02 - Murder at Dareswick Hall (9 page)

Rose
did not hurry back indoors. She felt sure that Josephine would be closeted in
her bedroom, or perhaps a sitting room or morning room, deep in thought as she
tried to formulate a solution to Isabella’s dilemma. Cedric no doubt was
ensconced with Hallam in some room trying to persuade the young man not to do
anything rash. Isabella, she hazarded a guess, had returned to her room and the
baron was no doubt holed up in his study. The only person she was likely to
come across if she returned to the house now, other than the servants, was Lord
Sneddon. Such a prospect was not only unpleasant and unwelcome, but she felt
sure that, despite the promise she had made to Josephine, she would find it
very hard to hold her tongue and make small talk with the blackmailer. Besides,
it was still warm and the gardens seemed to beckon her, a haven from the
tensions in the house that stifled the atmosphere like heat and dust.

In the
end it was Cedric that came for her, and she could tell, even from a distance,
that he was agitated.

‘I had
the whole story from Hallam as to why he hates Sneddon so, and I have to say I
don’t blame him in the slightest for wanting to give Sneddon his marching
orders. Why, I did the same thing myself not so long ago, if you remember?’

‘I do,’
smiled Rose, and a surge of love filled her heart for Cedric.

‘Still,
I was mindful of the promise I had made the baron to keep Hallam out of
trouble, or at least prevent him from doing anything to jeopardise the
engagement. So I made up my mind to have it out with Sneddon, find out exactly
what he’s playing at. I almost wondered whether he saw it as some sort of
game.’

‘And
does he?’ asked Rose inquisitively, curious to find out if Sneddon would reveal
his hand or keep his act of intimidation firmly hidden.

‘The
man has upped and gone to London, damn him!’ cursed Cedric. ‘Feigned some
important family business he had to attend to that wouldn’t wait. He won’t be
back until just before dinner.’

‘Oh,
that’s good, isn’t it?’ exclaimed Rose. ‘We can relax now in the knowledge that
we won’t come across him loitering in the grounds and be forced to be polite to
him. And you won’t have to keep an eye on Hallam.’

‘There
is that,’ admitted Cedric, grudgingly, ‘but I’d rather get it all over and done
with, you know, have my say. I can’t help thinking that the longer I leave it,
and the more all this is allowed to drag on, the worse it will be. Don’t you
feel it, Rose, that something awful is going to happen? Or is it just me, am I
just being fanciful?’

‘It’s
just you, silly,’ said Rose and kissed him. She did not want to admit even to
herself that she felt the same. It was like a waiting game. They were all sat
there waiting for something to happen, or was she just imagining things like
Cedric? She must think on the positives. With Sneddon gone, albeit only
temporarily, Josephine could plan how to extract Isabella from her precarious
situation and Hallam had time to calm down. And best of all she could spend
time with Cedric. They could have the weekend that they had longed for, even if
just for a few hours.

But at
the back of her mind her thoughts were with Isabella. She wondered idly whether
she would keep to her rooms feeling ostracised. She did not like to think of
her alone pacing the floor liked a caged tiger feeling miserable and wretched,
forced into an intolerable situation. She longed to tell her that she knew her
secret, knew why she was intending to marry a man she despised. She wanted to
tell her that Josephine knew, that her sister would rescue her. For Rose put
great faith in Josephine. There was something about the way that she had said
that she would see to it which made Rose feel sure that she would. She
remembered the determined look on Josephine’s face, the look of resolve in her
eyes. She would take whatever measures she considered necessary to ensure that
her sister was not forced to marry Sneddon against her will. With a shiver,
Rose wondered what those measures would be.

‘Course
I could always tell his lordship that that footman is still here, the one he
dismissed for spilling soup on old Sneddon,’ said Ricketts, sidling into the
butler’s pantry where the butler had just managed to down a sobering shot of
whisky.

‘It’s
Lord Sneddon to you,’ Crabtree retorted stiffly. ‘And you’d do well to keep
your nose out of things that don’t concern you.’

‘Well
I’d say this does. It was my man got scalded after all. What’s it worth to you for
me to keep quiet like?’ The valet lounged against the Belfast sink, sucking his
teeth. ‘I doubt whether your master will be too pleased that you’ve disobeyed
his orders. You might lose your own job.’

