‘And did it?’
‘Oh, yes. Emmeline cheered up no end.’
‘What about Miss Wentmore?’
‘Jemima? No … now you come to mention it, Inspector, Miss Wentmore remained subdued. She kept herself apart from everyone. To tell the truth, I don’t think she thought much of the count’s game.’
‘What surprises me most in all this, Miss Simpson, is that Miss Brewster did not try to put a stop to the relationship developing between her fiancé and Miss Montacute. Mr Thistlewaite informed us that he believed that Miss Brewster thought it was a mere flirtation or infatuation that would just blow over in time. Tell me, were you of that opinion also?’
‘No. At first I don’t think Miss Brewster saw it as any more than Dr Harrison trying to curry favour with someone who might be in a positon to further his career. Vera told me she thought he worked too hard. He had aspirations of becoming a fashionable doctor rather than a country one. She was concerned that when they were married he would want a London practice. She herself wanted to stay in the village of Sedgwick.’
‘And later?’
‘I think she realised that Emmeline and Theo were attracted to each other but tried to ignore it. But it made her miserable. It was only when …’
‘Yes, Miss Simpson. Go on. What were you going to say?’
‘I am certain that it had nothing to do with Miss Montacute’s death.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that. Go on.’
‘Well, on the morning before Emmeline’s death, I decided to go for a walk in the gardens. Miss Brewster asked if she might accompany me. She then asked Dr Harrison if he would care to join us, and he declined saying he had too much work to do. He wasn’t very polite about it, I’m afraid. I remember feeling rather sorry for Vera at the time.’
‘I take it there’s more to come?’
‘Oh, yes, I’m just giving you the background, Inspector. We decided to walk on down to the lake. And that’s when we came upon them, Dr Harrison and Miss Montacute. They were laughing and giggling and chasing one another. They were so obviously in love. I felt so sorry for Vera. Even now I can see her face, her look of disbelief. She was trembling, I remember that. It was quite awful.’
‘What happened next, Miss Simpson?’
‘She ran back to the house and kept to her room until it was time for dinner.’
‘Brooding, no doubt.’
‘She said she wasn’t feeling well.’
‘I daresay she would say that. But the fact remains, Miss Simpson, that less than a day later Miss Montacute was murdered.’
Rose felt a little sick. What if it transpired that Vera had killed Emmeline? How would she feel knowing that she had provided the police with some of the supporting evidence they required to send poor, wronged Vera to the gallows? She bit her lip and did her best to swallow the lump that was forming in her throat. For she had remembered Vera’s mood the previous night. How the woman had watched while the man she loved had laughed and flirted with another woman, oblivious of her presence and seemingly uncaring of the pain he was causing her. Rose recollected also the very words Vera had uttered, spat through clenched teeth: “I hate them, I tell you I hate them! I wish they were dead!”
If she were now to reveal to Inspector Bramwell the words spoken by Vera while she was at her lowest ebb, what then? Would he keep an open mind and look for other suspects? Or would he decide that Vera was the murderer and not look elsewhere?
She looked up and noticed that the inspector was looking at her curiously. She wondered if her face revealed her various emotions.
‘Are you all right, miss? You’re looking a bit peaky if you don’t mind my saying.’
Rose looked confused. She had not seen the inspector’s lips move. And then she realised that the words had been spoken by Sergeant Lane and not his superior. She had half forgotten that the sergeant was there, scribbling down her every word. She slowly nodded although in truth she did not know how she felt.
‘Now, perhaps you’ll tell me about last night,’ continued the inspector. ‘I understand his lordship turned the conversation after dinner to the maze. Showed you a plan of it and described the path to take to get to the middle.’
‘Yes, he did. It was going to be a sort of game today. To see who could make their way there first without the plan. You will have seen for yourself that it is quite a large maze, Inspector. Lavinia told us a story about a young maid going there once to meet her young man and getting terribly lost.’ Rose sighed. ‘It doesn’t seem fair that Emmeline was killed there. She was so eager to see the maze.’
