02 - Murder at Dareswick Hall

by Margaret Addison

  ‘You are right, there is nothing you can do. She is beyond help now.’ She turned to leave with a heavy heart, her book quite forgotten.

  ‘No, I can’t help her. But there must be something that I can do, if not for her, then for the others that I have hurt. Tell me, Rose, do you think I can change? Do you think that I can become a better person?’

  ‘No,’ Rose said honestly, the single word springing from her lips unchecked before she could soften it with other words. ‘But you must try.’ And then she left.

  Afterwards, in the days and months that followed, she regretted what she had said. She should have shown more compassion. He had indicated a wish to change and she should have given him encouragement, not cast doubt on his ability to do so. She would remember too the way he had looked that night, desperate and distraught, a shadow of the man he usually showed the world. She could not get this last image of him out of her head; it would haunt her. If only she had realised at the time, as she left him to his sorrow, that by the morning he would be dead.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Mr Crabtree, Mr Crabtree, wake up, something terrible has happened!’

  The butler reluctantly began to rouse himself from his sleep, his head still heavy from the effects of the whisky he had drunk the night before. As he opened his eyes and became fully conscious, he was alarmed to find that the person who was waking him so rudely from his slumber, tearing at his sheets and blanket, was none other than the housekeeper.

  ‘Mrs Hodges!’ he shot up into a sitting position, checking that his pyjama jacket was properly done up and that he was quite decent. ‘Whatever are you doing?’ A sudden thought struck him, unforgivable in a butler of standing like himself. ‘Have I overslept?’ Quickly he looked at the clock on his bedside table to reassure himself that this was not the case, but no, he still had half an hour or so before he had to rise. He breathed a sigh of relief and hoped Mrs Hodges could not smell alcohol on his breath. It was then that he recollected his actions of the night before, most particularly the way he had been so outspoken in his condemnation of Lord Sneddon’s conduct. Of course, it had been the whisky talking, he would never have spoken to a guest of the baron’s like that, and a peer to boot, if he had been sober. There could be no other explanation for why the housekeeper saw fit to wake him herself at this hour. Lord Sneddon must have already been to see the master to complain about his butler’s impertinence.

  Meanwhile, Mrs Hodges was almost sobbing in her distress.

  ‘Mr Crabtree, Mr Crabtree, it’s awful, so it is. Young Doris went to open the shutters and curtains in the downstairs rooms as usual and such, and she was just emptying the grate in the library when she said an awful feeling came over her as if she were not alone but being watched by some evil spirit. You know what she’s like, a fanciful girl even at the best of times. But this time she was right! She said as how she looked up from where she was crouched dusting the grate and there he was, seated at that old library table that Miss Josephine uses as a writing desk. He was seated facing her, or he would have been if his body weren’t slouched over the desk, his head buried on the table. It gave her such a fright, it did, not least because she must have walked right past him in the dark when she went to open the shutters and curtains. Always complaining to me, she is, that the room’s so dark that she’s always tripping and stumbling over things –.’

  ‘Yes, but I still don’t understand –,’ began the butler, confused.

  ‘He’s dead, Mr Crabtree, Doris has just found him dead in the library!’

  Despite her disturbed night, Rose woke early. At first she thought it was because of the unease she felt in respect of her last conversation with Lord Sneddon. With the clarifying light of day, when concerns and worries become less, she realised that she had been too hard on him. That he felt genuine distress and responsibility for the young housemaid’s death could not be doubted and, instead of encouraging him to make amends as best he could, she had damned him and abandoned him to his feelings of hopelessness. She should have sat down with him and heard him out. She should have used the opportunity at least to persuade Sneddon to return Isabella’s letters and release her from her promise.

  There was considerable noise coming from downstairs, she realised, doors banging, the hurrying of feet, whispered voices being shushed, even the sound of weeping. Perhaps this is what had woken her, rather than her feelings of unease. Something was definitely afoot. The servants at Dareswick usually undertook their chores quietly so that the household and guests were almost unaware of their presence. She wondered what the matter was. For the second time in what was only a few hours, she donned her peach and cream brocade dressing gown and ventured out on to the landing where she intended to peer over the banisters into the hall below, or to detain a passing servant to find out what was amiss. Instead, she saw Cedric running up the stairs, his face pale, obviously in shock.

