Well, Vera of course was not too fond of Miss Montacute and she didn’t see her body, not like the rest of us. She didn’t have to contend with trying to forget that awful image of Emmeline lying there – ’
‘Yes, what of it?’
‘Well, Inspector, when we were making our way back to the house, we saw Miss Simpson in the distance with Lady Lavinia. She had just discharged her to the care of her lady’s maid when Vera came running out of the house all hell-for-leather. Of course we couldn’t hear what she said to Miss Simpson, or Rose to her come to that, but they must have been talking about the murder, mustn’t they?’
‘One would think so, yes.’
‘Well, one moment Vera was tugging at Rose’s sleeve, more than likely trying to find out what had happened, and the next moment she had slumped to the ground in a dead faint. Odd that, isn’t it?’
Chapter Eighteen
‘I don’t see it as being very odd, sir,’ said Sergeant Lane as soon as Felix Thistlewaite had left the room. ‘It seems to me quite natural if Miss Brewster were of a delicate disposition. And even if she wasn’t, mayn’t she have fainted with relief thinking she’d get the doctor’s affections back on the death of Miss Montacute?’
‘Possibly,’ said Inspector Bramwell, sounding far from convinced, ‘although fainting with relief does sound rather fanciful and far-fetched to me. I’m not sure I’ve known any woman do that. You do realise though, don’t you, that that second point of yours gives Miss Brewster a damn good motive for this murder?’
‘I do. Other than that, Mr Thistlewaite wasn’t very forthcoming, was he, sir? I mean to say, we already had our suspicions that Lord Belvedere had tampered with the evidence. If you ask me, sir, the earl would’ve admitted as much if we’d put the question to him.’
‘I dare say he would, particularly now he knows Miss Montacute was killed a few hours before they discovered Lady Lavinia standing over her body. But it doesn’t alter the fact, Lane, that his lordship did a criminal act in doing what he did. Now,’ the inspector leaned back in his chair and, as always, the sergeant could not help wincing at the sound of the springs straining under the policeman’s weight, ‘to your other point. I happen to think Felix Thistlewaite was very forthcoming, although of course his intention was to be anything but.’
‘I’m not sure that I follow you, sir.’
‘He deliberately threw suspicion on Lady Lavinia who, I think we’ll find, had little motive for wishing the deceased dead. And then Miss Brewster as soon as we told him we knew about the attachment that had formed between Dr Harrison and Miss Montacute.’
‘I still don’t think I follow you, sir,’ said Sergeant Lane looking distinctly puzzled.
‘Don’t you, Sergeant?’ Inspector Bramwell frowned at his subordinate, who averted his gaze and took a sudden interest in the cover of his notebook. ‘Well, Lane, it’s my view that he implicated Lady Lavinia because he knew we would not be able to form a case against her, and told us what he did about Miss Brewster because he was well aware that if he didn’t someone else would. They all saw it after all, didn’t they, Miss Brewster fainting in rather a spectacular fashion in front of the house? It was only a question of time before someone mentioned it.’
‘I wonder whether she said anything before she fainted,’ said Sergeant Lane, looking up from his notebook.
‘Your Miss Simpson should be able to tell us that, unless of course,’ the inspector paused to frown again at the sergeant, who sank back into his chair, ‘she decides to keep the information to herself. But what interested me, Sergeant, was that young Mr Thistlewaite seemed to me to be deliberately going out of his way to divert suspicion away from someone else.’
Manning had entered the drawing room to supervise the serving of tea and coffee by the footmen. The man was standing rather awkwardly by the door, in two minds, Rose thought, as to whether to remain or depart. Rather tentatively he made as if to go over to Lavinia, as mistress of the house, but she was busy at that moment having a rather intense conversation with Vera, no doubt telling her in not too kindly tones to leave Theo to himself. Cedric, Rose noticed, was standing equally at a loss beside the doctor, supposedly with the intention of trying to comfort the man, who still looked distraught by what had happened.
She wondered if Cedric rather regretted having spoken to Theo the previous night about his conduct. She could not forget that it had been partly at her instigation that he had done so. The rather unpleasant thought crossed her mind that it might have played a contributory factor in Emmeline’s death. She stared at Theo and tried to dismiss the notion from her mind, but it lingered stubbornly at the fringes of her consciousness. It’s being cooped up in here, she thought, it’s making me think all sorts of strange, irrational things. More to stop herself from thinking such thoughts rather than for something else to do, Rose made her way over to the butler, who looked relieved to see her.