‘You
may be used to blackmailing people where you’ve come from, but it won’t work
here,’ Crabtree said firmly, the whisky having given him the additional courage
he needed to stand up to the man. ‘And I’d think twice if I were you before you
go running to his lordship. Because I’ve got half a mind to look into where
you’ve come from. You’re no valet or I’ll eat my hat. You’ve never even been in
service before. And I’ll have you know that I’ve got contacts in loads of
places; who knows what I may find out?’

It was
decided that the morning at least should be spent wandering into the village of
Dareswick and having a look around before returning for a late lunch. Dareswick
was located some three miles from Dareswick Hall and the journey involved
trudging over fields and muddy farm tracks. This together with the continued
warm weather and fresh air had a positive effect on the party, lifting
everyone’s spirits, with Hallam chatting happily to Cedric about how he was
finding Oxford and Josephine filling Rose in on the village’s history. Isabella
had declined to join them on their expedition citing tiredness and having
letters to write. The absence of Isabella and Sneddon helped to lighten the
atmosphere and Rose had a glimpse of how the weekend might have gone if it had
not been for the arrival of the unwelcome visitor.

The
village of Dareswick was picturesque with its narrow lanes and tiny streets
populated by old stone houses and cottages, many of them thatched. Rose and
Josephine wandered around the ancient church, which had some Norman work
remaining in its north and south doorways, and Josephine pointed out to Rose
its seventeenth century canopied pulpit and medieval stained glass windows.
Cedric and Hallam meanwhile, having both been in the church on numerous
occasions, loitered in the churchyard until the girls had finished their visit.
They retired to one of Dareswick’s many tearooms on the pretext of having
coffee, but the smell of freshly baked loaves, thick golden farm butter and
other appetising aromas enticed them to stay for lunch.

It was
therefore mid-afternoon before they returned to Dareswick Hall. Rose thought
that it was probably just her fancy but it seemed to her that, with each step
nearer they got to the Hall, the mood became more subdued until the happy chat
dwindled to a stop with each of them apparently lost in their own thoughts.
Rose found that she herself was dreading encountering Isabella, for it occurred
to her that Josephine’s first course of action on being told about the
blackmail would have been to go to her sister to demand the full story. Rose
did not see how Josephine could tell Isabella how she knew what was happening
without disclosing that she, Rose, however unintentionally, had overheard
Isabella’s intensely private conversation with Sneddon in the library. Rose
felt her cheeks burning at the thought.

As it
happened, her fears appeared unfounded, for when she encountered Isabella later
in the day in the drawing room she gave no indication that she viewed Rose any
differently than she had the night before. Just as puzzlingly, Rose had the
distinct impression that Josephine had said nothing to Isabella about the
blackmail. How odd, she thought. It occurred to her then that Josephine’s
intention might be to bypass Isabella altogether and tackle Sneddon head on.
The thought made her tremble as she could easily imagine Sneddon’s wrath at the
discovery of his plans. He was also likely to turn his anger towards her as the
person who had let the cat out of the bag. Rose had no doubt that he would feel
vindictive and would want some form of retribution. How she longed to tell
Cedric, but she had been sworn to secrecy by Josephine and she was not one to
go back on her word. Besides, she was afraid of what Cedric might do if he were
to know the truth. If the time came, she would have to rely on herself.

The day
dragged on into a waiting game for Lord Sneddon’s return, the sense of
foreboding Rose felt growing stronger with each passing hour. Cedric roamed the
gardens with Hallam, as if to tire him out, and Rose remained in the drawing
room with Josephine, flicking idly through a copy of a
Woman’s Weekly
magazine,
perusing
The London Girl’s Dress Gossip
article and reading the
questions and advice given in the
Mrs Marryat Advises
column. She tried
to imagine what Mrs Marryat’s advice would be to their dilemma, something along
the lines of “My dear readers, one of the most senseless things a girl can do is
to marry a man because she is being coerced to do so.” Oh, if only she had been
aware of the problem before, then perhaps she could have sent a stamped and
addressed envelope to Mrs Marryat for a private reply.

Following
a fleeting appearance when Cedric and Hallam were safely ensconced in the
vegetable garden, Isabella had retired again to her room, but not before Rose
had taken in how deathly pale and listless she was. Josephine, she noticed with
surprise, hardly acknowledged her sister’s presence and yet there was a
pleading look in Isabella’s eyes as if she was desperate to impart something to
Josephine or ask her for advice. Josephine appeared oblivious to this and Rose
felt that her own presence in the room was proving a hindrance. It occurred to
her that the most diplomatic course of action would be to leave, but before she
could do so, Isabella had disappeared.

