03 - Murder at Sedgwick Court

by Margaret Addison

  ‘Theo. Please.’ This time she raised her voice slightly and accompanied her words by pulling at his elbow, an impatient, desperate gesture to make him aware of her. ‘Let’s go outside. Let’s join the others. You’ve being sitting here staring at the fire far too long. It won’t do you any good, you know, brooding like this.’

  ‘Leave me alone, Vera.’

  Theo’s voice sounded weary and as if it came from a long way away. The doctor passed a hand over his eyes. She could not decide whether he did so because he did not wish to look at her or because he was tired.

  ‘Theo – ’

  ‘For goodness sake leave me alone, Vera.’

  He pushed her hand away with such force that she almost lost her balance. She wondered what he would have done if she had toppled backwards into the fire.

  ‘Go away! How many times do I have to tell you? I’ve never hit a woman before, but heaven help me, Vera, I’ll strike you if you don’t leave me alone.’

  For a moment she was so taken aback that she felt unable to move or do anything but gape, her mouth open, her eyes wide. Theo had never spoken to her like that before. On no occasion had she heard such venom in his voice. Indeed she had not known that he was capable of such anger. She could not have been more shocked if he had carried out his threat and struck her. If it were possible, she felt more wretched than before. Even so, a part of her longed to stand her ground and cling on to him. The others had been right to be concerned, to stop her from undertaking her self-destructive path. But she didn’t want to let go. She was not prepared to lose after all that she had done. She desperately wanted to continue her attempts, no matter how futile, to reclaim him to her and banish all contemplation of Emmeline from his mind. But, even as these thoughts passed through her mind, she discovered that he had frightened her so badly that her instinct for self-preservation had already resulted in her recoiling from him, edging away towards the French windows where she stumbled into Jemima, returning from her walk.

  ‘Well,’ said Cedric, from his position seated beside Rose on a small wooden bench, her arm tucked comfortably through his. ‘That didn’t seem to go very well, did it?’

  He was referring to the encounter between Jemima and Felix, which they had witnessed from a distance.

  ‘No, I thought they seemed very wary of each other, didn’t you? They weren’t at all like that the other day.’

  ‘I say, do you think they suspect each other of murdering Emmeline?’

  ‘I don’t know. Jemima certainly looked a little afraid of Felix, don’t you think?’

  ‘I do,’ said Cedric. ‘I can’t quite make Jemima out, can you? She seems to keep everything bottled up inside herself while keeping us at bay. I wanted to commiserate with her on Emmeline’s death, but she gave me such a reproachful look that I didn’t dare go near her.’

  ‘I think she’s frightened, but what of, I couldn’t say,’ said Rose.

  She looked back across the lawns at the grand Georgian mansion that had been the Sedgwicks’ ancestral home since she did not quite know when, and then out across the parkland to the very edges of the estate. Her gaze took in the sunken ha-ha fences, the lakes and the eye-catchers, all of which Cedric had shown to her so proudly when she had first arrived at Sedgwick, blissfully unaware of what lay ahead. She remembered that she had caught her breath at the scale of it all, the sprawling estate that had been Cedric’s childhood home.

  She thought of the small terraced house that she shared with her mother, and which they found so difficult to maintain without the assistance of paying guests. Her eyes misted with unshed tears and blinking them away she allowed her gaze to stray reluctantly in the direction of the maze. Was it her imagination, or did the hedges appear darker and more dense? It was as if the maze had become some forbidden corner, closed off from the rest of the estate.

  ‘It’s no good, you know, Cedric,’ Rose said, leaning her head against his shoulder. ‘This talk of running away won’t do. We can’t pretend that things will resolve themselves, no matter how much we may want it.’

  ‘I know. I was only saying out loud what I wished could happen.’ Cedric got slowly to his feet and pulled Rose up with him into a long embrace. ‘Of course you’re right, my darling. I suppose I had better step back into the role of the Earl of Belvedere, adopt my official façade and go back inside now and face the inspector. I’ll sit there meekly and have my knuckles rapped, and be told that I am a disgrace to my country and my class.’

  ‘Does he know that you tampered with the evidence?’

