03 - Murder at Sedgwick Court Page 5

  As if in answer to her question, she caught sight of the count walking at Lavinia’s side, his dark head bowed towards her so that they could carry on some private conversation which had Lavinia in fits of giggles. If the light had been better, Rose had no doubt, she would have seen a rosy blush upon the girl’s cheek. The count and Lavinia … yes. Rose could see that the notion might hold some attraction to her friend. He was tall and dark and mysterious. Lavinia had hinted at wars in his homeland which had caused him to flee, and the noble cause for which he was fighting to restore order to his land. It all sounded very romantic. Just Lavinia’s sort of thing, Rose thought not particularly kindly, as she was momentarily feeling some resentment towards Lavinia and her guests.

  Vera was doggedly following Theo, who looked minded to put some distance between them and catch up with Cedric. Vera appeared to be talking to him quite seriously, with never a glance at the various things of interest being pointed out to them by Cedric. Rose supposed that she had seen these all many times before in the light and saw no need to give them a second glance in the dusk. But Theo, Rose could tell, was annoyed, as if he found her conversation irritating. Rose wondered idly whether she was giving forth on the virtues of being a country doctor. Whatever she was saying was not being received at all well, for the doctor stopped and turned suddenly and looked directly at Emmeline who was walking with Jemima. Rose fancied that he tried to catch the girl’s eye, but she was unaware of this being herself engaged in deep conversation with Jemima, which necessitated them walking closely together, almost huddled. They appeared to be talking in whispers and Rose was surprised to find that their conversation did not appear to be littered with Emmeline’s usual laughter. She wondered what they could be talking about so seriously. Meanwhile, she noticed that Vera was glaring at Theo, and looked undecided as to whether to give him a piece of her mind or pointedly forsake his side. Really, Rose was far from sure which one of the two she felt most sorry for.

  ‘Well, Miss Simpson,’ said Felix Thistlewaite suddenly, making her start, ‘and how do you find Sedgwick Court? Quite a stately pile, don’t you think? How the other half live and all that.’

  There was something quite innocuous and endearing about his manner which resulted in Rose not taking offence at his words or assumed familiarity, for she did not think that his intention was to be rude. Rather he seemed only to want to speak the truth as he saw it, and there was something rather naïve about him that she found appealing. He seemed to her very young, although at five or six and twenty he was a few years her senior.

  ‘I must apologise, Rose. May I call you Rose? You must think me very rude and impertinent to speak so of our host and hostess’s hospitality. It’s jolly decent of Lavinia to invite me here and on the basis of the merest of acquaintances too. If you had told me a few weeks ago that I would find myself the guest of an earl, why, I would never have believed you!’

  Rose looked up into his freckled face and smiled. She had had little opportunity to have a proper conversation with Felix Thistlewaite up to now, but she found herself warming to him as she had not to the other guests.

  ‘I’m jolly glad Lavinia invited me,’ Felix was saying, ‘and I’m awfully glad you and even Miss Brewster are here, although she does seem to be giving that doctor of hers a time of it, doesn’t she? But what I mean is I was afraid that it was just going to be a lot of toffs and it’s not at all. And Lord Belvedere seems a very decent sort of chap, although of course you don’t need me to tell you that.’

  Rose blushed. ‘You met Lavinia on the Continent?’ she said, partly to change the subject and also for something to say.

  ‘Yes, I met them all in Florence and we visited all the galleries and gardens and palaces together. We made quite a party, I can tell you. I was there courtesy of my Great Aunt Maud, in case you think I am a gentleman of independent means. Unfortunately I’m not. I’m due to start as an articled clerk in some awful backstreet London office in a few weeks’ time. This is my last opportunity to pretend that I am a young man of leisure.’

  ‘I see,’ said Rose smiling.

  ‘My Great Aunt Maud is very much of the opinion that gentlemen, even those as poor as church mice like myself, should do the European grand tour. Unfortunately, if anything it has made me even more dissatisfied with my lot.’ He paused a moment and looked over towards the huddled couple of Emmeline and Jemima, still engrossed in whispered conversation. ‘I say, she is rather wonderful, isn’t she?’