During
the course of the afternoon, Josephine had gone into the garden and returned
with a bunch of soft apricot coloured roses, together with some old newspaper and
a vase provided to her by one of the maids.

‘Oh, I
do love roses, don’t you? And isn’t it wonderful how some are repeat-flowering?
First they bloom in June or July and then again in autumn when you think they
are all gone and winter is approaching,’ said Josephine, removing some wilted
chrysanthemums from another vase and discarding them on the open newspaper
which she had laid out on the floor in front of her. ‘They’re your namesake,
roses. Does your mother especially like them?’

‘Yes,’
said Rose, glancing up from her magazine. ‘They’re her favourite flower. She
loves the old varieties that have hundreds of petals, and she likes the tea
roses, of course.’

‘Yes,
we have loads of those in the rose garden,’ Josephine agreed, busying herself
with her flower arranging. ‘There, how do those look? Certainly brightened up
the room, don’t you think?’ She stood back to admire her work. ‘Right, I’ll
just clear this mess up and take it out into the kitchen and…oh!’ She let out a
sharp gasp.

‘What’s
the matter?’ Rose asked, looking up, concerned.

‘Oh,
nothing. It’s nothing. I’ve just pricked my finger on a thorn, that’s all.
That’s the trouble with roses, isn’t it?’ With that, she rushed from the room
to see to her injured finger and rid herself of the newspaper and dead
chrysanthemums.

It was
only much later, after the murders, that Rose wondered at the significance of
this incident.

Isabella
did not appear again until they all came down to dinner that evening. While
Rose was dressing for dinner, she was aware of someone arriving and marching up
the stairs, a number of servants in his wake, no doubt to run a steaming bath
and lay out dinner clothes. So Lord Sneddon has left it to the very last minute
to return, she thought. It was probably a sensible course of action on his
part, as it gave Hallam little opportunity to accost him. Unfortunately, Rose
thought, it also meant that Josephine would have no opportunity to speak with him
before dinner, so the blackmail matter was unlikely to be resolved until the
next day. Isabella would be faced with yet another night of torment.

Oh,
well, it was unfortunate, but it couldn’t be helped. Now where did she put her
mother’s pearls? She had worn them last night with her black velvet dress, but
she couldn’t find them on the dressing table where she was sure she had left
them. Perhaps the maid had packed them away in her case, it was the sort of
thing they probably did. She couldn’t remember, it was such a very long time
since her family had had servants of their own. Well, it didn’t really matter,
Rose thought. Her blue and silver dress was quite dressy enough without the
need for jewellery to accentuate the effect. Besides, she didn’t want to be
down late to dinner, which a search of her things would surely result in; she
would go down as she was.

Isabella
left it to the very last minute to come down, escorted by Sneddon. Both looked
apprehensive and, in Isabella’s case, very pale despite the liberal application
of foundation creams and rouge. Rose was shocked by her changed appearance from
that of the woman who had arrived the previous evening. Even in comparison with
earlier that afternoon, Isabella’s countenance had deteriorated to an alarming
degree. Her eyes were red rimmed and swollen and there were dark shadows
underneath them betraying a sleepless night. Rose glanced at Hallam
apprehensively, afraid that he would be spurred into action by the wretched
state of his sister. But, while she saw him gasp and clench his fists until she
could see the whiteness of his knuckles, he remained silent. Cedric, she
noticed, was watching him intently as if anxious as to whether or not he would
adhere to the course of action that they had presumably agreed to take. She
caught Cedric’s eye. It appeared that he, like Josephine, intended to have a
word with Sneddon at the first available opportunity.

Only
the baron, Rose thought, appeared unaware of the misery of his youngest
daughter. If he noticed her altered appearance, he gave no sign, but instead
beamed at the gathering as if it were a joyful occasion and the atmosphere was
easy and light. Everyone else, Rose felt sure, was aware of the tension in the
room. Conversation was strained and formal, and focused on discussing matters
of a trivial nature. No mention was made of the engagement and forthcoming
marriage. It was almost, Rose thought, that by not mentioning it everyone hoped
that it would go away.

She
realised that she was fortunate in where she was seated in that the baron was
determined to keep conversation flowing at his end of the table and kept up a
continuous dialogue on the history of the village and its church. Rose readily
nodded and murmured words of encouragement at appropriate intervals or lapses
in the conversation, painfully aware that there was often silence at the other
end of the table broken only by the odd word or unenthusiastically asked
question, the answer to which was more often than not a monosyllable.

