02 - Murder at Dareswick Hall

by Margaret Addison

  The inspector and sergeant exchanged glances, both clearly appalled. It occurred to Deacon that Isabella might not be quite right in the head. That she could talk so matter-of-factly about the process she had arrived at to dispose of Sneddon, quite sickened him.

  ‘Perhaps, if you will, you could tell us about last night and the events leading up to the… eh…incident,’ said Deacon. ‘I understand you women all retired early to bed?’

  ‘Yes, we did, rather. None of us were feeling particularly in the party mood, which was a shame. I walked up with Josephine. I had rather a headache and I couldn’t bear the way that my father kept sidling up to Sneddon. Really, Daddy is dreadful. I could see him almost rubbing his hands with glee. He’s always found me rather trying, you see. He thinks I’m rather rebellious and headstrong, not at all like Josephine who’s always been rather a Daddy’s girl, well-behaved and dutiful. Well, up until now of course. Eloping with the chauffeur rather takes the biscuit, don’t you think?’

  ‘You were saying about last night,’ prompted Deacon.

  ‘Ah, well, Hallam was looking daggers at me all night. Oh, how clever of me, excuse the pun!’ Isabella paused to emit a shrill little laugh. ‘So I thought it best to just go and leave them all to it. Only, of course, I went to bed far too early so I couldn’t sleep. When I’m in town I’m never in bed before midnight. So there it was, I couldn’t sleep. I kept fretting, you see, about Hugh. I decided once and for all that I really couldn’t go through with it. I decided to throw myself on his mercy. I had nothing to lose after all but my pride. So I listened out for the others to come upstairs. I knew Hugh was unlikely to go to bed early. He keeps later hours in town than I do. So all I had to do was lie there and wait.’

  ‘And then you came down when the coast was clear?’

  ‘Yes, I almost collided with that Simpson girl. She was coming up the stairs as I was about to venture down. I caught sight of her just in time and nipped back into my room and closed the door. I doubt very much whether she saw me.’

  ‘Indeed.’ The inspector looked interested. Rose had made no mention of going back downstairs during their interview. It occurred to him that there had been rather a few things that she had kept to herself. They would have to ask her about it when they spoke with her again later. He caught Lane’s eye and signalled to him to be sure to make a note.

  ‘Yes, well, I checked that the coast was clear again. I was afraid that there might be someone else roaming around, but it was quite quiet, so I decided to take the chance.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘About a quarter to one this morning, I think. Strange to think that it was today. I suppose that means he hasn’t been dead so very long, has he?’ She shuddered at the thought before continuing. ‘Anyway, I tried the drawing room first and found it empty. So I tried the library next. I thought he’d be there. It’s smaller and cosier than the drawing room, you see, and stays warmer. I thought he and Daddy had probably retired there to take their whisky or brandy or what not and talk and that Daddy had probably retired to bed leaving Hugh. Anyway, as I thought, Hugh was there alone.’

  ‘How did he take your sudden appearance?’ asked Deacon, leaning forward.

  ‘Well that was what was so strange,’ said Isabella, savouring the moment. ‘He was delighted to see me. It rather took me aback, I can tell you. I thought I was going to have to start crying and pulling my hair out before I had any effect on him. But not a bit of it. He took me in his arms and said how sorry he was for his behaviour, that he released me from my promise to marry him and how he wanted to make amends. To tell you the truth, I thought he was rather drunk, but I wasn’t going to waste the moment. I thought I’d better make the most of his change of heart in case he changed his mind again in the morning when he was sober.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘I asked for the letters back.’

  ‘And what did he say to that?’ It seemed to Deacon that he was waiting for Isabella’s answer with bated breath. Even Lane had stopped his writing and was staring fixedly at the back of her head.

  ‘He said that his manservant, Ricketts, would be down in a moment and that he would ask him to fetch them as he was not sure where they had been hidden.’

  ‘And did this man appear.’

