‘I can’t say I have much time to read, m’lady.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you don’t, Stafford, you work far too hard. Oh, but one thing before you go, I wasn’t quite sure about those herbs that Mrs Palmer put in the soup the other day. I’m not very good at herbs, of course, find it awfully difficult to distinguish one herb from another, but I’d swear that it was rosemary, and surely that shouldn’t go with anything but pork ...’
Rose hurried on past before Lady Withers had time to finish her conversation and come out into the hall. The thought of being accosted by Lady Withers and have her babble on about absolutely nothing, while she all the time would be wrestling with her conscience at sending Cedric to his death, was more than she could bear. She prayed ardently that Cedric would employ a brilliant barrister who would manage to get his death sentence commuted to a life sentence in prison. Surely there had been ample provocation, wasn’t that a defence? But even if it was and the barrister was successful, would that really be a better fate? To spend years locked away, hidden from society, to grow old without having experienced any of the joys of life …
Rose began to sob, and then, as if to make matters worse, she heard Lady Withers move towards the door of the dining room. Quick as a flash she darted into the drawing room which, to her relief, was empty. She let herself out of the French windows onto the terrace and then set off across the lawn. She did not have a clear destination in mind, just the absolute desire to get away and leave everything behind. She thought back over Lady Withers’ conversation with Stafford. How could she possibly think about food at a time like this? What did it matter who would be hungry and who would not, who always had a big appetite and who didn’t? What did it matter if the soup had rosemary in it, what did –
She stopped abruptly. She realised then that she had had a nagging feeling about everything ever since she had come to Ashgrove. Things had not seemed as they had appeared at first glance for the very simple reason that they were not. She had taken everything at face value when really she should have scratched beneath the surface to get to the truth.
She turned on her heel and fled back into the house, indifferent to who saw her now. She threw open the French windows into the drawing room with such a bang that Lady Withers, who had retreated there after her conversation with the butler, spun around in alarm and knocked into an occasional table, upsetting a vase of roses; water and flowers and broken lead crystal littered the carpet. These things barely registered to Rose and she ran through the room, not even acknowledging her hostess let alone offering an apology.
She sought Stafford who fortunately was just coming out of the dining room, the dishes and crockery and general debris from breakfast having now been quite cleared away.
‘Stafford, Mr Stafford, I must see Edna straightaway.’
‘The scullery maid, miss?’ Even Stafford found it difficult to hide his surprise completely. ‘Why she’ll be in the kitchen, miss, helping Mrs Palmer start the preparations for luncheon.’
‘I must see her at once, Mr Stafford, it’s a matter of life and death. The inspector’s about to arrest Lord Sedgwick for Lady Belvedere’s murder and I know he didn’t do it.’
The butler took in her dishevelled appearance and the desperateness in her voice and came to a quick decision.
‘This way, miss, through the green baize door. It’s for the servants’ use, as you know, but it’s the quickest route to the kitchen.’
‘My lord, why did you lie about knowing your mother had gone for a walk with Miss Simpson yesterday morning? Lord Sneddon has told us all about it, so you might as well tell us the truth. According to him, you had your talk where you asked him to leave, and he in turn told you about your mother urging him to ruin Miss Simpson. According to him, my lord, you then stormed off and he assumed that you had gone in pursuit of your mother.’
‘I went to my room, Inspector, to think things through.’
‘I’m afraid that we know that you did not. We know for a fact that you must have overheard at least part of the conversation between your mother and Miss Simpson. We have a very reliable witness who has said as much.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand, Inspector,’ replied Cedric, beginning to look uncomfortable.
‘You told Miss Simpson that you admired the way she had stood up to your mother. You could only have known that if you had been present.’
‘I see, Rose gave me away.’ Cedric sounded absolutely dejected.
‘If it’s any consolation, my lord, we had to force the information out of her,’ Deacon said, taking pity on the young man. ‘Miss Simpson had absolutely no intention of giving you up to the police. I think she would have gone to her grave rather than disclose any information which would implicate you.’
‘Bless her!’ Cedric, despite the situation he found himself in, sounded elated.