‘Is anything wrong, Manning?’
‘I don’t know that
it is, miss. Not wrong as such. It’s just that the kitchen were wondering what to do about luncheon, although it’s rather late for it, I know. Only it didn’t seem quite right to do anything about it before. His lordship didn’t think anyone would be hungry, but it’s quite a time that’s elapsed since breakfast, so it is. Mrs Farrier, she’s the housekeeper, miss, said fine dining wasn’t the thing at all at a time like this as it could be seen as rather heartless and how it’s also likely that no one will have much of an appetite.
‘I think Mrs Farrier is quite right.’
‘But it’s put Mrs Broughton’s nose out of joint, I can tell you, as she and the kitchen maid were working at the dishes all morning not knowing anything was wrong because we tried to keep things quiet like. Of course, I’d ask Mr Torridge what he thought we should do, as of course he’d know, but he’s having a bit of a nap and I don’t like to wake him given his age and all. All this has hit him very bad, miss. A murder in the grounds.’
‘I’m sure it has, as it has us all,’ said Rose soothingly. ‘I think a little light soup would be best, perhaps a chicken broth, or suchlike?’
Privately she thought Manning very talkative for a butler. She doubted very much whether the revered Torridge would appreciate his deputy advising a guest of all the various goings on and musings in the servants’ hall. But it also occurred to her that the butler might prove useful in furthering her investigations into Emmeline’s death.
‘Manning, I’m sure you’ve heard already that a candlestick was found in the maze. Lady Lavinia thought she recognised it. I wondered whether one was missing from the house. ’
‘Indeed, miss, as I already told the policemen. It’s one of the candlestick’s from the sideboard. It was there last night when dinner was cleared and like as not when I did my rounds, but not this morning, least I don’t think it was. It was one of a pair and the policemen have taken the other one away to compare it with the one found, I suppose.’
‘I see. Thank you, Manning.’
Rose was vaguely aware that where the butler had been standing was now a space, and that the man himself had left the room as noiselessly as he had entered it. She wondered if he had realised the significance of his words.
‘I say, are you all right?’ Cedric was beside her, his face full of concern. ‘You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost.’
Rose put out a hand to him to steady herself. There was something very comforting about his presence. If only he would not leave her side and they could stroll in the grounds of Sedgwick arm in arm as they had done before the arrival of Lavinia and her guests.
‘Cedric, it was one of us that murdered Emmeline.’
‘Are you sure?’ Don’t you think it’s just as likely to have been a failed kidnap attempt?’ Cedric passed his hand through his hair. His face had gone white. ‘I’ve been rather hoping that all this might not have had anything to do with Sedgwick, apart from Emmeline’s body being found in the maze, that is …’
‘No, I’m afraid the weapon was taken from this house. Lavinia thought she recognised it and Manning’s just confirmed that it was one of the candlesticks from the sideboard. I remember it now, what it looked like, I mean.’
‘And you think that proves that whoever murdered Emmeline was someone in this house?’
‘Of course it does. It can’t mean anything else, Cedric, no matter how much we might wish it otherwise.’
‘I suppose no one would think to break into the house and then go to the maze.’ Cedric sighed. ‘Even if they had, Manning would have told me about it if the servants had seen any signs of a forced entry.’
‘And don’t you see, Cedric? Every one of us would have seen the candlestick at each meal and known where to get it when looking for a weapon.’
‘You’re quite right of course, I didn’t think of that.’
‘There’s more, I’m afraid. According to Manning the candlestick was still on the sideboard when the house was locked up for the night. No one from outside could have taken it unless they had broken into the house, and we have already established that did not happen. Besides, the maze is nowhere near the house. They would have had no reason to come here, unless…’
‘Yes?’ Cedric looked at her hopefully, grasping at anything that might suggest that the murder had been done by someone outside the house.
‘I was going to say unless the murderer had arranged with Emmeline to come to the house and escort her to the maze,’ said Rose. ‘But it doesn’t seem very likely, does it?’
‘No.’ Cedric shrugged his shoulders and looked despondent.
‘And another thing. I don’t think even Lavinia’s guests knew the maze was here until you mentioned it last night. It’s unlikely anyone else would have known of its existence unless they’d been here before.’ She looked at him rather reprovingly. ‘Even I didn’t know about it.’
