‘I reckon it was that Ricketts chap,’ said Robert, earnestly. ‘That’s why you started locking the door in the first place, wasn’t it? I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. He’s the look of a prison about him, I bet he can pick a lock or two.’
‘By Jove, you’re right, lad.’ Crabtree sounded ecstatic. ‘Mrs Hodges and I were only saying how he could be the murderer. And of course you’re right. A fellow like him would know just how to pick a lock. No doubt he and his master had a falling out and he took a knife to him. It would make far more sense that, than the murderer being a member of the household or one of the guests.’
‘It also explains why the police have been watching him so closely,’ said the housekeeper, herself warming to the suggestion. ‘Have you noticed that they’re not letting him out of their sights?’
‘They’re afraid he’ll do a runner, I reckon,’ agreed the footman.
‘Oh, Mrs Hodges, Robert, I cannot tell you how relieved I am,’ said Crabtree collapsing into one of the armchairs, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘I have been that afraid about who the murderer might be it has been making me quite ill with worry, I can tell you. But you are quite right, Robert. The murderer more likely as not is this Ricketts scoundrel and the police already have him in their sights, so to speak. Yes, they are on to him. Mark my words, Mrs Hodges, before long we’ll be back to normal. Peace and order will be restored to Dareswick. It will be as if this tragic event never happened. Right, now we’ve put the world to rights I think we deserve a nice cup of tea, don’t you, Mrs Hodges?’
Ten minutes later butler and housekeeper were sitting contentedly sipping tea grateful in the knowledge that the trying events of the last couple of days would soon be over. It did not occur to either of them as they relaxed, sharing a welcome respite of a few brief minutes from their many duties and chores, that matters were about to take a turn for the worse.
‘I think I know what’s bothering you about the murder scene, sir,’ said Lane. ‘I was thinking myself it all looked rather neat, you know, no chairs or tables knocked over in a struggle as you might have expected if there had been a bit of a scuffle. I know whoever had a fight with Lord Sneddon would have wanted to keep the noise down in case they awoke the house, but even so it made me wonder if things had been tidied up a bit by the servants. But Crabtree swears no one touched a thing. The little maid, Doris, almost died of fright by all accounts when she saw the body. She dropped her dustpan and brush and fled like a mad thing from the room. The housekeeper’s most perturbed because she says the ash will be a devil to get out of the carpet. Anyway, the butler says he was summoned by Mrs Hodges as soon as the body was discovered and that, once he’d established that Sneddon was dead he locked the room and pocketed the key. Apparently he didn’t even go over the threshold. Said it was obvious from where he stood in the doorway to the room that the man was dead and there was nothing he could do for him. If you ask me, sir, he was a bit squeamish as far as the body was concerned.’
‘Well, he was right in that Sneddon was dead. He’d have been dead some hours at least when he was found. There’d have been nothing he could have done for him. And I don’t think there ever was a scuffle, Lane, no fight of any sort, I’d say. I think it happened exactly as it looks like it happened. There were no defensive wounds discovered on the body, I’ve just found out from the police doctor, no scratches or skin under the fingernails or that sort of thing, as there would have been if there’d been a struggle of sorts. Sneddon was sitting at the writing desk, writing. Now we know about Miss Simpson’s nocturnal visit to the library and what was discussed between her and Sneddon and his subsequent change of heart about blackmailing Isabella Atherton. I think it’s fair to assume that Sneddon was compiling, or about to compile, a list of the people he had wronged.’
‘In which case, sir, the murderer’s name was probably on that list. And he more likely as not took the list away with him, don’t you think?’
‘I do. Although I think it just as likely that Sneddon might not even have got around to writing the list before he was killed. Anyway it’s neither here nor there because the murderer would have been sure to have got rid of the list by now, it would have been far too incriminating. And he’d have had ample opportunity. No, Lane,’ said Deacon, ‘that’s not what’s worrying me.’
‘What is it then, sir?’
‘I think Sneddon was taken unawares. I think someone either sneaked up behind him and stuck the knife in his back and he never knew anything about it, or else that he did not feel threatened by the presence of his murderer and so turned his back on him and sat down at the desk.’
‘Yes, sir,’ agreed the sergeant, somewhat disappointed. He did not know what he had been expecting the inspector to say, but something more than this. He thought that they’d already established a scenario like this as a strong possibility.
‘We know the murder was not premeditated, Lane, because the murderer grasped the first thing that came to hand, namely the letter opener which, by all accounts, would have been on the desk.’
‘Or they might have known it would be there and decided to use it before they entered the room.’
‘Possibly, but that would have been a bit risky. They weren’t to know that Sneddon would be seated at the desk. For all they knew he could have been at the other end of the room. In which case he would see them pick up the letter opener and be on his guard or, at the very least, curious as to what they intended to do with it. No, Lane, that’s not it. Don’t you see what it is?’
‘No, sir, quite frankly, I don’t.’
‘If there had been any form of struggle the murderer would have needed to have had some degree of physical strength. Sneddon was a fit young man with a strong physique. He wouldn’t have been killed without a fight and we have just established that no tussle took place.’
‘I still don’t see what you’re getting at, sir.’