‘Indeed, but I’d still like to know why you lied to us, my lord.’
‘I was afraid that you’d think I did it if I told you the truth,’ admitted Cedric, rather sheepishly. ‘I’m afraid I was being a bit of a coward. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lied to you, but I swear to you that I didn’t do it.’
‘That’s as may be,’ the inspector said, grimly. ‘But we have means, motive and opportunity. We can even place you at the murder scene.’
‘But surely you don’t think –.’
‘I’m afraid that I –.’
‘But, sir,’ interjected Lane.
Deacon held up his hand and looked fiercely at his sergeant. Cedric meanwhile had gone exceedingly pale and had all but collapsed into his seat.
‘Lord Sedgwick, I am arresting you in connection with the murder of your mother, Lady Belvedere…’
Chapter Thirty-six
Their emergence through the servants’ door into the kitchen caused quite a stir. While the servants were used to seeing Stafford come that way, they had never seen a guest enter the servants’ hall, let alone come via the servants’ entrance.
‘Mrs Palmer, could you spare Edna for a minute or two? Miss Simpson requires to speak with her on an urgent matter.’
Edna, who at that moment had her hands in the sink up to her elbows in vegetable peelings, although somewhat surprised by Rose’s unexpected appearance, looked more than a little keen to oblige.
‘Begging your pardon, miss,’ Mrs Palmer said, looking completely flustered, ‘but we’re that short staffed and what with her ladyship changing her mind every minute as to what constitutes a suitable lunch, I really cannot spare my scullery maid until after the meal has been served.’
‘Oh, but you must,’ implored Rose, desperately.
‘Indeed,’ agreed Stafford. ‘It concerns Lord Sedgwick, Mrs Palmer. Unless Miss Simpson can do something to prevent it, our young lord will be led away from Ashgrove in handcuffs.’
‘Master Cedric in handcuffs! Heaven help us!’ exclaimed Mrs Palmer. ‘Well don’t just stand there girl, take your apron off, wash your hands and take Miss Simpson into my sitting room.’ She looked at Edna as if she had disobeyed an order. ‘And mind you don’t touch anything neither,’ she added looking crossly at the scullery maid, ‘any breakages will have to be paid for.’
As soon as they were ensconced in Mrs Palmer’s sitting room, sitting side by side on the settee, the door firmly shut, Rose seized Edna’s little hand in hers and gripped it so tightly Edna winced.
‘Edna, listen to me, this is very important. Do you remember you mentioned to me that you had overheard a conversation between Edith, that’s Mrs Torrington, and a gentleman on the croquet lawn?’
‘Yes, miss. I told you about it and you said as I didn’t need to worry about it or tell the police.’
‘That’s right, I did, Edna, but I think I may have made a mistake.’
‘Really, miss?’ Edna, Rose noticed, was beginning to look anxious.
‘I assumed, you see, that you had overheard the same conversation that I had. But I’m beginning to think that you may have overheard a complet
ely different one entirely.’
‘How do you mean, miss?’ Edna sounded confused.
‘Well, I assumed you were referring to a conversation that had taken place on Saturday morning just before I met you. That’s the one I overheard taking place on the croquet lawn. But now, because of something Lady Withers said, I’m beginning to wonder whether that’s the case. You see, Lady Withers mentioned to Stafford that she thought that the herb rosemary should only ever go with pork and I suddenly remembered what you said when you were telling me about the conversation that you’d overheard, you know, about Mrs Palmer suddenly realising she hadn’t any rosemary to go with the pork. And we had pork for dinner on Saturday night.’
‘I’m not sure I follow you, miss,’
‘When did you hear the conversation on the croquet lawn, Edna?’
‘Saturday evening, miss, about six o’clock.’
‘I knew it!’ Rose was elated. ‘I thought because it took place on the croquet lawn and because Edith was one of the parties to the conversation, we were talking about the same conversation, but we weren’t. Don’t you see, Edna, the conversation I overheard took place on Saturday morning not Saturday evening. Now tell me,’ she clung to the girl’s hand even harder, ‘who was Mrs Torrington talking to?’
