02 - Murder at Dareswick Hall Read online

  ‘So what did you do?’ asked Deacon, suddenly becoming alarmed. ‘Tell me you didn’t go back and kill the man.’ Looking across at his sergeant, the inspector saw that Lane too was looking equally appalled at the possibility.

  ‘No, sir, I didn’t kill him. Although I’m not sure I don’t condone the actions of the person who did. It’s just…’ Crabtree looked up and stared the inspector straight in the face. ‘It’s just that he was that upset. I didn’t expect it to affect him so, truth be told. But, the more I think about it, the more I think that his being so distraught had a bearing on his death. I’m probably being silly but I can’t get the thought out of my mind.’

  ‘I wonder,’ said the inspector and to the sergeant, who knew his actions well, he looked thoughtful.

  ‘Rose, there you are. Inspector Deacon kept you a long time, whatever did you have to talk about?’ Cedric descended on Rose as soon as she entered the garden room. She looked around anxiously and saw that the only other inhabitant was Hallam, who was himself pacing the room in a restive manner. The room felt oppressive and she wished that a fire had not been lit in the grate. The thought of having to sit in this room for another hour or so until the police had finished their initial investigations and searched their rooms was unbearable. As if reading her thoughts, Cedric moved to the French windows and started to open them.

  ‘Cedric, you mustn’t do that, we can’t go out. Inspector Deacon wants to speak to me again in a moment after he’s finished interviewing Isabella.’

  ‘He can go to the devil,’ Cedric said, crossly. ‘I can’t stay in this room a moment longer. I feel like a caged animal. We need to get some fresh air and talk. The police will be able to see us from the windows and they can send one of the constables after us if they need to speak with us.’

  With some misgivings, for she did not want to do anything that might antagonise the inspector further, Rose followed Cedric out into the formal gardens. As soon as she stepped outside the windows she breathed in the fresh air. They had not stopped to don hats and coats and the cold air made her feel suddenly invigorated. If only she were here with Cedric under different circumstances she would enjoy this walk.

  ‘I say, Rose, I’m awfully sorry about all this.’ Cedric paused and took her hands in his. ‘It’s an awfully bad show, I know. It never occurred to me that anything like this might happen. Sneddon be damned! I know one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but really that man’s brought nothing but trouble. You’ve heard that story about the maid, no doubt? What can I say? You’ll never want to see me again after this weekend. I bring nothing but murder.’

  ‘You could just as easily say the same about me,’ and Rose found herself laughing despite everything. ‘Until you laid eyes on me your life hadn’t been littered with murders and deaths, had it?’

  ‘No, of course not. But even so I feel jolly bad about all this. Your mother will never let you see me again. She’ll consider me a bad influence and I can’t say I blame her. But I’m so jolly glad you’re here. It’s awfully good to see you again. I really don’t know what I’d have done without you. Fall to pieces, I expect, you’re the only thing that’s keeping me sane. I once considered Sneddon a friend and now he’s been brutally murdered, it’s unbelievable.’

  ‘It is,’ agreed Rose, ‘the whole thing’s jolly strange.’

  ‘Between you and me, I’m awfully afraid that Hallam might have killed him.’

  ‘Whatever makes you think that?’

  ‘Well, the boy can be awfully hot headed at times. I’ve tried to keep an eye on him as much as possible, you know, kept him occupied and tried to make sure that he wasn’t by himself in the same room with Sneddon, that sort of thing. But I wouldn’t put it past him to have challenged Sneddon to some sort of duel. Still, I don’t think a gold letter opener really cuts it, do you? Not the sort of weapon that I can imagine him using even as a last resort. I say, Rose, I did something jolly silly the other night.’