  ‘Yes, Felix was good enough to give me the nod about it before he was frogmarched upstairs. He managed to give the constable the slip for a few moments and dashed into the drawing room to tell me.’

  ‘That was good of him.’

  ‘Yes, wasn’t it? Jolly decent of him. He said that the inspector already seemed to know all about it, and put it to him more as a given fact than as a question. He said it threw him completely off his stride, and that before he knew what he was doing he was telling the inspector all about it.’

  ‘Poor Felix.’

  ‘I say, I’ve just remembered something. I meant to tell you earlier but didn’t get the opportunity to do so. I was feeling rather guilty asking you to investigate Emmeline’s murder. I thought I ought to play my part and undertake a little investigating of my own.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. I was thinking about when Emmeline and I went horse riding yesterday. The girl was absolutely petrified and yet Lavinia claimed she was an accomplished horsewoman. The two things didn’t seem to tally. When I took Lavinia to task about it later, she swore blind that she had read in some rag or other about how well Emmeline rode to hounds.’

  ‘It was Lavinia’s idea that Emmeline should go out riding with you, not Emmeline’s. Although I suppose that doesn’t really prove anything, does it?’

  ‘Ah, but that’s not all. I told you that I did a bit of sleuthing of my own.’ Cedric gave a schoolboy grin. It lit up his face and made him look very young. ‘Inspector Bramwell had me going backwards and forwards between the maze and the house a few times today answering questions and pointing things out to the policemen. He was adamant that I should do it and not a servant. Perhaps he regarded it as my penance for meddling with the evidence.’

  ‘So what did you do?’ asked Rose intrigued.

  ‘I took the opportunity to go across to the stables and have a word with Cryer. He’s our head groom. There’s very little that Cryer doesn’t know about horses and riders, and what there is, isn’t worth knowing. The man absolutely devours every edition of Horse & Hound that I pass on to him.’

  ‘So did you ask him if he had read anything about Emmeline riding to hounds?’

  ‘I did. And do you know what he said?’

  ‘No, but I’m certain you’re going to tell me.’

  ‘He said that he’d read somewhere that she was awfully good at keeping up with the pack and thought nothing of jumping hedges that others went miles out of their way to avoid.’

  ‘Why, that doesn’t make any sense,’ cried Rose. ‘If Emmeline was so at home riding to hounds, why should she be daunted at going out on a hack with you?’

  ‘I can’t begin to imagine,’ said Cedric. ‘I say, I hope she hadn’t suddenly taken against me.’

  ‘I’m sure she hadn’t. Now … given what we now know of her exploits on horseback, there was no earthly reason for her being afraid of going for a ride around the estate. Unless of course she had a nasty fall that had suddenly put her off riding for life. But … no, that won’t do. Cryer would have read about it. Unless ... and it really seems the only explanation … oh, but it seems too fanciful.’

  ‘Unless what?’ prompted Cedric.

  ‘Unless Emmeline Montacute wasn’t Emmeline Montacute at all.’

  Chapter Twenty-one

  ‘And you think that, why, Miss Simpson?’

  Inspector Bramwell was looking at her as if she had gone quite mad. Even Serge
ant Lane was looking a little embarrassed on her behalf as if she had said something rather ridiculous. On reflection perhaps she had. Rose sighed. She was beginning to wish that she had kept quiet about her suspicions, certainly until she had got the measure of the man sitting before her, his eyebrows raised and with an expression of incredulity on his face. Even Cedric, who had absolute faith in her detective abilities and had provided her with the evidence to support her suspicions, had thought her theory that the woman purporting to be Emmeline Montacute had been an impostor rather far-fetched. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she realised she was beginning to have second thoughts herself.

  ‘I’ve already told you, Inspector. The woman who was murdered had very little experience of riding a horse. Emmeline Montacute was an accomplished rider.’

  ‘According to some article in a magazine? Well, where is this article, Miss Simpson? And even if it does exist, what does it prove?’ Inspector Bramwell tapped the desk with his fingers as if the answer would be found there. ‘I’ll tell you what it proves. That the writer confused one rich young woman with another. It happens all the time I should imagine. No, Miss Simpson. You’ll have to do much better than that to convince me that the murdered woman was not Emmeline Montacute.’