‘Why, Lord Belvedere, miss,’ answered the scullery maid, ‘and it was awful, miss.’
‘Why, Edna, why was it awful?’
‘Because they were both crying, miss, something dreadful. They were crying as if their hearts would break.’
Rose hurried through the corridor and emerged out of the green baize door, much to the surprise of Lavinia, who had just come downstairs, having breakfasted again in her room. Rose acknowledged her presence briefly and hurried on. She had some pieces to the jigsaw, now she needed to get some more. Something vague was forming in her mind, she just needed some more bits of the puzzle to be able to solve it. She must find Edith and confront her. She wondered why she had not done so before. And she cursed herself for not realising the significance of the photograph before. How dense she had been.
She was about to mount the stairs in search of Edith, who she assumed to still be in her room. However, looking up the staircase, she saw Edith was just coming down. Rose waited impatiently for her to reach the hall and, as soon as she had, she whisked her out of the front door onto the drive where they could not be easily overheard.
‘What on earth are you doing, Rose?’ Edith sounded somewhat alarmed.
‘I want you to answer a question for me, or at least confirm what I put to you. I want to know who Robert’s father was. It wasn’t your husband, was it Edith? Lord Belvedere was your son’s father, wasn’t he?’
When they came back inside, everyone seemed to be about. Sir William was just coming out of his study, Lady Withers and Lavinia were coming out of the drawing room, and Lord Sneddon down the stairs. The door of the library opened and Inspector Deacon and Sergeant Lane came out, Lord Sedgwick handcuffed between them.
There was a collective gasp as everyone took in the scene and then Lavinia began sobbing, casting a murderous glance at Rose, who shrank back under such a venomous stare.
‘Don’t tell me you have arrested Cedric?’ demanded Sir William, stepping forward. ‘Whatever are you thinking, man? Surely you can’t think him guilty of his mother’s murder?’
‘Out of the way please, Sir William. We’re taking Lord Sedgwick to the police station where he’ll be charged.’
‘No, Inspector, you’ve got it all wrong.’ Rose ran over and stood before them, trying to stop them from leaving. ‘I’m sorry, Cedric, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault that you’ve been arrested. But he didn’t do it, Inspector, he didn’t do it. I swear he didn’t do it because, you see, I know who did.’
Then everything seemed to go very fast indeed.
‘I did it,’ shrieked Edith, ‘I did it. Let him go, Inspector, I killed Lady Belvedere, let him go.’
‘Edith!’ exclaimed Sir William, ‘whatever are you saying? Don’t listen to her, Inspector, I did it.’
‘William!’ wailed Lady Withers, clutching her hand to her heart.
‘No, Inspector,’ said Rose, firmly. ‘None of them did it, they are just trying to protect each other. But I know who did do it, it was –.’
‘Miss Simpson is quite right, Inspector, none of them did do it.’ The voice was loud and commanding and cut through the din that had arisen, as smoothly as a knife. In the silence that followed, every face was upturned to look at the first floor landing, in particular the figure standing at the top of the stairs looking down on them. Rose realised that, in the throng of people downstairs, she had quite forgotten that he alone had been absent. ‘I killed Lady Belvedere, Inspector,’ he continued, his voice full of emotion, ‘I killed my wife.’
For a moment no-one moved, and then the sergeant bounded for the stairs. Although he had hesitated only for a few seconds before making his move, the delay was enough for the earl who, anticipating what was about to happen and having made his confession to save his son, made a goodbye gesture, which indicated also his love, to his two children, and made for his room, locking the door firmly behind him. Lane banged on the door for all he was worth, but to no avail. Desperately the sergeant looked around the landing for some heavy object which might help him to batter down the door. No-one came to his aid, not even the inspector, and before he could find anything suitable, a gunshot rang out through the house, bringing the servants running. Even before they had eventually managed to break down the door, each person present, looking up in horror at the scene unfolding before their eyes, knew what the sergeant would find.