  ‘What? What did you do?’ Rose tightened her hold on Cedric’s hand making him wince. A picture came before her of Cedric plunging the little gold dagger into Sneddon’s back in a misguided attempt to prevent Hallam from doing likewise. That he would do whatever it took to protect the boy, she had no doubt. And Hallam was certainly a loose cannon. She had been witness to his enraged outburst and seen the fury in his eyes every time he glanced at Sneddon. She had known that Cedric was worried about the boy, was afraid what he might do. But surely Cedric, darling Cedric, wouldn’t take it upon himself to do away with Sneddon?

  ‘I put the idea into the boy’s head that Isabella might be being coerced into marrying Sneddon,’ Cedric admitted. ‘Hallam jumped at the idea; he thought it explained everything. We agreed that we should have it out with her before we did anything, but knowing Hallam he might have acted first.’

  ‘Cedric,’ Rose chose her words carefully. ‘Sneddon was blackmailing Isabella into marrying him. I overheard them arguing about it.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I know,’ said Cedric, rather matter-of-factly. ‘Those damned love letters to her French tutor. Whatever can the girl have been thinking of?’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The inspector and sergeant were struck in equal measures by both the Honourable Isabella Atherton’s beauty and the composed manner in which she entered the room. She held herself very upright even when she sat down on the chair offered her, apparently not tempted to slump or slouch as some would have done finding themselves in similar circumstances. She certainly is a lovely creature, Deacon thought, as he surveyed her covertly. Apart from the dark smudges under her eyes and a paleness of skin which he admitted was probably as much due to powder as to grief, the girl looked calm and collected. There was a certain frailty about her that Deacon thought some men would find appealing, Lane for one, he thought. He himself however was not so easily deceived. He saw the way she eyed him warily and, unless he was much mistaken, there was a glint in her eye as if she were issuing him with a challenge to penetrate her armour. It was not lost on him either that, when she entered the study and cast a sweeping glance over the room, while acknowledging his presence with a graceful tilt of her head and the shadow of a smile, she had looked straight through his sergeant as if Lane was not there. A slight furrowing of the brow showed that Lane was aware of this slight and that she had gone down in his estimations because of it.

  ‘First, I should like to express my condolences at your loss and assure you that…’ Deacon broke off from what he was saying as the woman seated before him raised a well-manicured hand and smiled at him sweetly.

  ‘Please, please Inspector, let us not pretend. You and I are both a little old for nursery games. I am sure that you have been made fully aware by now that my engagement to Lord Sneddon had not been entered into voluntarily. I am sure that that Simpson girl told you that.’

  Deacon saw his sergeant visibly flinch at the way she spoke of Rose. He himself felt indignant on her behalf.

  ‘Miss Simpson told us that she had inadvertently overheard a conversation between yourself and the deceased, yes,’ Deacon said, looking at Isabella a little coldly, ‘in which it was apparent that you were being pressured into entering into marriage with him in exchange for the return of some love letters to a French tutor.’ Was it his imagination or had Isabella blushed at the mention of her lover’s profession? Certainly she looked annoyed, although he could tell she was trying hard to disguise the fact.

  ‘Oh, Inspector. How I wish I hadn’t written those ridiculous letters. They were written in a girlish whim and how I have regretted putting pen to paper ever since. But yes, Lord Sneddon used them to blackmail me, into agreeing to marry him. There I’ve said it, such an ugly, hateful word, isn’t it, “blackmail”? And that blasted girl overheard me imploring him to release me from our bargain. Why she could not have made her presence known, although I suppose those sort of girls are always on the lookout for scandal and gossip. No doubt it enlivens the rather dull, drab little lives they lead. It can
’t be much fun can it, working in a dress shop, probably waiting hand and foot on the most ghastly people.’