  ‘Emmeline? Yes, I suppose she is.’

  ‘No, not Emmeline. There is nothing very wonderful about her. She is exactly as one would imagine an heiress to be, awfully spoilt, you know, used to getting her own way and commanding everyone’s undivided attention and all that. No, rather I was talking of Jemima. How that poor girl puts up with her, I can’t imagine. She’s treated more like a servant than a relative. And yet she is a distant relation of Emmeline’s, you know, but as poor as anything. She fulfils the role of companion from what I can gather, and hates every minute of it I shouldn’t wonder.’

  ‘Yet the way that they call each other by their Christian names, surely that implies they are more friends than employer and employee, doesn’t it?’ said Rose. Indeed, the way the two girls were huddled so closely together suggested to her that they were exchanging confidences.

  ‘That’s just Emmeline’s way,’ Felix replied rather dismissively. ‘It means nothing. She still treats Jemima like a lady’s maid, expects her to do her hair and put out her clothes and all that. I’ve heard her speak to Jemima quite rudely and the poor girl takes it in her stride with never a bad word said. Why, if I had my way I’d take her away from it all, I can tell you.’

  Rose looked up at him, somewhat taken aback by his frankness. Felix had the grace to blush.

  ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Why, I haven’t even told the girl herself how I feel about her. But I’m in no position to offer her marriage, at least not until I’ve done a few years of this articled clerk lark.’ He groaned. ‘I daresay she wouldn’t have me. A girl like that could do a damned sight better than a fellow like me.’

  Rose looked up and caught Jemima looking at Felix. There was something in her look which made Rose think that Felix’s feelings for the girl might not be unrequited after all. At the same time Rose wondered what there was about her that made people feel that they could confide in her their innermost hopes and fears. First there had been Vera and her fear that mixing with grand society would increase Theo’s desire to become a fashionable doctor. And now here was Felix, a man with whom she had hardly even passed the time of day, confessing his love for Jemima. He hadn’t said it was a secret or that she should keep the knowledge to herself, but she assumed that he would not want it broadcast. She thought too that Emmeline was ignorant of Felix’s feelings for her companion. Even if his feelings were reciprocated, she thought it unlikely that the reserved Jemima would confide in Emmeline on such a matter. No, Emmeline might confide trivial confidences to Jemima but, from what she had seen of Jemima, the girl kept herself to herself, remained on the edge looking on, an observer of the party rather than a participant. What a strange girl she is, thought Rose, I can hardly make her out. She watches us all so intently, listens to our conversations and yet does not offer up a view unless specifically asked for one.

  It was only as they made their return journey to the house in the dark that another thought occurred to Rose. It hit her so forcibly, and so suddenly, that she actually stopped in her tracks causing Vera to walk into her and Felix to give her a concerned look and ask if anything was the matter. In truth she was not sure how to answer him. For only now had something struck her, something that seemed to make no sense at all given their respective stations in life. But, as she recalled those huddled figures, it was as if she were seeing them in a new, much clearer light. What was it that Emmeline was seeking so desperately from Jemima? Did she have a constant need for reassurance or was it a desire for something else? Was she not after a
ll looking to Jemima for something more, approval even? And if she was, then surely that could only mean one thing. The heiress was afraid of her companion.

  Chapter Six

  Rose mulled over the curious relationship between Emmeline and Jemima while she was dressing for dinner that evening. As a consequence, without thinking, she dressed with the same haste that she employed when getting ready for a day in Madame Renard’s dress shop when she had little, if any, time to spare. Still engrossed in her thoughts, she neglected to consult her wristwatch before descending the staircase and, much to her dismay, found that she was the first down. She admonished herself for having been so preoccupied with thinking about the heiress and her companion to the exclusion of all else, for she did not relish the prospect of having to wait for her fellow diners to join her in the drawing room for cocktails. There was Vera’s magazine to read of course while she waited, but otherwise little to do but stand around rather self-consciously, and awkwardly, alone.