  ‘Oh, Rose, how glad I am to see you. I’ve just been down in the library with Crabtree. Something awful has happened and so he and Mrs Hodges came to get me. Hallam’s too young to deal with it and the baron hates being disturbed at this hour even in a time like this, so the butler and housekeeper came to me.’

  ‘What’s happened, Cedric?’ asked Rose, apprehensively. Even though she asked the question, she didn’t want to know, not really, but at the same time she did not wish to be left in ignorance, fearing the worst.

  ‘It’s Sneddon, Rose. I’m afraid he’s dead. It’s all rather awful, you see he’s been …’ He broke off as Rose began to sob. ‘Oh, I say, please don’t cry. I’m no good at this. I should have broken it to you more gently. I’m afraid I just didn’t think. I just came out with the first thing in my head. I was so relieved to see you, you see. Say you forgive me. I know it must have been an awful shock and–.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ Rose said, clinging on to him, leaning her head on his shoulder and sobbing bitterly, only vaguely aware of what a mess she must look. They stood there entwined for some moments, neither saying a word, with Cedric cursing himself for having broken the news so abruptly. Rose was clearly in shock. He should have led up to it, at least made sure that Rose was sitting down and perhaps a glass of water to hand and –.

  ‘Cedric, you see, it was me,’ said Rose, finally breaking away from his embrace and wiping away her tears clumsily with the back of her hand, ‘I killed him, I killed Lord Sneddon.’

  ‘Don’t say anything,’ instructed Cedric as he half led, half dragged her out of the house and across the lawn, ‘not until we’re definitely out of earshot of anyone in the house. I’m afraid our voices will carry. We’ll walk on through these first couple of formal gardens out into the rose garden; they’ve got a traditional one here, been here some three hundred years I believe, almost as old as Sedgwick’s.’

  It was some twenty minutes or so since Rose had made her devastating announcement. The colour had drained immediately from Cedric’s face and he had stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, before his expression had become grim. He had insisted that they get dressed and go as far away from the house as possible so that they could decide what to do. Rose had never known Cedric look so serious. She had followed him obediently and had made no protest even though he held her hand so tightly that it hurt.

  They did not stop until they had come to the rose garden, where they collapsed onto an old wrought iron bench, which had been designed more for visual effect than for comfort. Cedric looked around hastily to reassure himself that the garden was indeed deserted while Rose sat there almost numb of emotion.

  ‘Right, let me think,’ said Cedric, clutching his forehead in his hand. A sudden thought seemed to strike him and he looked alarmed. ‘He didn’t try and attack you, did he, Rose? Tell me he didn’t harm you; oh, my God, he didn’t –.’

  ‘No, no, he did nothing like that,’ Rose said hastily, clutching his hand. Was it her imagination or did he seem to draw it away from her as if he were recoiling from her touch?

  ‘Wel
l, we must think. We can say that he tried to attack you, that you had no other option but to…. But no, that won’t work. He was seated at that damned desk with his back to the door. That won’t wash. Rose. Why ever did you do it? I know that he was the most awful of men, but even so…’

  ‘But -.’

  ‘Of course, if it comes to it, I’ll say I did it. I’ll take the blame as any gentleman would, but –.’

  ‘Cedric, oh do be quiet for a moment, please,’ implored Rose. ‘What are you saying exactly? Wasn’t it suicide?’

  ‘No, of course not, he was murdered. But you know that. He was stabbed in the back with a knife, well a gold letter-opener, anyway. But of course you know that because you did it.’