‘Didn’t you? Hadn’t I mentioned it to you before? Of course I was going to show it to you.’ Cedric suddenly paled. ‘I say, what you said just now. You mean if I hadn’t spoken – ’
‘No,’ said Rose quickly, ‘I think the murder would have happened anyway, only perhaps not in the maze. I say, I wonder what did make Emmeline decide to go there when it was still pitch black outside. That’s what we’ve got to find out, Cedric.’
‘Count Fernand, is it?’
Inspector Bramwell eyed the newcomer with obvious suspicion. The count had seen fit not to wear his scarlet waistcoat or full length black cape for the interview, but there was still an air of flamboyance to both his dress and manner that the inspector found irritating. What was more, he’d swear the man dyed his hair.
‘Now how should I address you, sir? Your Illustrious Highness perhaps, or my lord or – ’
‘Sir, will be perfectly satisfactory, Inspector. In this country I do not consider myself a princely count. To everyone in this country I am nothing, no more important than the man who sweeps the street, but in my own country – ’
‘Which is?’ the inspector interrupted sharply.
‘I beg your pardon, Inspector?’
Was it the policeman’s imagination, or did he see a flicker of fear cross the man’s face?
‘If you don’t mind my saying, sir, everyone seems to be a little unclear as to which country you actually come from.’
‘The country that I come from, Inspector,’ said Count Fernand, having regained his composure, ‘it is little and insignificant. You Englishmen, you will not have heard of it. If I tell you its name, it will mean nothing to you, nothing, absolutely nothing.’
The count’s voice had risen all the while he had been speaking. The ensuing silence appeared harsh, broken only by the word “nothing” which seemed to echo around the room.
‘Oh, I don’t know about that, sir. I was particularly good at geography at school, so I was. One of my best subjects. Even now, I think I can tell you all the capital cities of – ’
‘I assure you, Inspector,’ the count said, eyeing the policeman coldly, ‘you will not have heard of my country.’
‘That might well be, sir, but I’d still like to hear where you hail from.’
The inspector was greeted by another silence that threatened to become uncomfortable. He looked across the table at the handsome features of his companion and noticed that his forehead was furrowed and that he appeared to be finding a spot on the study carpet particularly fascinating.
‘I tell you what, sir, suppose we help you out if we can, shall we?’ said Inspector Bramwell, adopting a hearty tone and sitting back in his chair. ‘My sergeant here will go into the library and see if he can find an atlas. I’m sure they’ll have a fine one in a grand house like this one, where they must read plenty of books or at least have them on display. And then you can point it out to us on a map, your country I mean. You won’t even have to say the name out loud, if you don’t want to. It’s just so my sergeant has something to write down in his notebook. What say you, shall we do that, sir?’
There was another
awkward silence. The inspector was looking at the count so intensely that the young man appeared to physically recoil, shrinking back into his chair. Sergeant Lane had looked up from his notebook, and was watching the proceedings with interest. Count Fernand had entered the room with something of a princely swagger aimed at achieving maximum effect. Now he seemed to wish to disappear into the very chair in which he was sitting.
‘No,’ said the count, finally. He had uttered the one word scarcely above a whisper so that the sergeant, who was sitting a little distance from him, had to lean forward to catch what he said.
‘I thought as much.’ Any pretence at civility had disappeared from Inspector Bramwell’s manner, to be replaced instead by something akin to contempt. ‘Now listen to me, count. I will still call you count although I doubt that you have any more right to use that title than my sergeant here does. I see through you and so, as it happens, does Lord Belvedere. You are an impostor, sir; that is clear. I’ll wager too that you are an Englishman. As to what your game is, I can’t say that personally I’m very interested unless it has a bearing on this murder.’ He sighed. ‘Although unfortunately, tedious though it is, I feel duty bound to investigate your purpose for being here masquerading as someone you are clearly not.’
‘It doesn’t have any bearing on Miss Montacute’s death,’ the count replied sullenly, all traces of an accent having left his lips.
‘Glad to hear it, although I will be the judge of that.’ Inspector Bramwell got up from his chair and began to pace the room. ‘This game of yours, adopting the disguise of some illustrious personage, what is your aim, young man?’ He looked at the count, who purposely averted his gaze. ‘Well, then, we’ll just have to think the worst, won’t we, Lane? Your intention, I imagine’ said the inspector, turning back to address Count Fernand, ‘is to ingratiate yourself with ladies of fortune. Whether you do this to travel the world at their expense or to receive gifts that will support you in your lavish way of life, who can tell? Perhaps you are even seeking an advantageous marriage?’
03 - Murder at Sedgwick Court Page 17