  She had just made up her mind to return to her room when the door of the drawing room opened, thus preventing her escape. Before she could speculate as to the identity of the newcomer, Count Fernand walked into the room, dressed in his usual flamboyant finery, which did not look so very out of place in the evening. If he was disappointed to find that she was the only one down, rather than the much favoured Lavinia or Emmeline, he did not show it. Rose wondered, after a moment of awkwardness on both their parts, whether he wasn’t after all a little pleased to have an opportunity to speak to her alone.

  ‘Ah, Miss Simpson.’ He came towards her and gave a low bow. ‘We are the first down, are we not? What does this signify, do you think? Are the others a little slow or are you and I a little too eager to partake of our cocktails?’ He gave her a disarming smile.

  For the first time Rose saw his appeal. There was something so charming and affable about his manner that she found herself laughing with him. She had had few occasions to converse with him since his arrival, his attentions having usually been directed towards Lavinia and Emmeline. Receiving his undivided attention as she now was, and thus experiencing the full force of his personality, she began to understand why Lavinia had invited him to stay at Sedgwick. The man certainly had a knack of making himself agreeable. There was something appealing too about his quaint way of speaking, coupled with his voice with its foreign accent. The effect of which was to make his words sound more fascinating than perhaps they really were.

  ‘This is a very beautiful estate that the young earl has, is it not? Lakes and parkland as far as the eye can see and all beautifully tended. England is certainly a green and pleasant land, is it not, for the likes of the Earl of Belvedere? And Lavinia is indeed fortunate to live here. To have a brother who is so attentive, she is most lucky, is she not?’ He looked at her keenly and smiled, the whiteness of his teeth contrasting attractively with his suntanned skin. ‘You are an old friend of Lavinia’s and our Lord Cedric’s. You know them well?’ He learned forward unexpectedly and Rose instinctively took a step back. There was still the same charming smile upon his face, but something had changed. All at once he seemed to her a little less affable, more prying even. Perhaps he was aware of the direction of her thoughts, or conscious that at any moment they might be joined by the others, for his next words were said abruptly, with a degree of urgency about them.

  ‘They are close are they not, Lavinia and her brother? They care about what each other thinks? They do not like to do anything of which the other might disapprove? Tell me, am I right?’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Rose said quickly. ‘I think it unlikely that Lavinia would behave rashly, if that is what you are asking me. Certainly not in respect of anything that would change her situation irretrievably.’

  His abruptness had demanded a candid answer, and so she had responded in such a fashion. Yet she was still quite unprepared for the look of fury that had appeared momentarily on the count’s face before he had recovered his equanimity. Worse, she had actually believed for one second that he meant to strike her. For one ghastly moment the handsome face had become distorted and ugly. The transformation was fleeting, but the damage was done. For the awful image stayed with Rose long after, so that it still appeared clear in her mind’s eye when she retired for bed that night and rose up before her as she tossed and turned in her bed clothes. The mask had slipped and she had caught a glimpse of the man beneath the gorgeous façade.

  That Count Fernand was dangerous she now had little doubt. And he had manipulated her, deliberately lulled her into a false sense of security with his charming manner before putting his impertinent question to her.

  Rose made her excuses and left the drawing room as quickly as she could. The thought of attempting to exchange polite conversation with the count while waiting on the others to arrive was now unbearable, given that she saw him in a different, more sinister, light. Undoubtedly he would think her rude rushing off, but better that than to stay and fear angering him further. The question now was where to go. The obvious course of action was to retreat to her room and wait until she was sure at least one or two of the others had gone down, before retracing her steps to the drawing room. But she was not in the mood for solitude. Besides, she felt the need to warn Lavinia about the count or, at the least, to ascertain how deep her feelings were for the man.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Rose,’ Lavinia said, catching sight of her out of the corner of her eye, while gazing as ever at her own reflection in her dressing table mirror. ‘I didn’t think it could be Eliza. No doubt she’s still arranging Emmeline’s hair. I do wish Emmie had brought her own lady’s maid with her. Eliza’s not going to have time to do my hair. Well, I suppose I’ll manage. I don’t suppose you could …?’ She caught the look on Rose’s face and thought better of it. ‘No, don’t worry. I’m sure I can manage …’

  ‘Lavinia, how well do you know Count Fernand?’