  ‘Oh, thank God!’ Rose began to cry tears of relief while Cedric looked at her in disbelief. ‘Oh, you needn’t look at me like that, Cedric. I’m not mad. I didn’t murder Lord Sneddon. I thought I’d driven him to suicide because I hadn’t been sympathetic to his plight. He was so melancholy and depressed, you see, when I last saw him. He was full of remorse because a young housemaid he got into trouble had drowned herself in the lake here. He was clearly shocked and I did nothing to alleviate his guilt. I felt disgusted. I wanted him to suffer. I said there was nothing he could do to put it right, but that he must try. When you told me just now that he was dead, I just assumed that he had taken his own life, that he thought it was the only thing he could do to make amends.’

  ‘Oh, Rose, darling Rose,’ he drew her to him. ‘How could I have possibly thought you could have killed Sneddon? I should have known you would never have done anything like that, do you forgive me?’

  ‘Of course I do, silly. It’s hardly surprising, after all I said I did it. But I feel so guilty. I should have been more sympathetic, I should –.’

  ‘Nonsense, Lord Sneddon brought it upon himself as I am sure he did his murder.’

  ‘Would you really have gone to the gallows for me?’

  ‘Yes, I like to think I would. But I’m afraid I would have felt differently towards you had you really killed Sneddon. I wouldn’t have wanted to, of course, but I would have done. It all seems so underhand somehow, to creep up on a man when his back is turned and plunge a knife in his back when he is seated at a desk. Why, there’s something awfully cowardly about it, isn’t there?’

  ‘Yes’. Rose shivered slightly as she conjured up the image in her mind. She remembered the distraught man she had left in the library. She wondered whether he had been planning how to make amends for his past unsavoury acts when the knife had struck. She would never know now whether he would have turned out good in the end; he hadn’t been given the chance.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘The police are on their way, my lord, a detective inspector and sergeant from Scotland Yard, I believe.’ Crabtree looked at the baron apprehensively. Surely Lord Sneddon wouldn’t have had a chance to speak to his lordship about the butler’s conduct before his untimely demise.

  The baron hardly seemed to register his butler’s existence. He was too busy mopping his brow with a crumpled handkerchief and fanning himself with a sheet taken from The Times newspaper. His butler looked at him with concern. His master was clearly overcome with emotion and he doubted whether he was in a fit state to be interviewed by the police. Crabtree himself felt singularly green about the gills. It had not escaped his notice that he must have been one of the last people to have seen Lord Sneddon alive, besides the murderer, of course. The thought made him shiver. If he had not been made of sterner stuff, he would have had half a mind to take to his bed. Goodness knows, his head was still throbbing from the amount of whisky he had drunk the night before and he felt quite sick with the worry of it all.

  When he had hurriedly followed Mrs Hodges to the library, where she had stubbornly insisted on hovering in the doorway and looking out towards the hall, part of him had half expected to find Lord Sneddon unconscious in a deep, alcohol-induced sleep. Goodness knew Doris was not the brightest housemaid Dareswick had ever employed; she was just the sort of silly young girl to mistake a man asleep for dead. Sadly, however, she had been proved correct. The little gold dagger protruding from Sneddon’s back removed all doubt that she was right in her thinking. The man was dead. And clearly had been murdered at that.

  ‘How can this have happened, Crabtree?’ demanded the baron. ‘In Dareswick of all places, the safest place in all the world or so I thought.’

  ‘Indeed so, my lord, it’s most unfortunate.’

  ‘It’s a jolly deal more than that, Crabtree. The man was betrothed to my daughter. She was going to be a duchess. Poor Isabella. I suppose Josephine is with her now, trying to comfort her, dear girl.’

  ‘I’m afraid not, my lord, you see –.’

  ‘I say, Crabtree, you must have forgotten to lock or bar a door or window last night. That’s how the blighter must have got in. He must have sneaked up on Lord Sneddon and caught him unawares. Hopefully the poor fellow knew nothing about it, was dead before he knew what or who had stabbed him.’

  ‘Indeed, my lord, I can assure you that I carried out all my checks as usual last night,’ replied Crabtree somewhat indignant. ‘The house was safely locked and barred by half past seven. As Sidney is my witness, he and I checked and double-checked each door and window, as is our habit, and all was secure.’

