02 - Murder at Dareswick Hall (21 page)

Unless
of course he was the murderer, said a little voice inside her head. It was
tempting to dismiss the idea but Rose had set herself the task of finding the
murderer and Hallam was a credible suspect even if the idea of him killing Sneddon
was unpalatable, given how very young he was.

She
opted for a wooden bench beside one of the gravel drives that edged the formal
gardens and gave a good view of the Hall and consequently anyone who happened
to venture outside, should Cedric come out to find her, or Inspector Deacon,
she thought as an afterthought.

She
didn’t want to think for one moment that the murderer might be Hallam, but he
was young and impulsive and she could easily imagine him convincing himself
that it was the right thing to do to protect his sisters. Cedric had admitted
that he had put the idea into the boy’s head that Isabella was being coerced
into marrying Sneddon. She would have said that he was not the violent type,
certainly not the sort of fellow to kill a man in a cowardly, cold-blooded way.
But he had once attacked Josephine, she reminded herself, attacked her badly
enough for the scar to still be visible all these years later. But he had bitterly
regretted it ever since, Josephine had said so. He could not bear to be
reminded of what he had done so she made sure to keep the scar hidden. Hallam
could have done it, Rose eventually admitted to herself, in a fit of anger he
could have struck Sneddon, as he had done his sister all those years before,
but he would have regretted it instantly. She could imagine him standing over
Sneddon shaking, his face white and his lips trembling. If he had done it, she
thought, he would have stayed at the scene and taken responsibility for his
actions. He wouldn’t have slipped away to escape the consequences. Besides, he
would have been in shock, he would have been unable to move even had he wanted
to.

But,
said the little voice in her head, it was probably hours between the time Sneddon
was killed and when he was discovered by Doris, the maid. Even someone in deep
shock might have recovered his wits sufficiently by then and crept away from
the scene.  Yes, said another voice, but would he have been able to keep to
himself what he had done? Hallam was just the sort of young man who would go to
pieces and confess or show some other sign that gave the game away. She thought
back to how he had appeared to her in the garden room. He had been distressed
by the murder as they all had been and, now she thought back on it, she
remembered that he had appeared particularly agitated, clenching and
unclenching his fists. He had been particularly concerned too about Josephine
and whether her sudden vanishing act could be interpreted as her having had a
hand in Sneddon’s death, she remembered. Exactly as he would act and feel, she
realised, if he were afraid that his sister would be blamed for his crime.

And who
was to say that he had not confessed to what he had done? Certainly he had not
confessed to the police but that did not mean that he had not confessed to
someone else. Who was to say that he had not confessed to his father and Cedric
and that was the reason they were all holed up so long together? Perhaps the
tale of trying to get hold of the Duke of Haywater and deciding exactly what to
tell him was just a ruse to give them time together to decide what to do to
save Hallam from the gallows. Even now they might be planning to stow him away
in the dirty laundry sent out to be washed. A fast car might be ready to take
him to the coast so that he could set sail for America or India, or anywhere
else where he might be able to lose himself, until the hue and cry had died
down and the police had lost interest in the case.

But
surely Cedric would have told her or, even if he had been sworn to secrecy, he
would have given some tell-tale sign that would have given the game away. But
then she had seen so little of him this weekend. And what time they had spent
together, they had rarely been alone. She stifled a sob. Please, she prayed,
don’t let it fizzle out before it’s even really started, I couldn’t bear it.

‘But
I’ve already told you, Mr Crabtree, I didn’t do it!’ wailed Robert. He had been
summoned to the housekeeper’s sitting room and been alarmed to find, as soon as
he had crossed the threshold, both the butler and Mrs Hodges bearing down on
him and interrogating him about every aspect of his movements the night before.
They had eyed him suspiciously as he had answered each question and he was left
with the distinct impression that they only half believed what he was telling
them. The housekeeper in particular was looking at him very strangely, he felt
himself flinch under her penetrating stare. His mouth went dry and suddenly he
found that his collar was too tight and was beginning to rub the back of his
neck, as if too much starch had been used.