Chapter Thirty-seven
‘Right,’ said Inspector Deacon, walking over to the fireplace in the drawing room and turning to face the expectant faces of Sir William, Edith and Rose. ‘I’ve brought you all here together in this room because, between us all, I think we can put together the pieces to explain why Lord Belvedere felt driven to murder his wife.’
It had been two hours since Lord Belvedere had taken the drastic step of locking himself in his room and taking his own life, thus avoiding the shame and humiliation of a trial and execution. His body had been removed from the house and Lady Withers was, at that very moment, comforting her niece and nephew in her morning room on the first floor. Lavinia and Cedric could little have anticipated that in the space of just two days they would lose both parents and under such horrendous circumstances. Rose’s heart went out to them both, but she did not attempt to go to them, assuming that her presence would not be welcome, and that they might hold her partly to blame for the tragedy that had occurred.
Coffee had been poured out and distributed by the footman, and a plate of sandwiches lay largely ignored on a tray, despite luncheon having, for the first time ever in Ashgrove’s history, been missed or perhaps more accurately, overlooked. It appeared that only Lady Withers had any appetite. Rose had overheard her discussing with Stafford whether it would appear very callous and uncaring of her to eat a few sandwiches in front of her nephew and niece. Stafford had informed her in no uncertain terms that it would, and suggested that she instead find an opportunity to slip into her bedroom where a plate of food would be left for her on her dressing table. Lord Sneddon, to everyone’s delight, had taken the first opportunity to leave Ashgrove, departing some half hour ago.
‘Sergeant Lane and I managed to put together a few pieces of the puzzle ourselves, but I believe if we pool together what we all know, then hopefully we can understand why this crime took place.’ Deacon looked at them earnestly. ‘I can assure you that what you tell me now will stay within these four walls. The newspapers thankfully have not got wind of this story yet, and the powers that be will want some elements of this crime to be kept out of the public domain. They will be relieved that a peer of the realm will not be going on trial for his life, accused of murdering his wife.’
‘You knew, didn’t you, that Cedric hadn’t killed his mother?’ Rose said, loo
king at the inspector accusingly. ‘And yet you let me think he might have done. Have you any idea how wretched I felt?’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Simpson,’ replied Deacon, looking apologetic, ‘but I’m afraid it was necessary. We had great good fortune in that Sir William’s servants are so diligent in their cleaning, so that the discovery that someone had broken into the gun cabinet was made so quickly. We were able to eliminate you, Miss Simpson, from our list of suspects because you had no opportunity to return the gun unobserved. But the gun cabinet was bothering me. I had assumed that whoever had taken the gun must have done so either after everyone had gone to bed on the Saturday night or very early Sunday morning. When Lord Sneddon told us yesterday that he had practically goaded Lord Sedgwick into going after his mother, I wondered whether my theory about the gun cabinet was wrong after all.’
‘And was it?’ enquired Rose.
‘No. The sergeant and I checked it this morning. It would have taken quite a bit of work to break the lock and probably resulted in some noise as well, come to that. Also, because of the positioning of the lock on the cabinet, it would have taken time to force it because the murderer would have had to be very careful to ensure that he did not break the pane of glass in the door.’
‘So you knew it couldn’t be Cedric, because if he had done the murder he would have had to break into the gun cabinet just before setting off for the woods and that couldn’t have happened? According to your theory, it would have taken him too much time and have been a very noisy exercise; he would have been bound to be disturbed.’
‘Exactly, but it did give me an idea. I soon realised that this was going to be a difficult case to solve, not just because almost everyone had a motive for wishing Lady Belvedere harm and had no alibi for the time in question, but because no-one was particularly concerned that the murderer be caught. I hoped that by arresting Lord Sedgwick, I might encourage the real murderer to step forward, which of course happened.’ The inspector looked around the room. ‘But I still don’t know why Lord Belvedere killed his wife, and I want to, for my own peace of mind. You two,’ he said looking at Edith and Sir William, ‘I think, can tell me why. And you, Miss Simpson, worked out the truth and I’d like to know how you did it.’
01 - Murder at Ashgrove House Page 29