01 - Murder at Ashgrove House

by Margaret Addison

  ‘Mr Stafford, we’ll have to. I’m sure that her ladyship will be far too tired from all her entertaining to think about getting up in the middle of the night to come down for a midnight feast. I mean, it isn’t as if she does it that regularly any more after all, just on the odd occasion when she hasn’t eaten much at dinner. But that’s hardly going to be the case this weekend, not with all the dishes I’ll be producing.’

  ‘Even so, Mrs Palmer, it’s just possible that the mood will take her and then what’ll her ladyship think if she can’t get into the kitchen because we’ve locked the door?’

  Mrs Palmer sighed. She knew there was no reasoning with the butler where Lady Withers was concerned, for he would never hear of her being inconvenienced or put out in any way. Personally she thought that Lady Withers should have been discouraged, long before now, from roaming the kitchen in search of food. She was very much of the view that the household should remain their side of the green baize door and she could not stop herself from conjuring up images in her mind of her mistress poking around in cupboards and inspecting the work surfaces for dust or dirt, which was irrational because she knew that Lady Withers was quite oblivious to such things. But her ladyship was not above poking about in the refrigerator for food, as Mrs Palmer knew to her cost. On one fateful occasion, the cook-housekeeper had come down one morning to find a plateful of cold roast beef, earmarked for that day’s luncheon, gone and had blamed all the servants in turn before discovering that Lady Withers had been the culprit. After that an informal arrangement of sorts had been put in place whereby each evening, before retiring to bed, Mrs Palmer would leave out some food covered with a cloth for Lady Withers to sup from if she found herself hungry in the middle of the night.

  ‘There is no way around it, Mrs Palmer, we will have to leave the door unfastened. The only solution, as I see it, is to ensure that someone is on watch all through the night.’ He raised his hand as Mrs Palmer looked as if she were about to protest. ‘No, I’m not suggesting that it be left to just one person to do. I’m proposing that Briggs, Bridges and I take shifts. I’m not intending to use young Albert; he’s a good lad but I doubt he’ll be able to hold his tongue about it. It makes sense for Bridges to take the first shift and then he can go off to his cottage, I’ll take the middle one and then Briggs can take the last. That way none of us will lose too much sleep so we’ll still be able to undertake our duties satisfactorily and I’ll always be on hand, my bedroom being just off the kitchen, should Lord Sneddon decide to grace us with his presence.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure, Mr Stafford, but it seems a lot of unnecessary trouble to me. I’d sooner you lock the green baize door,’ replied Mrs Palmer, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘There is something else that occurs to me though.’

  ‘And what is that, Mrs Palmer? I thought I had covered every eventuality.’

  ‘With regards the maids, yes you have, Mr Stafford. But it occurs to me that if Lord Sneddon has an eye for girls of a lower social class to himself, then there is another girl at risk that we haven’t considered.’

  ‘You mean –.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Stafford, I mean Lady Lavinia’s young friend, Miss Simpson.’

  Rose Simpson was, at that moment, walking around the formal gardens of Ashgrove House with Lavinia and Constance, herself worrying about the imminent arrival of Lords Sedgwick and Sneddon. Her concerns, however, regarding these two young gentlemen were concentrated on what they would think of her, and how she would come across to them, rather than of any untoward motives they might have towards her. The thought that one of them might want to ruin her, certainly had not crossed her mind. She was beginning now to have serious reservations about accepting the invitation to Ashgrove. It was true that both Sir William and Lady Withers had been welcoming, but the unexpected presence of the countess had cast a shadow over the visit. Rose was already a little scared of Lady Belvedere, who had left her in little doubt that she disliked her and regarded her beneath contempt. The countess probably held her responsible for her daughter’s continued employment at the dress shop and, if Rose was honest, there was probably an element of truth in this for, if Lavinia had not found a friend there but had had to make do with the resentful company of Sylvia or the sycophant attentions of Mary, then in all likelihood she would not still be there.