  There was a gleam in Isabella’s eye and an upward turn of her lip, and Deacon was left with the strange impression that she was almost trying to provoke him. How very odd, he thought. Usually suspects bent over backwards to try and persuade him of their innocence, and yet here was this woman willing him to dislike her even though she was in the vulnerable position of having had a very strong motive for wishing the victim dead. It did not make sense and he found it unnerving. It was as if she were playing a game with him despite her fine speech about not playing nursery tricks. She was of the view, he thought, that she held all the cards and at the last minute he was afraid that she might produce something out of the hat. Right now, he felt that he would get some pleasure in arresting her for the murder of Lord Sneddon albeit the evidence at this stage was only circumstantial. And because he knew she was bringing out the very worst in him he tried to curb his feelings and hide his distaste.

  Lane, fortunate in being concealed from Isabella’s view where he sat, was not obliged to disguise what he felt. A frown had crossed his face and his mouth was set in a straight line. Every now and then he looked up from his scribbling and glared at the back of Isabella’s head. Deacon wondered whether she could feel his eyes boring into her. As a child he had always been sure that a person must be aware when they were being stared at, that the stare must in some way be physically penetrating so that the person felt compelled to spin around to see who was spying on them. Isabella Atherton, however, appeared blissfully unaware of the looks of animosity being cast her way by his sergeant.

  ‘I understand that Miss Simpson gave you the very sensible piece of advice to tell us about your being blackmailed?’

  ‘She did indeed,’ Isabella said, looking distinctly bored. ‘I knew the girl wouldn’t be able to hold her tongue; that sort never can. But as it happens, Inspector, I had every intention of telling you all about those awful letters myself.’

  ‘Did you indeed?’ Deacon said, not sounding particularly convinced.

  ‘Yes I did as a matter of fact.’ Isabella smiled sweetly, clearly amused. Deacon felt uncomfortable, as if he was being laughed at. He found it a very odd sensation and decided to change tack.

  ‘Right now, Miss Atherton, suppose you tell us when exactly you decided that Lord Sneddon should accompany you to Dareswick this weekend. Was it a longstanding arrangement? I ask because it appears no one was aware of the identity of your guest until he arrived.’

  ‘Quite right, Inspector. I kept them guessing, you see. I was rather hoping not to have to bring Hugh down with me even up to the last half hour or so before we set off. I was going to bring my girlfriend, Celia, but Hugh would insist that I bring him instead. It really was very tiresome of him. I’m afraid I really rather despised the fellow, Inspector. Not very kind of me to say so considering he’s dead and all that, but there it is.’

  ‘Understandable I would have thought, given the circumstances. I take it Lord Sneddon wanted to marry you for your money?’ As soon as the words had escaped his lips, Deacon regretted being so abrupt.

  ‘‘How very nicely put, Inspector,’ Isabella said sarcastically, all the while smiling at him sweetly. ‘But, yes, you’re right. He wanted to marry me for my money, not for my wonderful good looks or my sparkling wit. And to make matters worse I wasn’t his first choice. I believe he had tried his hand with others before me, my own sister for one before he bored of her and got that housemaid into trouble. And then, of course, I rather think he had his eye on Lavinia, but of course that came to nothing because of all that business at Ashgrove.’

  ‘Suppose we stop playing games, you and I, Miss Atherton,’ said Deacon, suddenly sounding serious. If truth were told he was getting tired of her and had decided it was high time to cut to the chase. ‘You said yourself we are too old to play childish games and really this matter is far too serious. A man has been brutally and cold-bloodedly murdered, a man who you had good reason to want dead. I understand you were beside yourself at the prospect of marrying Lord Sneddon. You were a desperate woman and desperate people do desperate things. I do not think that there is a court in this land who would not understand if you were to admit that in a moment of madness, you felt provoked into killing your blackmailer. I am sure you would be treated with some leniency.’

  There was complete silence as the words seemed to fill the room, reverberating off the furniture. The mood of the room had suddenly become sombre and the inspector felt the tension could have been cut with a knife, it was so tangible. He felt himself on tenterhooks lest Isabella should confess; he could almost imagine that it was on the tip of her tongue to do so. Certainly she was no longer smiling; she appeared to cease to find the situation amusing. Instead, she clenched her hands together and bit at her lip as if she were trying to pluck up courage to say something. To the policemen who waited, it seemed a very long time before she lifted her head and spoke, although it was probably in reality only a few minutes, if that. When she at last lifted her beautiful face, Deacon thought he could detect tears in her eyes and a tremble about her lips. For the first time he felt pity towards her for the predicament that she found herself in.