‘It’s
very important you tell us the truth lad,’ said Mrs Hodges, ‘Mr Crabtree and me,
we only want to help you but we can only do that if you tells us the truth. Isn’t
that right, Mr Crabtree?’

‘It is,
indeed,’ agreed the butler, taking over. ‘Now, Robert, you’re quite sure you
didn’t go back downstairs for anything after everyone had retired to bed.
Nothing that you’d forgotten? A book perhaps, or a pencil, something
insignificant like that that you may have gone back down for?’

‘I’ve
already told you, I didn’t, Mr Crabtree. I went to bed as soon as you sent me
up. Do you remember you sent me up rather early on account of your not wanting
me to run into the master? You said as he would more likely than not have me
thrown off the grounds if he caught a glimpse of me. And I knew you were keen
to lock ‘em doors to the attic and get to your bed yourself, and who wouldn’t
after the day we’d had? All the fetching and carrying and cleaning and
polishing and them upstairs, they have no idea of all the work we do to make
sure everything goes like clockwork like.’

‘Which
it certainly didn’t do last night when you doused Lord Sneddon with boiling
soup,’ admonished Crabtree sternly, feeling obliged to make some form of retort
as Robert had criticised their betters and, perhaps more importantly, their
paymasters.

‘I did
have half a mind to go down and kill the man, I admit,’ said Robert, sullenly.
Mrs Hodges put a hand to her heart and looked as if she were about to faint.
‘But I didn’t mind you,’ he added hastily, seeing the effect of his words. ‘Not
that he didn’t deserve it after what he made poor Mabel do. But I was afraid to
when I thought about it. Not the killing part, I’d have had no problem doing
that, it was the consequences that I was afraid of, you know, getting caught
and letting you and Mrs Hodges down, Mr Crabtree, after all you’ve done for me
and all.’

‘If the
police happen to interview you again, for goodness sake keep that bit about
wanting to kill Lord Sneddon to yourself, Robert,’ said the housekeeper
somewhat recovered from her fright. ‘They’ll be looking for a scapegoat,
someone to pin the murder on, you mark my words if they’re not.’

The
footman decided not to tell her that he had already confessed as much to
Sergeant Lane.

‘Robert,
did you know that the door to the attic was unlocked last night?’ Crabtree
said, carefully. ‘I must have forgotten to lock it which was very remiss of me,
although I could have sworn I had.’

‘You
did, Mr Crabtree,’ the boy said eagerly, ‘’cause I saw you do it. And I heard
you do it too.’

‘I
thought I had!’ The butler sounded as if he had scored a point. In truth he had
been wondering whether he was becoming rather forgetful with age. It was a
relief to know that he was not declining with the years. ‘I will be that glad
when we get back to normal and I don’t have to go about locking doors and the
such,’ said the butler with feeling. ‘But this morning the door was open when I
tried it, I can’t explain it.’

‘I
reckon it was that Ricketts chap,’ said Robert, earnestly. ‘That’s why you
started locking the door in the first place, wasn’t it? I wouldn’t trust him as
far as I could throw him. He’s the look of a prison about him, I bet he can
pick a lock or two.’

‘By Jove,
you’re right, lad.’ Crabtree sounded ecstatic. ‘Mrs Hodges and I were only
saying how he could be the murderer. And of course you’re right. A fellow like
him would know just how to pick a lock. No doubt he and his master had a
falling out and he took a knife to him. It would make far more sense that, than
the murderer being a member of the household or one of the guests.’

‘It also
explains why the police have been watching him so closely,’ said the
housekeeper, herself warming to the suggestion. ‘Have you noticed that they’re
not letting him out of their sights?’

‘They’re
afraid he’ll do a runner, I reckon,’ agreed the footman.