  ‘Yes, only a few moments later as it happened. And a more disreputable fellow one couldn’t imagine. He passes himself off for a valet, but one would never guess. I don’t think he knows the first thing about dress. Certainly, if he did, he did not apply the knowledge to his own appearance.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Deacon, impatiently. ‘And what happened next? Did Sneddon send this man to fetch the letters?’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He returned with the letters, Inspector, and gave them to me,’ Isabella said with a triumphant glint in her eye as she proceeded to produce from her handbag, which only now Deacon noticed was oversized, a great bundle of letters tied together roughly with string. ‘So you see, Inspector, I had no reason to kill Lord Sneddon because he no longer had a hold over me. He had released me from our engagement and returned my letters.’

  It seemed to Deacon that a long time had elapsed between Isabella uttering those earth shattering words and his brain taking in the full implication of them. She had had no reason to kill Sneddon! He, Deacon, had been about to arrest her for murder. He had believed that he was hearing her heart-felt confession when all the time she had been toying with them for her own amusement. She had set the scene and built up the suspense and now she looked at him jubilantly, elated with her success. Initially he had felt relief that she was innocent of the murder, now he felt only anger at having been treated as a fool. She had enjoyed the deception, the illusion she was creating. What kind of person was she, he wondered?

  She was starting to gather up the letters on her lap, no doubt with the intention of restoring them to her bag. The inspector sprang up and almost snatched them from her. She looked at him and, for the first time, he saw a look of terror in her eyes. She half got up from her seat, as if tempted to snatch back the letters, and then seemed to think better of it and sat back down.

  ‘Just a moment, Miss Atherton. I want to just double-check that these are indeed what you purport them to be. Let me see.’ He glanced at an envelope and then at one of the letters. “Monsieur C. Lambert”. He took out the first letter and read aloud: “My darling Claude. I cannot wait until I am in your arms and your lips are on mine, to feel –.’

  ‘Enough!’ Isabella almost shouted, her face quite crimson. She put her hand to her face and began to sob. ‘Must you humiliate and embarrass me so and in front of your sergeant too.’ She turned and scowled at Lane as if it were his fault. ‘Haven’t I endured enough with Hugh reading out snippets and laughing at my wretchedness? I would have thought better of you, Inspector. You can see the letters are what I claim them to be. You can have no reason to read them aloud other than for your own amusement and my discomfort. Please don’t read them all, I couldn’t bear it.’ She put her hand to her chest and took a deep breath. ‘Please give them back to me, I beg you. I want to get rid of them once and for all. I never want to set eyes on them again, I want them destroyed. Claude was a fool to keep them. He should have thrown them on the fire as soon as he had read them.’

  ‘Is that what you did with his letters?’

  ‘What?’ For a moment Isabella looked bewildered. ‘Yes…yes, of course. I threw them on the fire as soon as it was all over.’

  ‘Which was not so very long ago,’ said the inspector, ‘looking at some of the dates on these letters.’

  ‘Please,’ implored Isabella, ‘let me have them back so I can get rid of them.’ She stretched out her hand to take them.

  ‘I am afraid, Miss Atherton, we must retain them for a while longer,’ said Deacon, not unkindly. ‘They are evidence of a sort. Although I must warn you we will be checking with Lord Sneddon’s valet that his account of events corroborates your
s.’

  He had put down the bundle of letters on the edge of the desk and turned away. It had not occurred to him for one moment that she would not accept what he had told her. Consequently his reactions were delayed. In a moment she had sprung from her seat, caught up the letters in her grasp and hurled them all into the fire where the flames engulfed them. She then threw herself beside the fire lest one of the policemen be tempted to try and retrieve some of the letters from the flames. So closely did she kneel beside the fireplace that there was a distinct possibility that her hair would get singed. Sergeant Lane had flung down his notebook and rather roughly took her by the arm and hauled her from her position by the hearth. By the time she had been pulled away, and the inspector had crouched by the hearth and surveyed the fire, there was nothing left of the letters, not even charred remains.