  But all that paled into insignificance at the prospect of Lord Sedgwick’s and Lord Sneddon’s arrival. She knew she was ill prepared to come face to face with two of the most handsome and eligible young men in England, to say nothing of the richest. While she had never met them in person, she was familiar with their looks from the society pages of magazines and newspapers, which seemed to contain photographs of one or other of them almost every day. She was suddenly very aware of her own shortcomings, not only of her relative poverty and her far lower social position, but also of her insignificant looks and the cheapness of her clothes that would make her stand apart. She wondered too, why they had chosen this weekend of all weekends to visit Sir William and Lady Withers. She did not think it was a coincidence, for Cedric knew that Lavinia meant to visit Ashgrove. Rose felt her cheeks grow warm. The only explanation was that they had wanted to meet her, this shop girl that Lavinia had befriended. They would surely see her as a source of amusement to liven an otherwise dull visit to middle-aged relatives.

  She suddenly felt wretched, it was too awful. She wanted to be home, sitting by the fire with her mother in their little sitting room with the last few pieces of remaining furniture salvaged from their old house. She saw the two of them sitting there in companionable silence, half listening to a programme on the wireless, while her mother worked away with a needle, straining her eyes as she tried to finish a dress that she was making for one of her clients. Rose herself would be pretending to read a book or magazine, while all the time she would be surreptitiously studying the household accounts, trying to calculate how long they had before another painful decision had to be made about their accommodation and whether there were any further economies that could be made to prolong the inevitable. Usually such a scene made her feel depressed, but now she found herself longing for it, the dull familiarity of it all.

  Rose looked up. Amid the idle chatter between aunt and niece she could see Stafford coming towards them across the lawn. She could feel her heart beating faster and her hands becoming moist. She wanted to dash back into the house, race up the stairs and shut herself in her bedroom. Once there, she would focus all her attention on studying the plate glass covered dressing table in her room, with its valance of floral chintz, until the beating of her heart grew more regular and she felt able to pluck up the courage necessary to meet the visitors.

  ‘M’lady, Lord Sedgwick and Lord Sneddon have just arrived.’

  ‘Ah, very good, Stafford; show them into the rose garden, will you, it’s much too nice to go back inside. In fact, I think we’ll have our afternoon tea outside, we might as well make the most of this good weather, so welcome after all those rains of late spring.’

  ‘Very good, m’lady.’ Stafford gave the slightest of bows and retreated across the grass.

  ‘Dear old Stafford,’ Lady Withers said, fondly. ‘I really don’t know what I would do without him. He and Mrs Palmer run this whole house between them, I really don’t have to do a thing. In fact, when I do try to do something, it always goes wrong, like inviting Edith down for the weekend at the same time as inviting you down, my dear. I should have known Cedric would want to see you and having Edith and Cedric here together is the very worst thing. And of course,’ she added as an afterthought, ‘it will be rather a nasty surprise for him to find that your mother is here too.’

  ‘I wonder whether I should go and warn him before he bumps into Mother,’ Lavinia enquired, more of herself than of anyone else.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry my dear, I’m sure Stafford has already done that, he thinks of everything. I really don’t know what I’d do if he ever decided to leave. I suppose there will come a time when he’
s too old to remain in service and wants to retire, but I do hope that won’t be any time soon.’

  ‘Nonsense, Aunt Connie, he’s not that old,’ replied Lavinia laughing. ‘And even if he is, I can’t see him ever stopping work, he’s much too devoted to you.’

  ‘Bless you, child,’ beamed Lady Withers. ‘Oh look, here are the young gentlemen now. My, how handsome Lord Sneddon is, Lavinia, I believe he’s quite a catch.’