Cedric,
she noticed, was trying to engage Josephine in a pretence at least of some sort
of conversation. But it was as if Josephine could not hear his words because
she seemed wrapped up in her own world, oblivious to all around her except for
every now and then throwing the odd anxious glance at Isabella, as if she could
not quite comprehend that her sister was even contemplating the possibility of
entering into marriage with a man such as Sneddon. Sneddon himself, Josephine
barely cast a look at, as if he was beneath consideration.

Sneddon
hardly said a word to anyone, staring straight ahead above Isabella’s head as
if the answer to his thoughts lay through the wall and outside the room. Every
now and then his eyes darted towards the servants as if he was searching for
one in particular who was not there. He flinched each time a servant stood
beside him to serve him dishes or replenish his wine. The whole table looked on
in excited apprehension when the still poorly Sid came to serve him soup, but
there were no further mishaps.

Both
Hallam and Isabella stared sullenly at the tablecloth, the former playing idly
with his cutlery, the latter toying with her glass. Both looked equally
dejected.

The
prospect of having to try and make small talk in the drawing room after dinner
was almost too awful to comprehend. Rose wondered how long she would have to
wait until she could reasonably be excused and retire to bed. Perhaps she could
feign a headache straightaway.

As it
happened, both Josephine and Isabella made their excuses and retired to bed as
soon as the coffee and liqueurs were served. With the departure of her hostess,
Rose was now free to leave herself. She cast a final look over her shoulder
before closing the drawing room door behind her and retreating to her room.
Cedric and Hallam were at one end of the room deep in conversation. By the way
they spoke earnestly together, their heads bent, Rose had the impression that
Cedric was imploring Hallam not to have a confrontation with Lord Sneddon in
front of his father, but to wait until morning. Meanwhile the baron and the
heir to the dukedom were in the opposite corner of the room. They appeared to
be deep in friendly conversation, with the baron every now and then giving a
hearty laugh as if Hugh had said something amusing. Each time the baron
laughed, Hallam looked daggers at his father as if he felt betrayed.

It had
been a trying day from the servants’ perspective, but at last Crabtree had been
able to send them all off to bed, so that he could relax uninterrupted in his
pantry and partake of his favourite tipple for a few snatched minutes before he
himself retired for the night.

Little
consideration was given to servants nowadays, he thought secretly to himself,
and sighed for he would never have admitted this thought aloud, even to Mrs
Hodges. Mrs Gooden and her kitchen maid had spent much of their time and effort
on the luncheon only to find that all the young people, with the exception of
Miss Isabella, who hardly ate a morsel even at the best of times and this
certainly was not one of them, had decided to dine out in the village. So he
had been forced to spend time that he could ill afford consoling the cook about
the wasted efforts of herself and her minions, not that the fare had gone to
waste because at least the servants had enjoyed a good spread today. Yes, that
was one consolation and he was pleased to note that all the servants had been
profuse in their compliments regarding Mrs Gooden’s cooking, so that her
ruffled feathers had been smoothed and she had quite basked in the adoration.

Well,
at least the household and guests had retired early. Even the baron and Lord
Sneddon had not stayed up much later than the others chatting. Crabtree had
already been around all the doors and windows ensuring that they were safely
locked and barred. The house was ready for the night. He sighed, and poured
himself another generous measure of whisky and settled back in his chair,
savouring the taste of the golden liquid in his mouth. His final glass before
he turned in for the night, the final…..

He had
just closed his eyes when his quiet contemplations were rudely interrupted by
the shrill and persistent ringing of one of the servants’ bells in the
servants’ hall. He leapt from his seat, almost spilling the contents of his
glass, and hurried into the servants’ hall, afraid lest the noise should wake
the whole house. He saw at once, from glancing at the servants’ bell board,
that it was the library servants’ bell pull that was being pulled so
vigorously.  Who could be requiring the servants’ services at this hour? Had
not the whole household retired to bed a good half an hour or so ago?

He
hurried to the library, rather regretting partaking of that last glass of whisky.
He was ready for his bed, not to carry out some duty or other. He opened the
library door and was greeted by the sight of Lord Sneddon, swaying slightly, an
empty whisky decanter in his hand.

