02 - Murder at Dareswick Hall Page 8

  Chapter Nine

  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, s
he 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.

  Chapter Ten

  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.