‘Thank you, Stafford,’ said Deacon examining the gun cabinet. ’Yes, the lock’s definitely been forced. Sergeant, take out the shotgun, will you, use a handkerchief in case there are fingerprints.’
‘This gun’s recently been fired, sir, and put back uncleaned,’ said Lane, examining the gun carefully. He walked over to Sir William’s desk and switched on the table lamp so that he could examine the weapon more closely. ‘It looks as if someone’s wiped off the fingerprints with a cloth, sir.’ Sir William and Stafford exchanged glances surreptitiously.
‘I see. When did you last open your gun cabinet, Sir William? Is it possible that it was broken into a little while ago?’
‘No, Inspector. I opened it last night sometime after dinner, and the lock was secure then.’
‘Indeed?’ said Deacon. Both policemen looked interested.
‘Yes’, replied Sir William, rather uncomfortably. ‘I was showing my guests a couple of antique duelling pistols that I’d recently purchased, pretty things they are too. I thought the girls would find the pattern on the butt caps amusing and the gentlemen would be interested to see them; they’re in particularly good condition given their age.’
‘Did you bring everyone in here to see them?’ asked Lane.
‘Yes, Sergeant. Everyone came in here. No wait, my wife and Lady Belvedere didn’t. They retired to bed, but everyone else came in here; it was a bit of a squash, to tell the truth. I unlocked the cabinet with the key, the lock was intact then, I assure you.’
‘Where do you keep the key, Sir William?’
‘I carry it on me at all times, in fact, I said as much last night because someone commented on making sure that such a collection of guns didn’t end up in the wrong hands; we made a bit of a joke about it in fact. Of course, Stafford here keeps a spare key in his butler’s pantry in case I lose mine, but I didn’t mention that. ’
‘And the ammunition, where is that kept?’ enquired the inspector. ‘Do you keep it in the cabinet with the guns?’
‘Yes, Inspector, I keep it under lock and key as well, one can’t be too careful. It’s in this drawer here.’
‘Well,’ said Deacon, ’of course our forensic chaps will need to confirm it, but I think we can safely say that we’ve found our murder weapon.’
‘But I thought your constables had found a gun in the woods,’ protested Sir William. ‘Surely it’s much more likely that gun’s the murder weapon.’
‘That gun belonged to the Cutters, Sir William, they’ve confirmed as much to my sergeant here. They were out poaching in the woods when they came across Miss Simpson. They panicked, particularly when they realised that Lady Belvedere had been shot, and so Archie Cutter decided to hide the gun before anyone found it on him. They were going to come back for it later when all the fuss had died down. Anyway, they were very forthcoming. When Sergeant Lane examined the gun, he noticed a small defect in the barrel. If the Cutters’ gun was used to shoot the countess, we’ll soon know because it will have left a distinctive mark on the bullet.’
‘I see,’ said Sir William. He suddenly looked very old and tired and the sergeant pulled out a chair for him to sit down on. He sat down heavily, his head in his hands, and for a moment no-one spoke.
‘Come, Sir William,’ said Deacon, gently, ‘you knew as much. You never believed in that story you told us about a poacher shooting Lady Belvedere by mistake, did you? It was just wishful thinking on your part. The murderer was bound to be one of your guests or a member of this household.’
‘Yes, of course you are right, Inspector, I just hoped …’
‘Right, Sir William, now that we’re all quite clear that this is a murder investigation rather than some tragic accident, I would like you to arrange for all your guests to be brought to the dining room. They can have a quick lunch there.’ The Inspector turned to the butler. ‘The sergeant and I will have ours in the library, thank you, Stafford, and then after lunch Sergeant Lane and I will commence our interviews of everyone in earnest. But before we do that, I think it only fair to let everyone know that we are investigating a murder, it may have some bearing on the statements they give us.’
Chapter Twenty-six
Rose felt restless. It was all very well to stay in her room with the door locked, but she had nothing to do save for to relive the awful events of that morning, which she was trying hard to forget. With the door locked, she felt relatively safe, but horribly restless and besides she could not concentrate, no matter how hard she tried. Her mind kept wandering off to the policemen in the library two floors below. Were they any nearer, she wondered, to finding out who had done it?
