‘Oh, but I am being serious, William, the inspector knows that. I know she’s awfully young and it’s a great shame, but really the only person who could have done it was Miss Simpson. It can’t possibly have been anyone else, it’s just not the sort of thing we’d do.’
‘Well, I’m afraid that I’ll have to disagree with you there, Lady Withers,’ said Deacon, looking at her rather sternly. ‘In our opinion, Miss Simpson is the only person who couldn’t have done it. Well, not without an accomplice, anyway.’
‘Oh, dear, how very inconvenient,’ said Lady Withers, sighing. ‘Well, in that case, I suppose it must have been Lord Sneddon. How unfortunate. It does make it so awkward, doesn’t it, when a member of the aristocracy commits a crime. And he’s heir to a dukedom, oh dear. I told you, didn’t I, William, that there was something about him I didn’t quite like? And now I’ve been proved right. How very inconsiderate of Cedric to bring a murderer down with him, although I suppose he wasn’t to know, was he that Lord Sneddon was going to pop off his mother.’
‘What makes you think Lord Sneddon is the murderer, Lady Withers?’ asked Deacon, not anticipating a very sensible answer.
‘Because he was up and about last night, or the early hours of this morning, Inspector, when the rest of the house was asleep.’
‘What makes you say that?’ asked the inspector, sharply. Sergeant Lane had stopped writing and was looking up expectantly.
‘Oh, because I saw him wondering about downstairs when I went down for my night time snack, Inspector.’
‘Night time snack?’
‘Yes, Inspector, my wife often feels a little bit peckish at night and so Mrs Palmer always leaves a little something out for her in the kitchen,’ explained Sir William. ‘Really, my dear, that was a very large dinner that Mrs Palmer gave us last night; I’m surprised you had room to eat anything else.’
‘Well, I only picked at my food last night, darling. If you remember, there was such a terrible atmosphere as if everyone knew that something was going to happen, that it quite put me off my appetite. And then I woke up in the middle of the night and felt hungry. I tried to ignore it and go back to sleep, but I couldn’t. So I thought I’d just get a little something to tide me over till breakfast.’
‘Where did you see Lord Sneddon, Lady Withers?’ asked Deacon.
‘In the hall, Inspector. I assumed that he’d been feeling peckish too and had just come from the kitchen, but I suppose he might have just come out of your study, William.’
‘Was he carrying anything, Lady Withers?’
‘No, I don’t think so, Inspector, but he did have a very murderous expression on his face. Really, he did look most frightening and I remember thinking at the time that it would be a great pity if Lavinia married him, because he didn’t strike me as a very nice man at all.’
Chapter Twenty-nine
‘That was all quite draining, wasn’t it, William? I don’t know how you managed it, darling, being interviewed twice, so to speak,’ said Lady Withers to her husband as they returned to the drawing room, where the others were awaiting their return eagerly, keen to ascertain if there had been any developments. ‘Ah now, here you all are. I told the inspector that we simply couldn’t all be kept cooped up together in one room, first the dining room and now this one. He quite understood how we felt, didn’t he, William?’ She turned towards her husband to get his confirmation. ‘Really, he’s not too bad for a policeman. He says we’re free to move around the house and the gardens as long as nobody tries to leave or go up into the woods. Apparently the constables are still searching there for evidence or clues or something like that. Speaking for myself, I can’t imagine ever wanting to go there again; the sound of every twig snapping …’
Lavinia started to cry and Lady Withers went over to comfort her.
‘There, there, my dear, how very inconsiderate of me, what was I thinking? Now have a good little cry; it’s far better to let it all out, you know. You’re bound to feel better if you do.’ She turned to face the others. ‘I thought some of us might be beginning to feel a little bit hungry as we all rather picked at our food at luncheon, didn’t we. I know I did and that I’m beginning to regret it now that the shock’s begun to wear off. So I’ve asked Stafford to arrange for some afternoon tea to be brought out to us on the terrace. I think the sunshine will do us all good. That, together with some food, should lift our spirits a bit, don’t you think?’
