02 - Murder at Dareswick Hall (20 page)

‘There
you are Rose,’ Cedric said as soon as she re-entered the garden room, ‘I wanted
to wait until you’d got back before I went. The baron wants me to go up and
help him. Hallam’s with him now. Apparently he is having some difficulty
getting hold of the duke. He’s very ill, at death’s door himself, according to his
secretary, a chap called Harding. He’s at a clinic in Switzerland and they’re
having difficulty getting through to him. And this fellow Harding, he’s not
being much help. He’s reluctant to have anyone break the news to the duke about
his son. He thinks it will finish him off. Says there’s a chance that he won’t
see out the day as it is, so why distress him unnecessarily? He has a point but
it’s dashed difficult for the baron, of course, puts him in a jolly awkward
spot, what. He doesn’t know what to do for the best. That’s why he wants to
talk it over with Hallam and me.’

He cast
a glance at Isabella who was the only other occupant of the room besides themselves
and lowered his voice. ‘You know, Rose, you don’t have to stay here, in this
room I mean. One of the constables has just told me that we’re free to move
around the house now as long as we don’t leave the premises. I suppose it’s
because they’ve now interviewed everyone and searched all our rooms. I wonder
if they found anything incriminating. I fancy a bit of a stroll in the garden
later. I feel as if I’ve been cooped up in here all day and it isn’t even
lunchtime.’

Rose
wondered whether to mention the jewellery that had been discovered in Lord
Sneddon’s room but, on balance, decided against it. It was not that Inspector
Deacon had asked her specifically to keep the information to herself but on the
other hand she did not feel that he would want the matter widely broadcast. But
then Cedric wasn’t just anyone, was he? But right now he was needed elsewhere
and if she were to tell him about it, then she would want them to have time to
discuss the implications. Instead, feeling somewhat dejected, she watched him
go to attend to the concerns of their host.

But how
she longed that he would stay with her, that they could wander in the grounds
alone, oblivious to the cares around them. Oh, why did Lord Sneddon have to go
and get himself murdered, how very inconsiderate of him! If only she and Cedric
could be allowed to enjoy their brief time together, this short respite before
Madame Renard’s shop claimed her and the affairs of Sedgwick Court required his
attentions. She realised now, perhaps too late, that she had been pinning so
very much on this weekend. She wondered what would happen now. Would their fledgling
romance just fizzle out or was it strong enough to hold the course, despite the
murders that seemed to surround them? She knew what she wanted. The question
was, did Cedric feel the same?

But
before she would allow herself to spend any more time dwelling on the matter
and making herself feel miserable, for she had an unbearable, overpowering
feeling that the outcome of their relationship was inevitably doomed, she must
solve Lord Sneddon’s murder. Only then could things return to normal. Only then
could she think about their future. Inspector Deacon’s belief in her ability to
help the police investigation had buoyed her spirits in that area at least and
she realised now, as she stood hesitantly in the doorway to the garden room,
that she had an overwhelming wish to redeem herself in his eyes. With the best
of intentions she had held things back from him and he had been disappointed in
her. Rose remembered the look on his face. She was determined to restore his good
opinion of her. For some reason that she could not quite fathom it mattered
very much to her.

There
was something else nagging at her conscience that made her feel that she must
see that justice was done. Irrational though it might be, she could not shake
the feeling that she had in some way contributed to Sneddon’s death. True, she
had not snatched the little golden dagger and plunged it into his back, but she
had encouraged his change of heart, shamed him into making amends. Had this in
some way led to his death? Had he not been feeling so distraught and guilty
would he be alive now, a patronising sneer on his arrogant face, a cutting
remark falling from his lips? In life she had disliked him very much. In death
she had resolved to seek out the person who had brought about his violent end.