  ‘Shush, Aunt,’ replied Lavinia hurriedly, ‘he’ll hear you, but yes he does look absolutely divine, doesn’t he. Don’t you agree, Rose?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Rose dutifully, although it was not Lord Sneddon who had caught her eye. Even so, she could see why Lavinia found him attractive. He was tall, a good head taller than his companion who was himself by no means short or even of middle height, and was very dark with almost jet black hair. He carried himself well, very upright, and there was a look approaching arrogance about him as if he were fully aware of his own importance which, given that he was heir to a dukedom, the highest hereditary title in the British aristocracy, was not insignificant. His eyes, when he turned to focus his gaze on Lavinia, could be described as nothing less than smouldering and Rose heard a small intake of breath from her friend as she luxuriated in his attentions. It was a few moments before he turned his head to acknowledge Rose’s presence because Lady Withers had intervened herself to welcome him, clasping his hands in hers and fussing around him like a bee around a honey pot. When at last he directed his look to Rose, there was an altogether different expression on his face, although Rose thought that probably only she herself had seen it.

  Lord Sneddon’s look towards her was clearly mocking. It seemed to Rose that he took his time to look her up and down as he might a horse he was considering purchasing and a smile crossed his full, rosebud lips which was by no means kind. It made her for a moment feel vulnerable and alone. Both Lavinia and Lady Withers were totally oblivious to her discomfort, she was sure, just as she was equally certain that Lord Sneddon’s intention was to make her feel ill at ease.

  ‘Miss Simpson, or may I call you Rose?’ the marquis drawled. ‘How wonderful to make your acquaintance at last. Cedric and I have heard so much about you from Lavinia and I can see that she did not write a word of a lie about you, for you are exactly how I pictured you would be from her description of you.’ He turned to Lavinia and they both laughed. Rose stood there feeling awkward. She thought it unlikely that her friend would have said anything outright unkind about her, but the way Lord Sneddon insinuated by his manner, it was as if she had.

  ‘I say, you there,’ Lord Sneddon flicked his fingers and Albert, the young footman, came hurrying over. ‘Have you got one of those modern domestic refrigerators here?’

  ‘Yes, your lordship, we’ve an electrically operated one. It has a storage capacity of twenty-two cubic feet and Mrs Palmer, she’s the cook-housekeeper, is right proud –.’

  ‘Splendid. Take these,’ Lord Sneddon handed the footman what looked like some small metal balls. ‘Put them in the refrigerator, they need to be made ice-cold and then bring them out to me this evening when we have cocktails.’

  ‘Very good, my lord,’ said Albert, taking the balls gingerly.

  ‘Whatever are they, Hugh?’ enquired Lavinia.

  ‘Wait and see,’ replied Lord Sneddon with a gleam in his eye. ‘If you’re lucky I might put one or two in your glass.’ Lavinia giggled.

  The man who had caught Rose’s attention was still a little way off and appeared engrossed in conversation with Stafford. This in itself seemed remarkable to Rose, more so because the butler appeared to be smiling, having seemingly forgotten his usual impassive air; the combination of these two things roused Rose’s curiosity. The man came closer and, as he strode across the gardens towards them, she took in his appearance for the first time. He was tall and slender and his hair, which was slicked back from a side parting, was blonde. He had chiselled features which almost made his face look more beautiful than handsome, Rose thought, as if he were a Greek god rather than a mortal man. His skin was tanned a golden brown as if he spent much time out of doors. Like his friend, he carried himself well and while he looked imposing, there was nothing about his manner that was aloof. To Rose, his looks rivalled those of a matinee idol. She could not help but stare at him.

  Two things happened then. Later she wondered if everything would have ended up differently if they hadn’t. The first thing was that Mrs Palmer, who had come out of the house presumably to ask a question of Lady Withers about the tea or to welcome the guests herself, slipped and fell heavily on to the ground. In an instant, the fair-haired young man was at her side, helping her up and appearing genuinely concerned as he made sure that she was not hurt. The two of them had looked at each other with mutual affection and it was obvious that the young man was a favourite among the servants and that they held him in high esteem. The second thing was that, having satisfied himself that Mrs Palmer was alright, Lord Sedgwick had looked up and spotted Rose looking at him shyly and he had smiled, a genuine smile, of that she was sure, a smile that had lit up his face and made his eyes shine. And in that moment, Rose, who was not a romantic by any means, being too much of a realist to believe in fairy-tale endings and dreams coming true, had fallen in love.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘How do you do, Miss Simpson?’