  ‘You know about Isabella’s love letters to her French tutor?’ Rose stared at Cedric in disbelief. ‘You knew that Sneddon was blackmailing her? She told you? Oh, Cedric, my darling, you mustn’t tell the inspector about it, promise me. It’ll give you a motive, don’t you see, for wishing him dead.’

  ‘Hardly,’ said Cedric, ‘but I say, Rose, do keep on calling me darling. It makes me believe that you can’t think too badly of me for bringing you into all this.’

  ‘I don’t, of course I don’t,’ said Rose, alarming herself by finding that she was close to tears. ‘But Cedric, promise me you won’t say anything to the inspector about it. I couldn’t bear it if….’

  ‘Rose,’ Cedric said, drawing her to him. ‘Don’t fret so. There’s nothing to worry about really there isn’t. I didn’t know anything about this blackmail business until just now, certainly not before Sneddon was killed. Isabella’s just told Hallam and me about it. You know, while you were in with the inspector.’

  A wave of relief immediately flooded over Rose. He hadn’t had a motive for doing away with Sneddon after all, other than just not liking the man, in common with everyone else. But this feeling was almost at once replaced by another of anxiety. What was Isabella up to? Why had she told Cedric and her brother about the letters? There had been no need. The police were hardly likely to broadcast their existence and Isabella could not think that she, herself, would discuss them with anyone other than the police, not when she had taken such pains to make sure that no one overheard their conversation. It made no sense at all. Isabella had been prepared to marry a man she did not love, no, worse than that, despised, in order to keep the existence and contents of the letters secret. And yet at the first opportunity she had told the others about them. Instinctively Rose felt that something was wrong. Things were certainly not as they had first appeared.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  ‘You’re right, Inspector, of course. I did hate Lord Sneddon,’ Isabella said slowly, appearing resigned now to telling the truth. ‘I hated Hugh for stooping so low as to blackmail me into marrying him against my wishes. If nothing else, it’s common knowledge that he has a gambling habit; I knew within a year of marriage he would have gone through my dowry and I’d have become destitute, reduced to living on hand-outs from friends and family. It would have been demeaning even if I was a duchess. I couldn’t go through with it and I couldn’t see a way out. Death seemed the only way although, if truth be told, I thought more of my own than his. I could not bear the humiliation, you see, if those letters ever became public. He threatened to show one or two to my father. He would have disowned me, inspector, as no doubt he will disown poor Josephine for running off with the chauffeur.’

  ‘Miss Atherton, perhaps you w
ould like a solicitor present before you say anything further.’ He didn’t want to stop her flow now that she had opened up and finally resolved to talk seriously, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Lane scribbling furiously in his notebook to catch her every word.

  ‘No, Inspector, thank you. It’s alright. I know my words are being taken down. But I want you to understand how I felt, it’s important to me. Silly really, I know, but there you have it. I don’t want a solicitor here telling me to nod my head or say nothing.’

  ‘I would advise you not to proceed any further without a solicitor being present to protect your interests, Miss Atherton.’

  ‘That’s very good of you, I’m sure, but I’ve already told you I wish to proceed without one.’ Isabella said, speaking firmly while all the time smiling a sad little smile. ‘Now, where was I? Oh, yes, I wished Hugh dead. I visualised killing him a thousand times in my head. I even thought about the different methods I might use. Sometimes I thought that it would be absurdly easy to do away with him. The man didn’t see me as a threat you see. And at other times I worried about how I’d get away with it until I was left to think that the only option was to poison myself, while perhaps making it look like Hugh had done it, so I could get my own back, you understand.’