‘Oh,
Mrs Hodges, Robert, I cannot tell you how relieved I am,’ said Crabtree
collapsing into one of the armchairs, dabbing at his forehead with a
handkerchief. ‘I have been that afraid about who the murderer might be it has
been making me quite ill with worry, I can tell you. But you are quite right,
Robert. The murderer more likely as not is this Ricketts scoundrel and the
police already have him in their sights, so to speak. Yes, they are on to him. Mark
my words, Mrs Hodges, before long we’ll be back to normal. Peace and order will
be restored to Dareswick. It will be as if this tragic event never happened.
Right, now we’ve put the world to rights I think we deserve a nice cup of tea,
don’t you, Mrs Hodges?’

Ten
minutes later butler and housekeeper were sitting contentedly sipping tea grateful
in the knowledge that the trying events of the last couple of days would soon
be over. It did not occur to either of them as they relaxed, sharing a welcome
respite of a few brief minutes from their many duties and chores, that matters
were about to take a turn for the worse.

‘I
think I know what’s bothering you about the murder scene, sir,’ said Lane. ‘I
was thinking myself it all looked rather neat, you know, no chairs or tables
knocked over in a struggle as you might have expected if there had been a bit
of a scuffle. I know whoever had a fight with Lord Sneddon would have wanted to
keep the noise down in case they awoke the house, but even so it made me wonder
if things had been tidied up a bit by the servants. But Crabtree swears no one
touched a thing. The little maid, Doris, almost died of fright by all accounts
when she saw the body. She dropped her dustpan and brush and fled like a mad
thing from the room. The housekeeper’s most perturbed because she says the ash
will be a devil to get out of the carpet. Anyway, the butler says he was
summoned by Mrs Hodges as soon as the body was discovered and that, once he’d
established that Sneddon was dead he locked the room and pocketed the key.
Apparently he didn’t even go over the threshold. Said it was obvious from where
he stood in the doorway to the room that the man was dead and there was nothing
he could do for him. If you ask me, sir, he was a bit squeamish as far as the
body was concerned.’

‘Well,
he was right in that Sneddon was dead. He’d have been dead some hours at least
when he was found. There’d have been nothing he could have done for him. And I
don’t think there ever was a scuffle, Lane, no fight of any sort, I’d say. I
think it happened exactly as it looks like it happened. There were no defensive
wounds discovered on the body, I’ve just found out from the police doctor, no
scratches or skin under the fingernails or that sort of thing, as there would
have been if there’d been a struggle of sorts. Sneddon was sitting at the
writing desk, writing.  Now we know about Miss Simpson’s nocturnal visit to the
library and what was discussed between her and Sneddon and his subsequent
change of heart about blackmailing Isabella Atherton. I think it’s fair to
assume that Sneddon was compiling, or about to compile, a list of the people he
had wronged.’

‘In
which case, sir, the murderer’s name was probably on that list. And he more
likely as not took the list away with him, don’t you think?’

‘I do.
Although I think it just as likely that Sneddon might not even have got around
to writing the list before he was killed. Anyway it’s neither here nor there
because the murderer would have been sure to have got rid of the list by now,
it would have been far too incriminating. And he’d have had ample opportunity.
No, Lane,’ said Deacon, ‘that’s not what’s worrying me.’

‘What
is it then, sir?’

‘I
think Sneddon was taken unawares. I think someone either sneaked up behind him
and stuck the knife in his back and he never knew anything about it, or else
that he did not feel threatened by the presence of his murderer and so turned
his back on him and sat down at the desk.’

‘Yes,
sir,’ agreed the sergeant, somewhat disappointed. He did not know what he had
been expecting the inspector to say, but something more than this. He thought
that they’d already established a scenario like this as a strong possibility.

‘We
know the murder was not premeditated, Lane, because the murderer grasped the
first thing that came to hand, namely the letter opener which, by all accounts,
would have been on the desk.’