  ‘That was a very foolish thing to do, Miss Atherton,’ said Deacon, coldly. ‘Not only have you just destroyed some evidence, but you could have got badly burned in the process.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, really I am,’ sobbed Isabella. ‘But you see I had to get rid of them. I couldn’t bear the idea of anyone getting hold of them again. You don’t know what it’s been like for me with Sneddon blackmailing me. I’ve been in absolute torment. I don’t want to give anyone else the opportunity to blackmail me again.’

  ‘They would have been quite safe with us, Miss Atherton. Ah, well,’ sighed Deacon, ‘it’s no use crying over spilt milk, as my mother would say. You’re free to go, Miss Atherton, as long as you don’t leave Dareswick. We may well need to speak to you again. In the meantime can you ask Miss Simpson to join us? I should like another word with her.’

  Isabella gave a fleeting smile of triumph and was gone.

  ‘Quick, Lane,’ Deacon said in an urgent whisper as soon as the door had closed behind her. ‘I want you to go and get Ricketts and bring him here before she has a chance to find him and bribe him to back up her story of events.’

  ‘You think she’s lying, sir?’ Lane sounded surprised.

  ‘I don’t know, but it seems to me that something is not quite right. Of course I could be imagining it. But I didn’t like the way she played us along. I’m not sure I’d put anything past that young lady.’

  ‘You don’t think she may have spoken with Ricketts already?’

  ‘No, I don’t. For one thing, I don’t think she has had the opportunity, and for another, she had no reason to. If the opinion that I’m forming of this Ricketts character is correct, he is not the sort of man to go out of his way to help the police with their enquiries, the opposite in fact would be true, I’d say. No, I doubt the Honourable Isabella Atherton had any intention of mentioning the blackmail business to us; until, that is, Miss Simpson told her what she knew and that she intended to tell us herself. But go quickly, man. I don’t want her to get to him first.’

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Rose entered the room tentatively, unsure of her reception. She found Inspector Deacon alone in the study. He nodded at her, frowned slightly and indicated she should sit down, while he himself carried on his reading of Sergeant Lane’s notebook, flicking between the various pages. Rose in turn fidgeted with the folds in her skirt and then turned her attention to study a crack in the ceiling. Every now and then she furtively stole a glance around the room to see if she could see the sergeant lurking in the shadows. At length, not being able to bear the silence any longer and Deacon showing no sign of finishing his study of the notebook, she said:

  ‘Did Isabella tell you about the blackmail business?’

  ‘Yes, indeed, she was most informative.’

  ‘She told the boys all about it too, while I was in here earlier. So you see she had no intention of being secretive about it.’

  ‘This is after you had told her what you knew and what you intended to tell us?’

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted.

  ‘You didn’t mention when last we spoke that you were probably one of the last people to see Lord Sneddon alive.’ The Inspector cast her a reproving glance.

  ‘Well, you hardly gave me the chance to do so, did you?’ Rose retorted, indignantly. ‘You were more interested to hear my thoughts on the Athertons and then you sent me out with a flea in my ear when I mentioned Lord Sneddon had been blackmailing Isabella.’

  Deacon attempted to conceal a smile.

  ‘Well, now you may tell me all, Miss Simpson. When did you last see Lord Sneddon?’

  ‘I suppose it must have been about twenty past twelve, perhaps a little earlier. It could even have been a bit later. I did look at my watch at the time but I can’t remember what it said. I couldn’t sleep. Josephine, Isabella and I all retired to bed quite early last night. The atmosphere was somewhat tense and strained. I think everyone felt it, except for the baron perhaps. I don’t know what time the men went up, I wouldn’t have thought they’d have stayed up talking and drinking for long. Anyway, I’d fallen asleep and then woken up and couldn’t get back to sleep again. So I decided to go down to the library and get a book. Reading in bed always makes me feel rather drowsy. And when I went into the library I found Lord Sneddon there. I didn’t see him at first, he had been sitting in one of those infamous wing chairs by the fire. I was rather alarmed to see him, I can tell you, particularly when I saw that he had been drinking. But he was most adamant that I stay and talk to him. Or rather he wanted to talk to me.’

  ‘What sort of a mood was he in?’