‘Really, my dear,’ said Sir William, sounding a little shocked. ‘I think it’s going to take a lot more than a good tea and some sunshine to do that. This has been an awful tragedy for all of us. But I think the inspector was keen to take a break from interviewing. Lord Sneddon, Edith, he asked if you could stay near the house as he’s still to interview you.’
‘Really,’ said Lord Sneddon, looking irritated. ‘I don’t mean to sound unreasonable, but surely I should have been one of the first to be interviewed rather than one of the last. Does he know who I am? This is all damned inconvenient, I can tell you. I really do need to be leaving.’
‘If it was up to me you would have left already,’ retorted Cedric, angrily. ‘But is it too much to ask that you show some consideration and have a thought for what the rest of us are going through? My mother was murdered this morning and all you seem concerned about is how it might impact on your plans.’
‘I think the inspector was keen to talk to Lady Belvedere’s family first,’ said Sir William, hastily, eager to avoid an argument erupting between the two young men.
‘My dear,’ said his wife, looking at Lord Sneddon with sudden interest, ‘whatever has happened to your poor face? You look as if you have walked into something. Oh dear, I’m sure that the police will be very eager to ask you all about it. Don’t you think so, William?’
Lord Sneddon glared at everyone in the room and went outside.
‘I thought you’d want to do all the interviews before we took a break, sir,’ said Lane, getting up and stretching his legs again, ‘though I must say I could do with a cup of tea and another slice of Mrs Palmer’s delicious cake to keep me going.’
‘My thoughts exactly, Sergeant, I thought we could both do with a break. I know that I’m getting rather tired and bored of asking the same questions of everyone. I was keen also to get your views on Lady Withers. What did you make of her?’
‘Well, to tell you the truth, sir, she seemed to me to be a little bit odd. I mean she was quite excited by it all, as if it was all an adventure, even though we were talking about her sister’s murder. Very strange if you ask me; do you think she’s a bit simple, sir? She was awfully vague and rambling, wasn’t she? Half the time she was talking a lot of old nonsense.’
‘Oh, I think she was very much all there, Lane,’ said Deacon, laughing. ‘If you ask me, it was all an act. I expect she behaves like that all the time because it puts everyone else at a distinct disadvantage; they don’t know how to take her, whether she’s being serious or trying to be funny, or just happens to be like that. Did you see how anxious Sir William was about her, how he kept leaping in to clarify what she meant? I think he was very worried about what she might say. I wonder whether he was afraid that she might incriminate herself.’
‘Well, she did a bit, sir, didn’t she?’ said Lane, eagerly, beginning to warm to the idea. ‘She admitted that there had been no love lost between her and her sister and that she had even half-heartedly thought about killing her when they were young. You never know, she may have been harbouring murderous thoughts all these years. Although I don’t know how serious she was being, do you?’
‘Actually, I think she was being very serious. I was just wondering whether it was all rather a double bluff. What I was particularly interested in though, Lane, was that she was keen to deliberately try and implicate Miss Simpson in the murder and then when that didn’t work, Lord Sneddon. What does that tell you?’
‘That she doesn’t want the murderer to be a member of her family, sir, which I suppose is und
erstandable.’
‘Oh, I think it tells us a bit more than that, Lane. I think it tells us that she definitely knows, or thinks she knows, who the murderer is and that he or she is someone close to her who she is keen to protect. I think she’s deliberately trying to divert suspicion from that person by accusing someone else.’
‘Rose will you take a walk with me in the garden?’ Cedric disentangled himself from his sister and walked over to her. It was the first time he had taken any apparent interest in her since it had all happened, and Rose could not help her heart from leaping, even if it seemed somewhat inappropriate given the circumstances.