  ‘Nonsense, man. How on earth did he get in then, this murderer? You’re surely not telling me he’s one of my guests or a member of the household, are you? You must have overlooked some door or window. The police won’t go easy on you, I can tell you, and neither will I if I find you were to blame for letting the wretch get in.’

  The baron stood and glowered at his butler. Crabtree returned his stare with a look of indignation. How long this standoff would have continued neither was to find out, for at that moment Sidney came into the study to announce that the gentlemen from Scotland Yard had arrived.

  ‘Show them in, show them in.’ Baron Atherton waved one arm impatiently in the air at the footman. ‘I suppose you’d better stay, Crabtree. After all, you were one of the first to see the corpse, the first if you discount that silly young housemaid of yours. Doris, is that her name? No doubt crying her eyes out now and drinking all the best sherry in the house, is she?’

  ‘She’s in the servants’ hall with Mrs Gooden, my lord, and drinking nothing stronger than very weak tea with a good deal of sugar in it for the shock.’

  ‘Detective Inspector Deacon and Sergeant Lane from Scotland Yard, my lord,’ announced Sidney, ushering in a tall, dark-haired young man accompanied by a man of similar age but who, in the baron’s opinion, looked nothing as he imagined a detective sergeant should look. There was a slight cockiness in his look and manner that the baron found displeasing, although he approved of the way he seemed to defer to the detective inspector, who he appeared to hold in high esteem.

  The baron appraised the inspector. Well dressed and handsome, he should say, probably a favourite with the ladies. Still, he had a courteous air about him, knew his place, and his suit was well cut, if not expensive. He supposed he’d do. And he’d come from Scotland Yard so no doubt he knew his job. He looked a discreet sort of chap too, hopefully he’d sort out this mess as quickly as possible, lay his hands on the reprobate who’d done this dreadful deed and leave them in peace to weather the scandal as best they could. It wouldn’t be easy, of course. Lord Sneddon had been the only surviving son of the Duke of Haywater. He could visualise the gathering of pressmen. In a day or two he would have to get his gardeners and gamekeeper to patrol the perimeter of his land to keep them out lest the place become overrun with them. He recalled that Cedric had been obliged to do the same at Sedgwick Court. He could not bear it if his beloved Dareswick Hall was for evermore associated in people’s minds with violent death.

  He shuddered and beckoned them to sit down while he himself half flopped into his favourite Charles II winged armchair. There was something soothing and comforting about its high back, as it s
upported him and held him up in a sitting position lest he collapse. The inspector seated himself on the edge of a burgundy buttoned leather sofa, where he was able to sit facing the baron diagonally. Meanwhile, the sergeant chose a chair which was a little away from the baron, outside his direct line of vision.

  ‘I hardly need tell you, Inspector, what a very great shock this has been to us all. One minute we’re celebrating my daughter’s engagement to the fellow and the next minute he’s dead. And killed in my own house to boot. My daughter’s absolutely distraught, as you can imagine. She’s being comforted now by my other daughter.’ He was prevented from continuing for a moment by a cough from the butler, which distracted him, making him lose his train of thought. ‘Crabtree, I was talking to the inspector, don’t interrupt. No doubt you should have a word with my butler in a moment, Crabtree was one of the first on the scene, so to speak.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Inspector Deacon eyed the butler with interest. He turned slightly in his seat and caught his sergeant’s eye. Yes. He had not been mistaken, Lane had picked up on it too. The butler was clearly disagreeing with something that the baron had said, but what? He had said so very little, only what you would expect a man to say who found himself in such unpleasant circumstances.

  ‘I appreciate this must be a very difficult time for you and your family, my lord,’ the inspector said soothingly. ‘But as I am sure you understand, we need to get to work as soon as possible, and I’m afraid that will mean interviewing everyone in this house including your daughters. The police constables are busy now scouring the grounds, but it’s just possible that one of your household or guests may have some vital piece of information that may help us catch the murderer.

  ‘Perhaps we could start with you telling us who was here this weekend. Let’s start with the members of your family. I understand all your children were present?’