This
renewed purpose lifted her spirits somewhat. She cast a glance at Isabella but
the girl was purposely ignoring her. No doubt she had felt compelled to tell
Cedric and Hallam about the wretched blackmail business lest Rose did so.
Inwardly Rose cursed herself. She should have told Isabella that she had no
intention of mentioning anything about it to the boys. No wonder Isabella did
not like her. She could not blame her any more than she could bring herself to
sit in this room and endure an uncomfortable and inevitable silence. But where
could she go? To her room seemed the obvious answer but she did not want to
shut herself away and feel isolated. Without Cedric beside her she suddenly
felt very alone and unwelcome in this house. How she wished Josephine were here
talking about comforting, inane, trivial matters. Why, she wouldn’t even mind
now if she went on endlessly about bulbs and flowers …flowers! There was
something significant about flowers and Josephine but she could not at this
minute think quite what it was. She had wandered in the gardens on two
occasions with Josephine when the girl had been nattering on pleasantly about
everyday things. And Josephine had arranged some flowers in a vase. Flowers and
Josephine, always flowers and Josephine and something of importance, if only
she could think what it was.

The
association with flowers made her decide to venture outside in the grounds. Her
head ached, as much from her lack of sleep the night before as from the shock
of Sneddon’s murder, and fresh air would surely do some good. Although Cedric
had said that the police wanted everyone to stay on the premises, she assumed
that this included the gardens and not just the house. Certainly Cedric was of
that opinion if he were considering taking a stroll with her later.

With
one last look at Isabella, who was trying hard to appear oblivious to Rose’s
very existence, she sighed and fetched her cloche hat and tweed coat and let
herself out into the garden.

The
fresh air whipped around her face and Rose drank it in, savouring the moment. She
had not realised until then how claustrophobic and stifling the house had
become and how much she had felt trapped and shut up in it like some prisoner.
Inside she had not been able to think. It had been as if the very air inside
the Hall had fuddled her brain, but outside in the fresh air her mind became
active again, awoken from its forced hibernation. Now that she had emerged into
the gardens she felt a certain clarity, and perhaps more importantly,
confidence. She had been instrumental in solving the case at Ashgrove, she
reminded herself; she could be the same here. All she needed to do was to think
through things logically, piece together the bits of the puzzle, and she would
arrive at the answer as she had done before. It would give her a sense of
purpose, something to focus on, so that she was not forced to sit there and
just play a sort of waiting game. And she would restore her standing in
Deacon’s eyes, a little voice said, but she chose to ignore it for that was
secondary after all.

Having
made a decision on how to proceed she wondered why it had taken her so long to
do so. It was only when her eye caught sight of the rosebush that she realised
why. She had known all along who the most likely murderer of Lord Sneddon was,
although she had been reluctant to admit it to herself. Certainly she had no
wish to send that person to the gallows.

‘Well,
sir, I can’t see that the baron would have had a motive for wishing old Sneddon
dead,’ said Sergeant Lane, standing before the fireplace and holding his hands
out before him to catch the warmth from the flames. He flexed his fingers which
ached from all his note taking. ‘The exact opposite’s the case, I’d say. He’s
the only one who was pleased by his daughter’s engagement to the fellow. Bit of
a snob, I’d say. Couldn’t believe his luck that his daughter was going to marry
a duke’s son. He’d be beside himself when she became a duchess and all.
Something to brag about at his club.’

‘Yes’,
agreed Inspector Deacon, ‘he certainly appears to be that type of a fellow. One
to be happy to have his daughters enter into marriages of convenience whether
or not they happened to like the chaps in question. And if what everyone is
saying is true, about there being a time when Sneddon and Josephine were close,
then he doesn’t seem to have had any qualms about upsetting his eldest daughter.
One would expect any father who cared for his daughter would want to break the
news to her gently himself, if only to gauge if it would upset her because she
still had some feelings for the man.’

‘Whereas
in this case,’ said Lane, ‘the baron didn’t seem to give a damn. Was in an
untimely rush to announce the engagement as well, if you ask me. He could have
waited until yesterday to have made the announcement. Seen how the land lay, so
to speak.’