‘Oh,
there you are, Crabtree, that’s your name isn’t it? I’ve been ringing and
ringing on this damn bell pull. Thought nobody was coming, afraid everyone had
gone to bed. Suppose you don’t keep late hours in the country, not like we do in
town.’

‘What can
I do for you, my lord?’ The whisky had taken the edge off the butler’s
impeccable manners, a touch of exasperation clearly audible in his voice. But if
Sneddon was aware of it he gave no indication, the alcohol he himself had
consumed no doubt having dulled his senses.

‘There’s
no more whisky in this decanter. Get me another one, will you.’

Crabtree
went and soon reappeared with a fresh decanter, inwardly fuming that his
master’s fine single malt whisky should be wasted on such a man. It was this,
and more probably the amount of whisky that he himself had consumed, that resulted
in him being more outspoken in the conversation that followed with his lordship
than he would otherwise have been, unruffled and sober.

Sneddon
grabbed the decanter from him and immediately poured himself a generous
measure. He raised his glass. ‘To my betrothed’, he slurred, ‘the beautiful
Miss Atherton; the Honourable Isabella Atherton, no less. What think you,
Crabtree? Has she the makings of a duchess?’

The
butler remained silent.

‘Quite
right, Crabtree, old man,’ said Sneddon, ‘ignore me, I would, I spoke
disrespectfully of your betters, and that really will not do.’

‘If
that’s all, your lordship’, Crabtree turned to leave.

‘Just a
moment,’ said Sneddon hastily, seemingly sobering up somewhat, ‘before you go,
can you tell me what’s happened to a housemaid that worked here. Is she still
here?’

‘We
have a number of housemaids in this establishment, my lord. To which one in
particular are you referring?’

‘To one
that was here when last I visited Dareswick. I think her name was Mavis or
Mary, or something like that. It definitely began with an ‘M’.’

‘Ah,
that would have been young Mabel, an under housemaid, my lord,’ said Crabtree.
It was as if the world stood still. Could it be that she had meant so little to
him that his lordship could not remember her name, this man that had ruined
her? Aloud he said more gruffly than he had intended: ‘She doesn’t work here
anymore, my lord.’

There
must have been something in the way he said the words that caught Sneddon’s
attention, for he left off drinking his whisky and looked at the butler
curiously.

‘Why
not? Why doesn’t she work here anymore?’ There was fear in his voice, Crabtree
felt sure, as well there might be. The whisky he had consumed would loosen his
tongue, he knew even before he opened his mouth to respond. All those pent up
months of guilt and anguish that he and Mrs Hodges had endured, wondering
whether there was anything that they could have done differently to have
prevented what had happened, that awful tragic and desperate act on a cold and
bleak winter’s day.

‘She
got into trouble. A young man who should have known better got her into
trouble.’ The butler almost spat out the words as he glared at Sneddon. ‘A
despicable, heartless young man who took advantage of her naivety. A young man
who held a station in society high above her own and prayed on her innocence
and kindly nature and the fact that she would be in awe of him. A young –.’

‘Alright,
alright,’ interrupted Sneddon abruptly, averting his gaze to study the floor,
‘I get the picture about the young man. But what happened to her? I take it she
was dismissed because of her condition. Where is she now? With family? In the
workhouse, although those are being abolished are they not, thank God. But there’s
still poor relief, isn’t there?’ He swung around suddenly, as an awful thought
suddenly struck him. ‘Tell me she’s not on the streets, tell me….’ His voice
trailed off until it came to a complete and awkward stop.

‘None
of those fates befell her,’ answered Crabtree, speaking slowly. ‘As I said, she
was an innocent girl before she was ruined. She had a shy and trusting nature
but few friends and no family to turn to, having grown up in the local
orphanage. Her parentage was uncertain. Before she came to Dareswick she had
been in service as maid to an old woman who had died. She hadn’t been here
long, six months at most. She was still learning the ways of being in service
in a great house like this. I daresay Mrs Hodges and I were a little hard on
her. We have to be, you see, with new servants to ensure that they know their
place. Anyway, she was a quiet girl, diligent in her work. But I realise now
she probably felt daunted and lonely. So it was easy for the first cad that
showed a bit of interest in her to take advantage of her.’ Whether it was the
whisky or his memories, or a mixture of the two, the butler was close to tears.

‘What
happened to her?’ Sneddon asked quietly, clutching his glass so tightly in his
hand that there was a very real possibility that it would break. The butler
looked on unmoved. He wanted the glass to shatter. He wanted the man before him
to feel some pain.