For a few moments no one spoke. In her mind’s eye Rose saw again Emmeline, young and lovely as she had been; laughing and smiling as had been her way. Until now she had thought only of those affected by Emmeline’s death and the unpleasantness of it having occurred at Sedgwick. Only now did she allow herself to feel the full horror of what had happened. How very awful it was that Emmeline, so full of life, had been done to death. What a waste of a young life.
‘It’s all right, miss. I only have one more question to ask you,’ the inspector said rather gruffly. ‘But it’s an important one at that. I’ve been told Miss Brewster said something to you before she fainted. As I understand it she didn’t join you in the search for Miss Montacute?’
‘No. She wasn’t feeling very well.’
‘Dear me, not unwell again? Poor Miss Brewster. She does appear to suffer from bad health.’ The inspector got up from his chair and started to pace the floor. ‘Well, Miss Simpson? Did Miss Brewster say anything before she fainted?’
‘Yes … yes, she did.’
Rose heard again Vera’s voice: “Dead! No, she can’t be. She can’t be dead. Oh my God, what have I done? I never meant to …” She remembered she had asked Vera later what she had meant by it, and that the woman had been evasive. More than that, Vera had pretended that her words had meant nothing, and yet, of course, they must have meant something, otherwise why say them? Vera had been frightened, Rose remembered now. And she herself had been annoyed with her, certain in her belief that the woman was lying or hiding something.
She sat there for a moment in a quandary as to what to do. If she told the inspector what Vera had said, it might be the final nail in the coffin as far as confirming their suspicions of the woman. But what else could she do? And what if Vera was guilty? Wouldn’t she want to see her brought to justice?
‘Well, Miss Simpson? What did Miss Brewster say?’
Inspector Bramwell was watching her closely with those small, watery eyes of his which were surprisingly observant. Rose thought she heard a note of impatience in his voice. He knew full well that she was prevaricating.
‘She said – ’
At the very moment she was about to tell them about Vera’s desperate confession, uttered in a moment of weakness before the woman slumped to the ground, the sound of running feet on the black and white tiles in the hall beyond diverted their attention. It was proceeded at once by the study door being flung open, the constable obviously having decided that the information he had in his possession was far too important to require him to stop and knock before entering.
‘Constable! I am in the middle of an interview, I – ’
Inspector Bramwell had jumped up from his seat at the interruption. Pinkish spots had appeared on the loose flesh of his cheeks like badly applied rouge, and his eyes appeared darker and less watery.
‘Sir … Sorry, sir.’ The man put a hand to his chest while he caught his breath. ‘It’s just that we’ve received a telephone call from the mortuary, sir. They found something, the doctors did. On the deceased’s body, sir. They found something that tells us who the murderer is … well as good as. It’s as good as a confession, sir, so it is. It’s – ’
‘Hold your tongue, man!’ The inspector swung around to face Rose. ‘That will be all for now, thank you, Miss Simpson. I may wish to speak with you further. If I do, I’ll send for you. But you may go now. Sergeant, see Miss
Simpson out, will you?’
Chapter Twenty-two
‘Well, darling, what did you think of Inspector Bramwell?’ asked Cedric, as soon as Rose had re-entered the drawing room.’ Was he as beastly to you as he was to me?’
‘I’m not sure what to make of him,’ Rose said, linking her arm in his as they made their way to the far end of the room. They chose a richly upholstered settee and sank down on to it, their hands still entwined and their heads bent closely towards each other.
‘Cedric, I’m awfully afraid that I’ve made an absolute fool of myself over that business about Emmeline and Jemima not being Emmeline and Jemima, if you know what I mean? You should have seen the inspector’s face when I suggested it to him. He didn’t believe it for one moment, even when I explained my reasoning.’
‘Well, more fool him, that’s all I can say.’