‘I
wonder whether he was worried Isabella Atherton might change her mind,’
pondered Deacon. ‘It made it dashed more difficult for the girl to break it off
if everyone knew about it.’

‘Which
would explain, sir, why he was so angry with Hallam regarding his outburst,’
said the sergeant.  He paused to flick through his notes. ‘According to Lord
Belvedere, young Hallam begged his sister not to marry Sneddon, in front of
everyone too, even the servants. The baron must have been afraid Sneddon would
take offence and walk out.’

‘Yes,
he wasn’t to know how strapped for money he was. I’m beginning to think Sneddon
chose Isabella to marry as a bit of a last resort. He can’t have imagined that
the marriage would ever have been a happy one.’

‘Not
given that he’d blackmailed her into it rather than turned on the charm and
persuaded her to marry him of her own free will.’

‘The
man was desperate, Lane, we’ve got to remember that. He hadn’t sufficient time
to charm the girl. He was involved in blackmail and theft, for goodness sake,
and who knows what else.’ Deacon sighed. ‘Anyway, getting back to the baron who
was happily oblivious to all this. He was probably the only person in this
house who wanted Lord Sneddon present and for him to marry his youngest
daughter. Although…’ he paused and sat for a few moments in contemplation.

‘Although?’
prompted the sergeant, eagerly, after a few moments had elapsed.

‘Well,
I was just wondering, Lane. We say that the baron was keen for his daughter to
marry Sneddon, but I’m just wondering if he would have been so keen if he’d
found out just some of the truth about the man.’

‘What
do you mean, sir? Are you talking about the blackmail and the stealing?’

‘I was
actually thinking more along the lines of finding out our Sneddon was hard up
and had a list of creditors as long as his arm. Even the baron would have
reservations about his daughter becoming destitute. He wouldn’t want to see
Sneddon waste her dowry on paying off gambling debts no matter if she was able
to put “duchess” in front of her name in a few years’ time. No, that could
definitely have soured his mood towards Lord Sneddon.’

He
began pacing the room. ‘But you’re right, Lane, he could have got wind of the
blackmail business or the thefts, or both come to that. And he wouldn’t have
taken too kindly to either of those, would he? Even he would resent his
daughter being blackmailed into marriage, and he’d hardly just stand by and let
his guests be robbed in his own house, now would he? And we know he’s got a
temper. Loud and jovial when things are going his own way, didn’t Miss Simpson
say? But prepared to fly into a temper when things don’t. Look how angry he was
with Hallam Atherton when he spoke out of turn about Sneddon being there. And that
poor footman. He dismissed the man on the spot.’

‘You
don’t think Sneddon could have been blackmailing the baron too, do you, sir?’

‘All
things are possible, Sergeant. I could well imagine a man like the baron having
a few murky secrets in his past or a mistress in town that he doesn’t want his
daughters to know about.’

‘So the
baron might have had reason to wish Sneddon dead after all?’

‘It’s
certainly possible. We shouldn’t rule him out as a suspect quite yet. But,
moving away from suspects for a moment, Lane, there’s something that’s been
bothering me about the murder itself that I’ve been meaning to talk over with
you ….’

She
must go through the list of suspects logically. That was the only way to do
things. She would find a bench and sit and think with the cool air blowing on
her face. Thank goodness it was only cold and not raining. She could not bear
the idea of going back into the house just yet. Cedric, she felt sure, would
still be with the baron. No doubt trying to stop Hallam from arguing with his
father or else offering a comforting shoulder, because who really knew how
Hallam was feeling about it all? He had been jolly rotten to Sneddon, of course,
not that the man hadn’t deserved it given what he had put the whole family
through. The way he’d treated Josephine and the young maid with the village
thinking that Hallam had been to blame. But Sneddon was dead, had been brutally
murdered, cut down in his youth as his brothers had been. Who was to say that
Hallam didn’t feel a sense of guilt or shame now? He might even this very
moment be wishing that he had behaved differently.