‘Cedric, do be careful.’ Lavinia caught at her brother’s arm and gave Rose a contemptuous look; Rose stood there awkwardly, feeling miserable. She felt her cheeks grow hot and began to blush, conscious that everyone else was witness to her humiliation. Cedric, glaring at his sister, said nothing but took Rose by the arm and together they walked out onto the terrace and on into the formal gardens.
‘I’m sorry about all that, Rose,’ Cedric said, after they had gone a little way.
‘Surely Lavinia can’t think I did it?’
‘I think she’s more concerned that I did it and that I might tell you so.’ They stopped walking abruptly and he took both her hands in his. ‘I don’t know what to do, Rose, what to think. Part of me can’t even believe that this has all happened. I keep expecting my mother to appear any moment and start lecturing me as usual. I don’t think I can have quite taken it all in yet. I will never see my mother again and I don’t feel anything yet, just numb.’
‘It’s just the shock of it all, I’m sure it’s normal to feel like that.’ Rose stroked his cheek, gently. She did not know what more to say. What was one expected to say in such a situation? The usual words of condolence one uttered on hearing of a bereavement seemed superficial and shallow when dealing with a death arising from a murder.
‘Oh, but listen to me. I have gone on about myself and not for one moment have I asked after you,’ Cedric said, sounding disgusted with himself. ‘How are you feeling? You were with my mother when it all happened. It must have been awful for you. You saw her be shot and then you had to deal with her dead body all covered with blood, oh, I ….’ He covered his face with his hand. ‘I’m sorry, Rose, I can’t even bring myself to think about it, and yet it must have been so much worse for you, actually being there.’
‘It was awful, yes,’ admitted Rose. ‘And I’m finding it hard to get the image out of my head. I keep reliving it again and again. But I just feel so useless, I don’t know what to do. I feel that I am just in the way and that somehow it is all my fault, that if your mother hadn’t wanted to talk to me and insisted that we go for a walk, then all this might not have happened and she would be here now.’
‘Rose, you mustn’t blame yourself. If anyone is to blame it is my mother. She should not have tried to interfere. She had no right to try and make you leave. You were my aunt and uncle’s invited guest, not her. I cannot tell you how much I admire you for standing up to my mother. If I had known what her intention was this morning, I would have stopped that stupid walk from taking place. If only I had overheard her telling you last night. Why didn’t you tell me about it after that business with Hugh on the stairs? We were quite alone then, you should have said. I could have put a stop to it right there. I could have gone to my mother’s room and had it out with her there and then.’
‘I was embarrassed,’ Rose said, miserably. ‘And then when you told me your feelings for me, well, it all went completely out of my mind. I recall that I did mention that I did not think she would let us be together, but you said that it was alright, that you would do whatever it took.’
‘Yes, and I meant it.’ He suddenly clutched her almost painfully by the shoulders as if a sudden thought had come to him. ‘Rose, tell me, you surely don’t think I meant …’ He could not bring himself to say the words to finish his sentence. Instead he looked at her beseechingly. ‘You don’t believe for one moment that I could do something like that, do you? Not to my own mother …’
‘No, of course not,’ Rose said, hurriedly, ‘no, of course I don’t,’ and as she said it, she realised with relief that she was being sincere.
‘I can’t imagine how anyone could have done it and yet someone must have. When Uncle William put forward the theory that it must have been a poacher who had shot my mother by mistake, well, of course it was tragic, but it seemed to make sense somehow, an accident, an awful accident. But it can’t really have happened like that, can it? Not now that we know that my uncle’s gun cabinet was broken into. It must have been one of us; I can’t get that thought out of my mind, it was one of us! And do you know what the worst of it is, Rose? There is a part of me that doesn’t want to know who it was, who doesn’t want to see justice done, who wants the murderer to go free because I can’t bear to find out that it is someone I care about. But it won’t do, because the more I think about it, the more I realise that the murderer must be caught, whoever it is. If they’re not, I don’t see how we can all go on with our lives. They’ll just stand still with everyone suspicious of everyone else, wondering whether it was them. You do see that Rose, don’t you, the murderer has got to be caught.’