It was no good. She could not stay a moment longer cooped up inside this room wondering what was happening. She crossed to the window and the vibrant gardens that stretched out before her, coupled with the glorious sunshine, seemed to beckon her. But it was too risky, she concluded, to walk in the formal gardens by herself. She was still in danger and it would be too easy for some-one to join her on her walk through the grounds. It was then that she thought of the kitchen garden. From what little she had seen of it the day before, with its fruit trees and vegetables, it seemed that it would be an ideal place to take a stroll. It also had the added advantage that it was unlikely that any of the guests would go there and there was bound to be a servant or two tending the garden or picking herbs and the like, to ensure that she was safe. Indeed, if she remembered rightly, there was a little rickety old bench by the entrance that she could sit on. If she felt so minded, she could even pick some fruit and eat it there and then.
The more Rose thought about it, the more it appealed to her. Quietly she unlocked her door and ventured out. No-one seemed to be about and she felt engulfed by the silence. She hurried down the two flights of stairs as quickly as she could, all the time afraid that she would encounter someone; visions of Lord Sneddon looming up out of the darkness kept her going. She raced across the hall into the drawing room, which she was grateful to find unoccupied, and out through the French windows. She ran along the perimeter of the formal gardens, wondering what people would think if they spotted her from a window, running like something possessed, but not caring enough to stop. She continued through the courtyard garden until she got to the kitchen garden where she collapsed out of breath on the wooden bench. Looking around, she was relieved to see the gardener’s boy tending the vegetables nearby, who stopped momentarily from his task in hand to give her a surprised glance before resuming his work.
It occurred to her afterwards, what with everything that had happened to her that she must have been exhausted and it had only been adrenalin that had kept her going. Whatever it was, the peacefulness, the feeling of safety or her own tiredness had lulled her unwittingly to sleep and so she did not see or hear the person approach her until they began to speak.
‘Miss…’
‘What!’ Rose was at once fully awake her heart beating fit to burst. ‘Oh, Edna, it’s you. You did give me a fright, I must have fallen asleep.’
‘Sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ said the little scullery maid apologetically, hovering before Rose looking awkward. ‘I just wanted to make sure you were alright after what happened to you this morning, and I wondered if I could ask your advice on something.’
‘Sit down beside me, Edna, you look half worn out,’ said Rose, patting the bench.
‘Well, alright, miss, just for a minute, but I daren’t let Mrs Palmer catch me having a rest and talking to a guest to boot, she’ll have a fit.’
‘Well, then I’ll just tell her I asked you to sit down, that I wanted you to be here in case I fainted, because I still felt quite shaken.’
‘Thank you, miss, that’s awfully good of you,’ said Edna, sitting down. ‘But how do you really feel? We were awfully worried about you, we was. Mrs Palmer too, she was ever so cross that Sir William didn’t send for the doctor to see to you.’
‘I’m feeling fine now, Edna, thank you, just still a little bit dazed, but th
at’s to be expected.’
‘You weren’t at all well, miss. You won’t remember, but you kept babbling some nonsense. We didn’t think anything of it, though.’
‘Really, what did I say?’
‘You kept going on about it all being your fault that Lady Belvedere got done in.’
‘I see.’
‘But we didn’t think nothing of it, miss, really we didn’t. We knew as how you was in shock, like.’
‘Yes, I suppose I must have been. I don’t remember saying that. I suppose I just meant that Lady Belvedere wouldn’t have been out in the woods to be shot if she hadn’t wanted to talk to me.’
‘Yes, I expect that’s it, miss.’ Edna looked relieved.
‘Now, what did you want to ask my advice on?’
‘Well, it’s like this, miss. I overheard a conversation. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop or anything, but I overhead it just the same. Mrs Palmer suddenly realised that she hadn’t any rosemary for the pork, so she asks me to go out and pick some, but it was such a nice day, that I thought I’d just stretch my legs a bit, seeing as I don’t get to go outside that much, being stuck in that kitchen all day –.’
