01 - Murder at Ashgrove House (22 page)

On leaving the library, Rose made her way up to her own room where she
intended to lock herself in and think further on the events of the morning or,
if that felt too wearisome, to rest. Right now, she would have given anything
to be at home, safe.

She had just got to the top of the first flight of stairs when a door was
flung open and Edith appeared on the landing. Both women looked at each other
for what seemed to Rose a few minutes, but in reality was probably only a few
seconds, and then Rose broke the silence.

‘I’ve been to see the police.’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve told them everything, everything I can remember.’

‘Very wise.’

‘Why did you try and stop me just now?’

‘I didn’t,’ began Edith, before seeing the look of disbelief on Rose’s
face. ‘Well, I suppose it might have looked like that. But I did it for your
own good. You were so tired and agitated, your face had gone so white, I didn’t
think you’d manage the stairs without falling down them. I wanted you to lie
down and rest a while, that’s all.’

‘You’re lying. You wanted to know whether I’d seen who killed Lady
Belvedere and you wanted to stop me from telling the police.’ There was a
silence, disturbed only by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall
below. ‘Well, aren’t you going to say anything, Edith, aren’t you going to deny
it?’

‘No,’ said Edith, finally, ‘I suppose I’m not.’

‘Get out of my way. I don’t want you anywhere near me,’ Rose said, aware
that her voice was beginning to rise hysterically. ‘Leave me alone, no, don’t
come any nearer to me or I’ll scream, oh, can’t you see I’m frightened of you?’

‘Frightened of me?’ Edith sounded incredulous. ‘Rose? Rose, dear, you
have no reason to be frightened of me, I promise you. I mean you no
harm.’ 

 ‘I don’t believe you. Oh, I don’t know what to believe,’ Rose said,
becoming distraught. ‘I’m just so frightened, that’s all.’

‘William should have sent for the doctor to give you a sedative,’ Edith
said, coming over to Rose and putting an arm around her shoulders. ‘It was very
unfair of him not to, to hell with the police.’

‘Edith, can I ask you something?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Will you promise me that you’ll tell the truth?’

‘Yes …well, I …’

‘Did you kill Lady Belvedere?’ There was another silence.

‘No, I didn’t,’ Edith said.

‘But you know who did,’ persisted Rose, ‘and you are trying to protect
them, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, at least, I think I know who did it and I am trying to protect
them. They don’t deserve to hang, Rose, we mustn’t let that happen.’ She looked
at Rose beseechingly. ‘Please don’t ask me any more questions, I’m not going to
tell you who it is, and if you tell the police about this conversation, I’ll
deny it, so it’ll just be your word against mine.’

‘I didn’t tell the police about your conversation with Sir William on the
croquet lawn, it didn’t seem relevant.’

‘Thank you, it wasn’t.’ 

 ‘I didn’t tell them either that I thought Lady Belvedere was
frightened of you, and then you of her.’

‘You just imagined it, Rose, that’s all. You seem to have a very vivid
imagination.’

‘That’s as may be, Edith, but I didn’t imagine you telling me how much
you hated Lady Belvedere at lunch yesterday, or how she deserved to be dead and
you were minded to send her on her way yourself. I’m afraid I told the police
that.’

‘It was very silly of me to say what I did. With hindsight …’

‘Yes, hindsight’s a great thing, isn’t it? But you weren’t to know, were
you Edith? I mean, you didn’t shoot the countess, did you, so you weren’t to
know someone would kill her today?’

‘No.’

Rose left Edith standing on the landing and proceeded up to her room.
When she happened to look back, she found that Edith was still looking after
her. Their eyes locked for a moment before both women looked away. Rose
continued to her room aware that both women were left wondering what the other
was thinking and, more importantly, what the other one knew.

‘You’d better lead the way, Stafford,’ said Deacon, trying very hard to
keep his temper in check and hide how very annoyed he was with Sir William, who
was following the inspector and sergeant rather dejectedly. It had seemed quite
a good idea at the time to take a sherry with his butler, particularly in light
of what Stafford had been prepared to do to protect the honour of the house and
guests, but now Sir William considered that he had been a trifle unwise. Neither
policeman had appreciated him not informing them at once that someone had
broken into his gun cabinet. Somehow they had known that he had been drinking
sherry with his butler. He did not feel that either could tell by his manner
for he did not feel at all light headed, just calm; a lot calmer anyway, than
he had felt just after he had spoken with Edith. Edith! How could she have been
so stupid, how could …..

‘It’s in here, sir,’ said Stafford, pulling back the heavy velvet
curtain, ‘in this alcove. You probably didn’t even notice it was here when you
were in this room before, sir. The curtain’s always kept drawn.’

‘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.’

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 that’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.