‘You are a darling, Cedric. But I know full well that you’re not entirely convinced either, are you? The more I think of it, the more I believe I may have it all wrong, anyway. The real Emmeline Montacute and Jemima Wentmore aren’t at home. The police have already checked. It’s just as Lavinia told me. They left without telling anyone of their intentions.’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, I don’t think it matters too much now. Emmeline’s father arrives back from his travels in a day or so and is coming down to Sedgwick to formally identify his daughter’s body, so we’ll know one way or the other by then.’
‘Is he indeed? Did you find out anything else from the inspector?’
‘No, not really. He plays his cards close to his chest. Oh, wait a minute, there was something.’
‘Yes?’
‘He showed me Emmeline’s diamond necklace and asked me if I recognised it.’
‘Did he? I wonder why he did that.’
‘Come to think of it, he asked me quite a few questions about the diamonds. He was particularly interested in the count’s parlour game. The one involving the jeweller’s loupe. I suppose it’s because he suspects him of being a jewel thief. I explained how it had come about, the game, I mean.’
‘Because of what Vera said? It was awfully cruel of her to bring up the subject of the kidnapping,’ said Cedric. ‘I say, Rose. You don’t think Emmeline’s death could have anything to do with a kidnap attempt, do you?’
‘I don’t see why not. I was just wondering that myself as it happens. It seems just as likely as diamonds or Theo’s relationship with Emmeline and Vera’s jealousy. Inspector Bramwell knew all about that too, Theo and Emmeline, I mean.’
‘Do you feel any closer to knowing who did it?’
‘I’m sorry, darling, I don’t ... Oh, Cedric!’
‘What, darling? Is something wrong?’
‘I can’t keep it to myself any more. I’m being awfully mean to you. Keeping the best bit of news to last.’
‘Oh, and what’s that?’
‘They’ve discovered something. The police, I mean. Or should I say the pathologist? While I was being interviewed, a constable rushed in and said that they’d found something at the mortuary. It was on Emmeline’s body. He said it as good as proved who her murderer was.’
‘Did he indeed? I wonder what they’ve found.’
‘Before we do anything else, we’d better find out what that fool of a constable was talking about,’ grumbled Inspector Bramwell. ‘Better not get your hopes up, Lane. Likely as not the fellow’s got hold of the wrong end of the stick. It may be very little at all. The man has no sense. To come barging into the room like that and saying what he did in front of Miss Simpson of all people. I suppose it’ll be the gossip of the drawing room by now.’
‘Miss Simpson’s not like that, sir,’ Sergeant Lane said. ‘She’ll keep news of it to herself.’
‘Pah! She’ll tell Lord Belvedere at least, you know she will as well as I do.’
‘I’ve arranged for the call to be put through here, sir.’ Sergeant Lane said, keen to change the subject. ‘It’s a pity Jackson didn’t ask for details before hanging up, although perhaps they wouldn’t have given them to him. They’d have wanted to speak to you first, sir.’
‘Well, at least the man had the sense to ask them to ring back before he hung up. I’d telephone the mortuary myself but they’d probably put me through to a different fellow than the one who rang up, who’d know nothing about this business. No … all in good time. I’ll wait for them to telephone. Besides, I want to go over one or two things in my mind first.’ He turned to look at the sergeant. ‘Are you feeling hungry, Lane? I am. Isn’t it time for tea? Go to the kitchen and ask them to bring in a tea tray, will you? Better still, pull that bell rope over there.’
‘It’s all right, sir, I’ll have a word with one of the footmen. I think there’s one in the hall. I hope you don’t think it a liberty, sir, but, when I was seeing Miss Simpson out just now, I suggested to one of the servants that tea be laid in the library for the family and their guests. They were getting a bit restive seeing as they had been confined to the drawing room all day.’
The inspector snorted. ‘Very considerate of you, Lane, I’m sure. Although they took their lunch in the dining room, didn’t they? And we’ve allowed them a stroll in the gardens. That’s not confining them to the drawing room in my book. Count Fernand and Mr Thistlewaite will be down for their tea too, no doubt. Have one of the constables keep an eye on them. I don’t want them talking with those among the party we haven’t had the opportunity to interview yet. Although happen the count will keep himself to himself.’