  Rose opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it. If nothing else, she was at a loss as to what to say. To make matters worse, she was conscious of the inspector looking at her through watery eyes which looked surprisingly alert. She blushed and to her annoyance saw a look of satisfaction appear on the inspector’s face. He almost chuckled and proceeded to regard her with a paternal smile. He leaned back into his chair and she heard the springs strain under his weight. Her mind conjured up the not too unpleasing image of him falling through the seat of the chair on to the floor.

  ‘Now then,’ began Inspector Bramwell, his voice softening.

  Rose immediately felt guilty for her uncharitable thoughts, and tried not to think of the sagging chair.

  ‘This just goes to show you, Miss Simpson, why it’s always best to leave things to the police to investigate. It’s our job after all. It’s what we’re paid to do, and trained for.’

  ‘But – ’

  I’m not saying you didn’t mean well, miss, but it really won’t do. We can’t have members of the public putting their noses into things that don’t concern them and muddying the waters with absurd suppositions. For one thing, it’s not safe. There is a murderer among you, Miss Simpson, who I doubt very much will take too kindly to you stirring things up by asking awkward questions. You need to leave that for us to do.’

  ‘Will you at least find out whether Emmeline Montacute is at her home in the Highlands?’

  ‘We’ve already done that, miss,’ Sergeant Lane said. ‘Miss Montacute and Miss Wentmore aren’t there. By all accounts they just upped and left without a word. The servants were most put out.’

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ said Inspector Bramwell, giving his subordinate a reproving stare. ‘Now, Miss Simpson. You mustn’t take it into your head that we don’t investigate matters thoroughly, because we do. And as to your concerns regarding whether Miss Montacute was Miss Montacute … well, you can put them to rest. Mr Montacute is returning from his travels and should be with us in a day or two. He’ll officially identify the body, of course, and I think you’ll agree that he’ll know as well as anyone whether the body’s that of his daughter or not.’

  ‘Yes. Of course you are right. But perhaps you could arrange for him to see Miss Wentmore first,’ suggested Rose. ‘You see, if the body’s not that of Miss Montacute, it stands to reason that the woman calling herself Jemima Wentmore is not Jemima Wentmore. You do see that, don’t you, Inspector?’

  ‘I do. We will of course be doing just that, Miss Simpson. Mr Montacute will want to have a few quiet words with his daughter’s companion, I have no doubt, and we’ll ensure that he does. So you see, everything’s in hand. You needn’t worry. We’ll know the lay of the land as soon as Mr Montacute lays eyes on Miss Wentmore so to speak.’

  ‘So you do think I could be right?’

  ‘I’m not saying that, Miss Simpson. I’m not saying that at all.’ The inspector frowned and looked at his notes. ‘Well now, I think we’ve wasted enough time on this, don’t you? May I remind you, Miss Simpson, that it is for us to put questions to you and not the other way around?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Inspector. There are just one or two other things that make me think that the deceased is not –’

  ‘Miss Simpson!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Inspector. I won’t say anything more about it,’ Rose said hurriedly. ‘Please do go on with your questions. What would you like to ask me?’

  ‘Thank you. Did Lord Belvedere interfere with the evidence?’

  ‘Oh!’ Rose was taken aback by the abruptness of the question. ‘Well … yes … I suppose he did. But I know for an absolute fact that he means to tell you all about it himself. He’s very ashamed about it. He knows that what he did was very wrong. He would have told you about it himself already if you’d only given him an opportunity to do so.’

  ‘Is that so? Well, perhaps while you’re here, you’ll tell me about it, Miss Simpson.’

  ‘Of course. Now, let me see … yes, Lord Belvedere took the candlestick from Lavinia, wiped it and then asked me to see to his sister and take her up to the house.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to protest?’

  ‘Of course I did, Inspector. I tried to, and so did Felix Thistlewaite. But it was no good. Lord Belvedere was not in a mood to be reasoned with.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘I imagine it was because he was under the impression that his sister had just murdered Miss Montacute.’