‘Or
they might have known it would be there and decided to use it before they
entered the room.’

‘Possibly,
but that would have been a bit risky. They weren’t to know that Sneddon would
be seated at the desk. For all they knew he could have been at the other end of
the room. In which case he would see them pick up the letter opener and be on
his guard or, at the very least, curious as to what they intended to do with it.
No, Lane, that’s not it. Don’t you see what it is?’

‘No,
sir, quite frankly, I don’t.’

‘If
there had been any form of struggle the murderer would have needed to have had
some degree of physical strength. Sneddon was a fit young man with a strong
physique. He wouldn’t have been killed without a fight and we have just established
that no tussle took place.’

‘I
still don’t see what you’re getting at, sir.’

‘I
think, Lane, that our Lord Sneddon was killed by a woman. I think she either crept
up on him or Sneddon dismissed her and made the mistake of turning his back on
her. Either way, it would have been easy enough for a woman to have plunged the
knife in his back. She wouldn’t have been faced with any resistance and,
because she would have been leaning over him, she wouldn’t have needed any
strength to do the job. You know, Lane, there’s another saying from Shakespeare
along the lines of “there is no fury like a woman scorned.”’

‘So you
think –.’

‘– the
murderer’s the Honourable Josephine Atherton,’ said Deacon, finishing his
sergeant’s sentence. ‘Yes I do, or at least I think it’s a very strong
possibility.’

Rose,
with a slowing step and heavy heart, angry at her own lack of faith, had
suddenly come to the very same conclusion. If she thought about it, she realised
that she had always been afraid that the murderer was Josephine. It was the
only solution that made any sense.

Josephine
had been welcoming and shown her kindness, even if she had been a little
distracted as if she had had something of significance preying on her mind. It
was to be expected that Josephine might feel some bitterness towards Sneddon.
He had led her to believe that he had feelings for her which might lead to
marriage and then he had abruptly switched his attentions to her maid. How
humiliating it must have been for her, particularly given that he had got the
girl into trouble and then the girl had chosen such an awful resolution to her
problems. And then to find that he was to marry her own sister who was being
coerced into submitting to the arrangement. It must have been too awful for her
to bear. She had too many motives for wishing Sneddon dead not to be the
murderer or, at the very least, have had some hand in his death. Perhaps she
had managed to bribe Brimshaw to do the deed himself rather than dirty her own
hands with Sneddon’s blood. Perhaps they had panicked, perhaps that’s why they
had fled. Or perhaps that had been the arrangement all along. Brimshaw might be
at the other end of the world by now, and Josephine might have set off in the
other direction or might return all innocent, claiming to have been kidnaped
and in fear of her life.

Rose
did not care for Isabella and because of that she had wished to think her
guilty, if one was to accept the unpalatable notion that the murderer must have
come from within Dareswick Hall. Isabella had looked down on her, if she even
bothered to acknowledge her at all. When they had been introduced she had
smiled at her mockingly, considered her a source of amusement, laughed at her
expense. Rose’s cheeks went crimson. She suddenly wondered if they all thought
like Isabella did; the baron, Josephine and Hallam. They probably thought of
her as they did Brimshaw, and look how horrified the baron and Hallam had been
at the possibility that Josephine might have eloped with the chauffeur, almost
as if it had been worse than her murdering Sneddon. She was making Cedric into a
laughing stock. His friends were no doubt laughing behind his back, horrified
in an amused sort of way that he had the nerve to flaunt her in public, saying
that his mother would have sent her packing if she had still been alive.
Perhaps even the servants laughed at her while they undertook their tasks in
the shadows or before the house had fully awoken. Even now they might be
sitting in the servants’ hall having a gossip about her, wondering when Cedric
would come to his senses and marry Josephine who, after all would be far more
suitable. Perhaps even her sister, although she thought Isabella would find
Cedric too dull and he would find her too flighty.