Rose nodded slowly. She longed to tell him of her suspicion that she had been the intended target and that Lady Belvedere had simply been shot by mistake at the crucial moment because she, Rose, had stumbled and tripped. But the police had asked her not to divulge this theory to anyone connected with the case. It was tempting just to tell Cedric and swear him to secrecy, but the basic instinct for self-preservation made her hold her tongue.
Shortly afterwards they had returned to the others to take tea on the terrace. Cedric had left her apologetically to go and comfort his sister, who was standing beside her father, looking dejected. Only Sir William came over to enquire whether she was alright, although she noticed that the earl threw her the occasional concerned glance in his usual shy way. Lady Withers was busying herself issuing instructions to Stafford, an occupation which seemed to calm her and bring a surreal sense of normality to the proceeding of afternoon tea. Every now and then, Sir William went over to Edith to ensure that she was coping with what for everyone was a difficult situation to find themselves in. Edith in turn looked over at Rose as if she wished to join her but was unsure of her welcome given their previous conversation. Lord Sneddon stood away from them all, clutching a cup of tea. Occasionally he cast a glance in Lavinia’s direction as if he wondered whether he should go over to her and offer his condolences or try to comfort her, but was clearly deterred by the presence of her brother by her side who was forever scowling at him. In addition, it was unclear how he would be received by Lavinia herself. For not once, as far as Rose could tell, had Lavinia looked in his direction.
Rose helped herself to another sandwich and a cup of tea. She still did not feel like eating and had to almost force herself to swallow, but she knew that she must keep up her strength in order to face the ordeal before her. Cedric was right, she knew, the murderer must be identified and brought to justice for any of them to be free of this situation. Until then none of them would be able to get on with their lives. It did not matter that in life Lady Belvedere had been such an utterly unpleasant person, deserving of such a fate if anyone did. In death she would blight all their lives unless the culprit was caught, Rose could see that. And yet she was scared to discover who had done such an awful deed. She had told Cedric that she knew he could not be capable of such a thing, and yet he had a motive, as did she. Did she really know that he was innocent? She hoped he was, of course, it was essential to her own happiness that he was and yet …
There was nothing for it. She must find the identity of the murderer herself and before the police did. And if she found that it was Cedric, well then she could take a view as to what to do about it. She felt that she could not send him to the gallows; she would rather die herself than do that. And it was not just that she must
solve the murder so that they might all escape untarnished; she must solve it because there was a possibility that she had been the intended target and, if that was the case, her life might still be in jeopardy.
Rose looked over to where Lord Sneddon was standing, dark and aloof and disgruntled. In a certain light, and when he was less brooding, he looked handsome, but he did not now. It would be easiest for them all if he were guilty. Indeed, the way he had behaved towards her the previous night, she almost wished that he was. She shuddered to think what would have happened had Cedric not appeared when he did out of the shadows. Yes, she did not feel that she would be sorry to discover that he killed Lady Belvedere. In fact, she could argue a highly plausible case for him being the murderer. He did not strike her as a man who would take too kindly to being humiliated or refused. She thought he was entirely the sort of man who would stop at nothing to get his own back by whatever means were at his disposal, and that if those means be murder, so be it. He had been humiliated twofold by her rejecting his advances and by Cedric punching him and demanding that he leave. He had threatened last night to get his own back. What better way than to kill her and ensure that Cedric did not get the woman he loved and who loved him in return, but who had made the mistake of spurning the advances of his friend.
Lord Sneddon must have become aware that she was looking at him, for he turned and caught her eye. Rose was ready to look away immediately; she could not bear to see the contemptuous way he would look at her, the ever present sneer. But when she looked at him, she saw that he was afraid, and when the constable came to get him to take him to the library to be interviewed by the inspector, she saw that his hands were shaking as he put his cup and saucer on the table and was led away.
01 - Murder at Ashgrove House Page 24