  ‘And is that what you all thought?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose we did all think that at the time. Lavinia was standing over Emmeline’s body holding a candlestick smeared with blood. It was difficult to think anything else.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘But of course we know now that didn’t happen. Emmeline was killed much earlier and really Lavinia had no reason to wish her dead. And … well … the candlestick, Inspector. I know it was very wrong of Lord Belvedere to tamper with the candlestick and he feels absolutely awful about it now. But, really I don’t think much real harm has been done, do you?’

  ‘What makes you say that, Miss Simpson?’

  ‘Well, it would have been awfully cold when Emmeline was killed. It was still jolly chilly when we set out to search for her. We were all wrapped up in coats and scarves. Don’t you think, Inspector, it is far more likely than not that the murderer was wearing gloves when they struck Miss Montacute with the candlestick? And if that was so, they wouldn’t have left any fingerprints, even if Lord Belvedere hadn’t wiped them off.’

  ‘Possibly,’ conceded the inspector. ‘Tell me, was Lady Lavinia wearing gloves when you found her clutching the candlestick?’

  ‘Well … no, of course not, otherwise Lord Belvedere wouldn’t have gone to the bother of wiping the candlestick, would he?’

  ‘Ah! Then perhaps your theory is not quite as robust as you seem to think it, Miss Simpson. The murderer may well have been wearing gloves as you suppose. But I think it very likely they would have taken them off before they swung the candlestick in order to give them a better grip on the instrument. Just as Lady Lavinia removed her gloves to pick up the candlestick.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Rose wished she had kept quiet. For it occurred to her that by saying what she had done, she had only made matters worse.

  ‘I understand the lady’s maid came out of the house to see to her mistress?’

  ‘Yes … I suppose I ought to tell you that she ran a bath for Lavinia, and … took the clothes she was wearing to be washed.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to stop her?’

  ‘Yes … no, I ... Lavinia was in quite a state, as you can imagine. I thought a hot bath was just what she required. I was worried about her, Inspector. If
you had seen her, you would have been too.’ Rose put a hand to her forehead. ‘I did try and stop the clothes being washed, of course I did, but everything happened so quickly, and then it was all too late and … I know I should not have let them out of my sight. But it was not as if they were covered in blood, far from it. There were only a few traces of blood on Lady Lavinia’s coat from what I could see, smears from her hands or the candlestick, I imagine ...’

  Rose faltered, discouraged from continuing by the look on the inspector’s face.

  There then followed an awkward silence. Rose glanced at the inspector and saw that he was regarding her closely. After a few moments he cleared his throat and Rose, taking a deep breath, readied herself to be severely admonished for her various shortcomings.

  ‘Do you recognise these diamonds, Miss Simpson?’ The inspector produced a diamond necklace from his pocket.

  ‘Oh! Do I recognise …? Let me see.’

  Rose bent forward eagerly in her seat and took the necklace from him, holding it up so that she could study it closely. ‘Why … yes, I think it’s Emmeline’s necklace, the one she was wearing the night before last.’

  ‘Are you sure about that, Miss Simpson?’

  ‘No … I’ve just said I’m not … but, yes … I think it is her necklace. You see, we all took it in turns to look at it through Count Fernand’s jeweller’s lens. I don’t know much about diamonds, I’m afraid, but it looks to me to be the same necklace that Emmeline was wearing.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The inspector took the jewellery from her and stowed it back into his pocket. ‘Now, Miss Simpson. I’d like you to cast your mind back, if you will, to the two days leading up to the murder. Just so you know, we’re aware of Dr Harrison and Miss Montacute being rather fond of each other and Miss Brewster being made miserable by it.’

  ‘Are you? I’m glad … at least I think I am. It doesn’t feel so much like speaking out of turn if you already know all about it. Vera was rather beastly to Emmeline the night before last because of it. She referred to her kidnapping and how it must have frightened her terribly. Both Emmeline and Jemima were awfully upset by it. That’s why the count suggested that we look at the diamonds through his loupe. I think he thought it would take everyone’s mind off what had happened.’