  ‘A melancholy one, I should say. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had been sitting brooding in front of the fire for some time. You know, reflecting on his life and not liking what he saw. He certainly seemed very depressed. To tell you the truth, I felt sorry for him, he seemed so pathetic really.’

  ‘Did he say why he felt as he did?’

  ‘Yes, I think it was because of the maid who drowned herself in the lake. You’ve heard all about that already, I expect?’

  ‘Yes, and it would fit with what Crabtree told us,’ said Deacon. ‘Sneddon summoned him around half past eleven to request another decanter of whisky. The butler had had a glass or two of the stuff himself by then and it helped loosen his tongue. Sneddon made the mistake of asking after the maid in question and Crabtree told him in no uncertain terms what had happened to her and whose fault it was. Up until then I think he had been in ignorance about her death. Crabtree acknowledged, albeit rather grudgingly, that Sneddon was devastated by the news. He pretty much broke down, I think.’

  ‘Then I was right, he had been brooding on things,’ said Rose, thinking over her last conversation with Sneddon. ‘He wanted to make amends. He asked me whether I thought he could become a better person and I told him no, but that he must try. Oh,’ Rose’s eyes filled with tears, how I wish now that I had said yes. I should have given him hope, I should have been more charitable, I should –.’

  ‘You weren’t to know,’ Deacon said quickly. ‘No one was. It was no bad thing for him to be made to think for once about what he had done and those he had hurt. Now, I take it you stayed talking with Sneddon for some time. For how long exactly do you think? Does twenty minutes to half an hour, give or take five minutes or so, sound about right to you?’ Rose nodded. ‘After which I take it you returned upstairs to your room?’ Again Rose nodded.

  ‘Good. That fits in nicely with what Isabella Atherton told us. She almost collided with you on the stairs as you were coming up and she was going down.’

  ‘I never saw her,’ said Rose, sounding surprised.

  ‘You wouldn’t have done. She nipped back into her room pretty promptly and closed the door behind her. Then she waited until the coast was clear before venturing out again.’

  ‘Are you saying she went downstairs to confront Lord Sneddon?’ Rose could feel the muscles in her chest tighten.

  ‘Yes, and being in the mood he was in, seeing it as an opportunity to make amends so to speak, he gave her back her letters.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Yes, exactly, Miss Simp
son. You see you needn’t have been so concerned about incriminating Isabella Atherton. Sneddon gave her back her letters before he was murdered.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, she showed them to us. They were addressed to Claude Lambert. At least I think that was his name. I read out a bit of one of them and Lane jotted it down. And very flowery stuff it was too. Let me see.’ He picked up the sergeant’s notebook and flicked through a couple of pages. ‘Ah, yes, here we are: “My darling Claude. I cannot wait until I am in your arms and your lips are on mine, to feel…” Ah, yes, I remember, I was forced to stop midsentence in my reading out because Miss Atherton was very embarrassed. She implored me to stop.’

  ‘I don’t blame her. It was rather cruel of you,’ Rose said, giving him a reproachful stare.

  ‘She’d been playing games with us. She was leading us up the garden path making us think she was about to confess to Sneddon’s murder. But as it happens she got her own back. She threw the letters onto the fire before I could read any more of them out to her.’

  ‘Are you sure Sneddon gave the letters back to her?’ asked Rose, suddenly.

  ‘You mean as opposed to her killing Sneddon and then going and rifling through the papers in his room to find them? What a suspicious mind you do have, Miss Simpson, you’d make a good detective. The very same thought did cross my mind but, as it happens, we have a witness, the man’s so-called valet. He was sent to fetch the letters and handed them back to her. Lane’s gone to get the man now to see if he will corroborate Miss Atherton’s story.’

  ‘Why do you refer to him as Sneddon’s so-called valet? Surely he is or he isn’t?’

  ‘I rather think that our Lord Sneddon may have been employing him for other purposes and that his purporting to be a valet was just a façade. Apparently the man hasn’t the first idea about what the job of being a gentleman’s valet entails.’