‘Yes, yes,’ prompted Rose, somewhat impatiently, having just realised that she must have been asleep for over half an hour and that surely her absence from the house must have been noted by now, to say nothing about lunch which might already have been served, for all she knew.
‘Well, I went as far as the croquet lawn, miss, and I heard Mrs Torrington talking to –.’
‘Yes, Edna, I heard that conversation too,’ said Rose with a jolt. She thought back to yesterday morning. It wasn’t really that surprising after all that Edna had overheard the same conversation as herself. Hadn’t she come across Edna only moments later crying in this very same garden? The scullery maid must have heard the first part of the conversation whereas she had heard the latter part. She was tempted to ask Edna about what exactly she had overheard, but didn’t. She still felt haunted by the strange conversation that she had had with Edith earlier that morning and couldn’t help feeling that she had already done her a great wrong by telling the police about their conversation over lunch, when Edith had declared her hatred for the countess and that she wished her dead. To ask Edna now to divulge further details of Edith’s illicit conversation with Sir William, would be an even further betrayal.
‘Did you, miss?’ asked Edna, sounding surprised. ‘Oh, I’m so glad. I’ve been that worried with not knowing what to do. I didn’t know whether I should tell the police or not and I was trying to pluck up courage to tell Mrs Palmer –.’
‘No, don’t do that, Edna,’ Rose said, sharply. ‘Don’t tell anyone, not the police, not Mrs Palmer. No-one needs to know. It hasn’t got any relevance to what’s happened. Better just keep it to yourself, that’s what I’m going to do.’
‘Well, if you’re sure, miss,’ said Edna, not sounding totally convinced.
‘I am, Edna. No good can come of it. Now, you’d better run on back to Mrs Palmer and I’d better return to the house before we’re both missed.’
Luncheon was a very sombre meal. It seemed to Rose that everyone stood around rather awkwardly, not knowing quite what to say to each other. Lavinia sat there, eyes red rimmed from crying, staring into nothing, while Lady Withers patted her arm affectionately but ineffectively, every now and then. Cedric stood behind his sister, his hand on her shoulder, which he squeezed and his father stood a little way apart looking out of the window to the gardens beyond. Edith stood by the table picking at her napkin nervously and Sir William was opposite picking at non-existent crumbs on the tablecloth, throwing her an occasional concerned glance from downturned eyes. Lord Sneddon, very much apart from everyone else, was busy pacing the room, rather in the manner of a caged tiger. The food lay mostly untouched on the table. One or two of the sandwiches had had a bite taken out of them before being discarded and a couple of the guests had tried the soup. Sir William looked longingly over at the whisky on the sideboard but, like the others present, made do with coffee and water.
Rose’s arrival in the dining room seemed to cause a welcome distraction. Lady Withers let go of Lavinia’s arm and came over, eager of an excuse to busy herself in her role of hostess.
‘How are you feeling, my dear? How very awful for you. Really, I did say to William that he must call for the doctor but he was most insistent that you speak to the police first. A typical man, that’s what I say, and you still looking so peaky too.’
‘Lady Withers …Constance, I’m so very sorry –.’
The door opened and all faces turned immediately to the new comers, who were strangers to many there present.
‘Good day,’ began Inspector Deacon, ‘my apologies for disturbing you. I appreciate that this is a very sad and difficult time for you all, and my commiserations go particularly to Lady Belvedere’s family. However, I am afraid that I must ask you all a few questions, and it is my intention to call you one by one to be interviewed in the library. I think it is also only fair to warn you that we have established without a doubt that Lady Belvedere’s death was not the result of a tragic accident, as some of you might have been led to believe,’ the inspector paused a moment to look reprovingly at Sir William, ‘but was the result of wilful murder.’