  ‘How do you do, your lordship?’

  ‘Oh, don’t call me that, Cedric, please. But don’t call me Ceddie, I beg of you. Only Lavinia calls me that, and I am trying so very hard to persuade her not to. It was all very well when we were children and she was my big sister, but now that I am a man, I find it a trifle embarrassing.’

  Rose laughed. ‘If I am to call you Cedric, then you must call me Rose.’

  ‘I should be delighted to, Rose, especially as roses are my favourite flower by far.’

  ‘Enough, you two,’ interrupted Lavinia coming over. ‘My brother can be a bit of a charmer, Rose, you must take no notice of him and certainly don’t encourage him. But, Ceddie, you haven’t said hello to me yet and I haven’t seen you for absolutely ages. I suppose you know Mother’s here? Whatever possessed you to tell her that I would be down at Ashgrove this weekend?’

  ‘Stafford told me as soon as we arrived. He was very discreet and conveniently looked away so as not to see me grimace. But I didn’t tell Mother that you’d be here, Sis. Why ever would I do such a thing, especially as Hugh and I decided to come down too? Hope you girls don’t mind us being here. We thought it would be fun and I’m so tired of studying, I can’t tell you. Don’t look at me like that, Lavinia,’ Cedric gave his sister’s shoulder a playful nudge. ‘I do heaps of work, you know, despite what you may think. It’s not just a round of parties, I want to get a decent degree.’

  ‘I’m sure you do, little brother. Oh, but why does Mother have to be here to spoil everything?’

  ‘I suppose it’s our fault for not going home enough. Try to look on the bright side, it won’t be too bad and I understand from Stafford that father has come down with her. I don’t know how she’s managed that. I can’t remember the last time he left Sedgwick. Mother usually has to make his excuses.’

  ‘It’s all very well for you, Ceddie, you’re her favourite and can’t do any wrong in her eyes. But it’s awful for me. Why, we hadn’t been here five minutes and she was already badgering me about working in the dress shop.’

  ‘How’s that going, Sis? I must admit that I can’t imagine you being particularly nice to customers that you don’t like, or putting clothes away or anything.’

  ‘Oh, it’s alright, I’m quite enjoying it and of course, I’ve met Rose.’

  ‘Yes.’ The word hung in the air as Cedric turned and smiled at Rose. Rose felt her stomach do a somersault as she returned his smile. And all the while she realised that Lord Sneddon was following their exchange with some interest, the way she lowered her gaze and could not help herself from blushing. And a tiny part of her, that was not
focused solely on Cedric, warned her of danger and told her to be afraid.

  ‘So you see, Rose, it really is lovely to be here at Ashgrove. Despite what my sister thinks, I really have been working desperately hard and I always find it so relaxing here. Uncle William and Aunt Connie are always so pleased to see us but in a quiet, unassuming sort of way so that one feels one can just be without having to put on a show of any kind. I say, does that make any sense or am I just talking a lot of old rot?’

  Lord Sedgwick and Rose had been wondering aimlessly around the grounds for a quarter of an hour or so, Lord Sneddon and Lady Lavinia always a few feet behind, equally engrossed in conversation.

  ‘I understand what you’re saying perfectly, Cedric.’ Cedric! She, Rose Simpson, a simple shop girl, was on first name terms with the heir to an earldom and it had felt to her, in these last fifteen minutes or so, that she had been waiting all her life for Cedric to appear, that while she felt excited and agitated by his presence, she also felt relieved and reassured as if it was supposed to happen, as if it were fate. ‘I’ve only been here a few hours myself, but it is so tranquil and peaceful here. I feel as if I have left my old life behind and stepped into another world where anything might happen. I’m going to find it a very hard wrench to leave on Sunday afternoon.’

  ‘So shall I, Rose, but we have the whole weekend in front of us, so let’s not think about that yet.’

  ‘My lord.’ Stafford had somehow managed to appear, totally unobserved until he had spoken. ‘Begging your pardon, but the Earl of Belvedere has requested your presence in the library.’