‘Yes. I’m certain he’ll want to keep his head down.’
Sergeant Lane left and returned a few minutes later having accomplished his mission on both fronts. As he had anticipated, a footman had been easily found. Much to his satisfaction also, he had seen the count safely ensconced in a corner of the library with an expression on his face, and an air about him that deterred any of the others from going over and speaking to him. Felix Thistlewaite too appeared unusually quiet and wrapped up in his own thoughts. With his back to the room, he had looked out of the window on to the grounds beyond, although he could see almost nothing given how dark it was now. He had given up even the pretence of this pursuit once the curtains had been drawn and the world outside shut out. Then the young man had stood rather awkwardly, clutching a plate in his hand but hardly eating a morsel. Every now and then, the policeman had noticed, he had stolen a glance at Jemima Wentmore, but she either did not notice he was trying to catch her eye, or else was purposefully ignoring him.
‘What did you make of Miss Simpson’s theory that Miss Montacute might not have been Miss Montacute at all, sir?’ the sergeant asked as soon as he had closed the study door. ‘It sounded a bit far-fetched to me, although, for what it’s worth, there’s usually something in what Miss Simpson has to say.’
‘It that so, Lane?’ Inspector Bramwell glared at his sergeant. ‘Well you’ve heard my views on amateur sleuths, Sergeant. Their activities are not to be encouraged. Having said that, we’ll have to look into it, more’s the pity. There may be something in it and there may not.’ He began to pace the room. ‘We can’t have Montacute being told that his daughter’s been murdered only to find that she’s alive and well in London. No. That wouldn’t do at all.’ He stopped his pacing and turned and glanced at the sergeant. ‘We need to find out the truth before Montacute’s ship comes in to dock.’
‘Couldn’t we just get the secretary chap down here? Stapleton. He’d be able to tell us if Miss Wentmore is who she claims to be, and if she isn’t we could then have him look at the corpse.’
‘We could. But I’ll wager that we can find out easily enough by ourselves. While we’re waiting for tea to arrive, go and have another look at their bedrooms, Miss Wentmore’s and Miss Montacute’s. Happen as not you’ll find something in one of them that’ll tell us one way or the other.’
‘As you wish, sir,’ said Sergeant Lane, somewhat reluctantly. He would have preferred instead to wait for the telephone call and find out if what had been discove
red at the mortuary was really as important as the constable believed it to be.
‘If they’re not who they claimed to be,’ said the sergeant, hovering by the door, ‘they’d have to have some connections with the Montacute family, don’t you think, sir? They’d have to know that the real Miss Montacute and Miss Wentmore were abroad at the time, else they’d be taking an awful risk. They might have got away with it on the Continent but they’d be taking a bit of a gamble here at Sedgwick if the ladies were back at home in the Highlands.’
‘I’m not sure I follow all that, Lane. But we have it on good authority that Miss Montacute and Miss Wentmore are not at home. Although you might have a point there, Sergeant, about them having some connections with the Montacute family. But, from what we know of the real Miss Montacute, she lived the life almost of a recluse. There wouldn’t be much mention of her made in the newspapers, if any. The impostors, if that is what they are, needn’t have been afraid Lord Belvedere would open his copy of The Times over breakfast one morning only to find that Miss Montacute was reported as having gone to some society do or the other the night before.’
‘What would be their game, I wonder, sir? Do you think it would be the same as the count’s malarkey? They had a very valuable diamond necklace in their possession, we mustn’t forget that, sir. That’s of some interest, don’t you think? Hello, there’s the telephone.’
The inspector pounced on the instrument much as a cat would a mouse and held the receiver up to his ear. The sergeant meanwhile lingered by the door, reluctant to leave. He listened with interest to Inspector Bramwell’s half of the conversation, which was disappointingly lacking in providing any clarity as to what had been discovered, consisting as it did of little more than grunts and one word answers.
03 - Murder at Sedgwick Court Page 21