  ‘Well, hardly at all,’ replied Lavinia, twisting a piece of her hair one way and then the other to see how it looked. ‘Why do you ask? Don’t you think him handsome? He is quite the most charming man I have ever met. His manners! He really is – ’

  ‘Are you very fond of him, Lavinia?’ Rose interrupted, asking her question anxiously. She came into the room and hovered by the bed, clutching her hands.

  ‘Well, of course not,’ retorted Lavinia. ‘But his company is delightful, and he’s so attentive, just as if he finds everything I have to say of the utmost interest, fancy that! And he tells the most wonderful stories. That scar on his face, the one that makes him look so jolly good looking, why he told me all about how he came by it. It was just as one would imagine, a duel fought over a woman’s honour.’

  ‘Lavinia – ’

  ‘Oh, I don’t believe a word of it, of course. He probably just slipped on some ice, or something frightfully boring like that. No, what I am trying to say is that his stories are awfully amusing. I could simply sit and listen to him for hours. I think it’s that foreign accent, don’t you? It makes everything he says sound so frightfully more interesting than it really is, don’t you think?’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ Rose said, perching on the end of her friend’s bed and visibly relaxing. ‘I was afraid that you might think him a man to break one’s heart over.’

  ‘Not I,’ replied Lavinia, cheerfully. ‘As it happens, I wasn’t quite sure which one of us he liked best. He seemed awfully keen on Emmeline when we were on the Continent. But why are you so interested in what I think of him?’ She turned and looked at Rose suspiciously. ‘You’re not in love with him yourself, are you?’

  Rose could not help but detect a hopeful note in her friend’s voice.

  ‘No, of course not. If you must know, I don’t like him very much.’

  ‘Oh, is that all.’ Lavinia sounded bored and returned her attention to gazing at her reflection. ‘Well, he’s my guest, not yours, and I find him interesting which is all that matters. Now, if that’s all – ’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Rose said has
tily. ‘I wanted to ask you something else. No, not about the count,’ she added quickly, as Lavinia looked about to protest. ‘It’s about Emmeline and Jemima. It’s the strangest thing, but I cannot get the impression out of my mind that Emmeline’s a little scared of Jemima? I can’t think why that should be, can you? I mean, Jemima’s her companion.’

  ‘Well of course Emmeline’s afraid of Jemima,’ Lavinia said dismissively. ‘And with good cause I can tell you. She reports everything back to Emmeline’s father. The poor girl told me that she can’t sneeze without Mr Montacute being told about it. One can’t really blame him, of course. He’s just over protective of his daughter, has been ever since the kidnapping attempt.’

  ‘Kidnapping attempt, what kidnapping attempt?’

  ‘Oh, Rose, you must have heard about it. It was in all the newspapers at the time. They were full of nothing else, what with Emmeline being sole heir to the Montacute fortune, and only being a girl of fourteen or fifteen at the time. They were very lucky that the kidnap didn’t succeed. You must remember all the rumour and gossip surrounding it. There were reports at the time that all sorts of prominent people had been involved in the plot; you know, bankers, policemen and politicians, although I don’t think anything was ever proved.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Emmeline told me her father became quite ill with the worry of it all. He didn’t know who he could trust. So he bought some stately mansion in the remote Highlands of Scotland and Emmeline has been living there with him like a recluse ever since. Well,’ Lavinia admitted, ‘not quite a recluse, because her father has held the most spectacular balls and parties for her there, but he is always very careful who he invites and the place is heavily fortified with an army of servants who man all the doors and windows and patrol the grounds. Emmeline says that it’s quite like living in a palatial prison.’