There was a gasp amongst the onlookers. The cup and saucer that Lavinia had been holding slipped from her hand and smashed on the floor, coffee spilling everywhere. Albert, the footman, dashed forward to attend to the mess. Lady Withers’ hand had gone to her mouth as if she were attempting to stifle a scream. Cedric seemed to totter slightly, his face having gone very white. Rose longed to go to him, but she was afraid that the others would consider such a move inappropriate. Instead she turned and glared at the inspector. How dare he shock them like this? He should have waited and broken the news to them individually and gently. As if reading her thoughts, Deacon’s eyes met hers for an instant and she realised then that his intention was to unsettle them so that they would let slip what otherwise they might have kept hidden. He wanted also to prepare them in advance of their interviews that the questions he would be asking would be probing and intrusive. He would expect, and want them, to reveal their suspicions and provide alibis. Rose looked around at the stricken, down turned faces. The enormity of the inspector’s words had not been lost on anyone. They were all suspects now, they knew it as well as they knew that they needed air to breathe. And they knew something else, something far more terrifying; they knew that one of them was the murderer.
Chapter Twenty-seven
‘My lord, do come in,’ said Deacon, as Lane ushered the peer in to the library. The inspector indicated a chair in front of the desk of which he was seated the opposite side, and the earl sat down, as beckoned. The inspector was impressed that, despite everything, the Earl of Belvedere did not sink in to the seat and slouch dejectedly or broken, but instead sat upright as if to attention. Deacon suddenly remembered something that his mother had once told him about good breeding would always out, which he had dismissed at the time as pure nonsense.
‘Firstly, I should like to express my condolences for your very great loss. I realise that this must be a very difficult time –.’ Deacon was interrupted from continuing his prepared spiel by the earl holding up the palm of one hand to bid him to stop.
‘Enough, Inspector, I appreciate your kind words, but they aren’t necessary. I know that you have got a job to do and would like to get on and do it, and I myself, although shocked by this morning’s events, am not devastated by them.’
‘Indeed?’ The inspector eyed the earl with curiosity. Whatever reaction he had been expecting from Lord Belvedere, it was not this. To his mind, the man looked remarkably composed as if they were sitting down to discuss the weather or a business transaction, certainly not his wife’s untimely death, and her murder at that.
‘Well, in which case, my lord, I’ll get straight down to business, and if you would be so good as to give me full answers
to my questions, then I do not think I will have to detain you for too long. Firstly, I should like to ask whether to your knowledge your wife had any enemies, or anyone who might wish her harm.’
‘I imagine ... no, I know for a fact, that my wife was disliked by many people. She had rather an unfortunate manner, Inspector. She tended to rub people up the wrong way. But actual enemies, people who would want to do her actual physical harm, I think not.’
‘And yet someone did kill her deliberately.’
‘You are sure, Inspector, it couldn’t have been an unfortunate accident?’
‘There can be no doubt, I’m afraid. It was definitely a premeditated act; your wife was murdered, my lord. Late last night, or in the early hours of this morning, someone deliberately broke into Sir William’s gun cabinet by forcing the lock. His shotgun was then removed, used and returned, the fingerprints wiped clean.’
‘The fingerprints were wiped from the weapon, you say?’ queried the earl.
‘Yes, they were deliberately wiped from the gun either by the murderer himself,’ said Deacon, slowly, ‘or by someone else not wishing a member of the household or one of the guests to be incriminated. Whichever scenario, Lord Belvedere, I’m afraid that the murderer is in this house.’
‘Yes, I see,’ agreed the earl, ‘as you say, there appears no room for doubt.’
‘I appreciate this may sound rather intrusive, sir, but would you be so good as to describe your relationship with your wife. From what you have said, you were not particularly close?’
‘No, we weren’t, Inspector, but it was hardly surprising or a cause for distress. A man in my position needs above all to marry a suitable wife and Marjorie was that. Her family was rather disgustingly wealthy and her aim was to marry a man of title and estates. What was more, she was prepared to do whatever was necessary to retain her position. When she was young she was remarkably beautiful and managed to keep the more unattractive qualities of her character well hidden. By the time she had revealed more fully her true character, we had both become settled in our ways, our own separate little worlds, I in my library with my books and she with her charitable works. So you see, Inspector, we managed to rub along quite well.’
01 - Murder at Ashgrove House Page 21