‘I think, Lane, that our Lord Sneddon was killed by a woman. I think she either crept up on him or Sneddon dismissed her and made the mistake of turning his back on her. Either way, it would have been easy enough for a woman to have plunged the knife in his back. She wouldn’t have been faced with any resistance and, because she would have been leaning over him, she wouldn’t have needed any strength to do the job. You know, Lane, there’s another saying from Shakespeare along the lines of “there is no fury like a woman scorned.”’
‘So you think –.’
‘– the murderer’s the Honourable Josephine Atherton,’ said Deacon, finishing his sergeant’s sentence. ‘Yes I do, or at least I think it’s a very strong possibility.’
Rose, with a slowing step and heavy heart, angry at her own lack of faith, had suddenly come to the very same conclusion. If she thought about it, she realised that she had always been afraid that the murderer was Josephine. It was the only solution that made any sense.
Josephine had been welcoming and shown her kindness, even if she had been a little distracted as if she had had something of significance preying on her mind. It was to be expected that Josephine might feel some bitterness towards Sneddon. He had led her to believe that he had feelings for her which might lead to marriage and then he had abruptly switched his attentions to her maid. How humiliating it must have been for her, particularly given that he had got the girl into trouble and then the girl had chosen such an awful resolution to her problems. And then to find that he was to marry her own sister who was being coerced into submitting to the arrangement. It must have been too awful for her to bear. She had too many motives for wishing Sneddon dead not to be the murderer or, at the very least, have had some hand in his death. Perhaps she had managed to bribe Brimshaw to do the deed himself rather than dirty her own hands with Sneddon’s blood. Perhaps they had panicked, perhaps that’s why they had fled. Or perhaps that had been the arrangement all along. Brimshaw might be at the other end of the world by now, and Josephine might have set off in the other direction or might return
all innocent, claiming to have been kidnaped and in fear of her life.
Rose did not care for Isabella and because of that she had wished to think her guilty, if one was to accept the unpalatable notion that the murderer must have come from within Dareswick Hall. Isabella had looked down on her, if she even bothered to acknowledge her at all. When they had been introduced she had smiled at her mockingly, considered her a source of amusement, laughed at her expense. Rose’s cheeks went crimson. She suddenly wondered if they all thought like Isabella did; the baron, Josephine and Hallam. They probably thought of her as they did Brimshaw, and look how horrified the baron and Hallam had been at the possibility that Josephine might have eloped with the chauffeur, almost as if it had been worse than her murdering Sneddon. She was making Cedric into a laughing stock. His friends were no doubt laughing behind his back, horrified in an amused sort of way that he had the nerve to flaunt her in public, saying that his mother would have sent her packing if she had still been alive. Perhaps even the servants laughed at her while they undertook their tasks in the shadows or before the house had fully awoken. Even now they might be sitting in the servants’ hall having a gossip about her, wondering when Cedric would come to his senses and marry Josephine who, after all would be far more suitable. Perhaps even her sister, although she thought Isabella would find Cedric too dull and he would find her too flighty.
She felt a surge of emotion well up inside her. She could not bear it. The thought of standing by and watching Cedric marry someone else was unbearable. Whatever happened, whoever the murderer turned out to be, she was determined to be with Cedric whatever obstacles were put in her way. And with this thought she hurried to the house, eager to lay eyes on him again. Perhaps he had felt something of the same for at that moment one of the French windows opened and out walked Cedric, tall and blonde and handsome, even from a distance. He was looking for her she could tell and, without a second thought for how it would look or what the servants would think, she was calling out his name and waving her arms lest he should not see her. He turned and looked in her direction. His face instantly lit up and he smiled and with a glowing feeling Rose thought, I am the cause of the look of joy on his face, it’s my company he seeks above all others. And, before she quite knew what she was doing, she found herself half walking, half running and he was doing the same only his strides were longer so he was quicker and then they were laughing and collapsing into each other’s arms, and Dareswick Hall and Sneddon’s murder seemed very far away indeed.
‘It’s not so much a case of who was the last person to see Lord Sneddon in the hour or two before his death, more a case of who do not see him,’ complained Deacon.
‘I know what you mean, sir,’ agreed the sergeant. ‘It seems to me that it was a bit like Piccadilly Circus with all the comings and goings that went on here last night. If what everyone says is correct, then no sooner had one person been down and gone, another one would arrive.’
‘You’re right, sergeant. Now if I’ve got it straight, the baron leaves Sneddon in the library. Sneddon rings for Crabtree who comes and brings him another decanter of whisky. While he’s drinking that, Miss Simpson comes down to the library in search of a book. After a time she leaves and Isabella Atherton comes down, followed later by the manservant who goes and fetches the letters. Then Isabella leaves and Ricketts stays with Sneddon a while before he too goes, leaving the way clear for the murderer to come down and kill Sneddon.’
‘Sounds like the murderer was jolly lucky not to have bumped into someone while doing the deed,’ said Lane.
‘Yes, I think he or she would have had to leave it quite a while before coming down so that they could be sure that they weren’t going to be disturbed.’
‘That fits in with Josephine Atherton doing the deed,’ said Lane, ‘or at least witnessing the deed being done by the chauffeur, before setting off into the night.’
‘It does. On the other hand ….’ Deacon broke off from what he was saying as the noise of running feet and general activity could be heard in the hall outside.
‘Oh, lor,’ sighed Lane, ‘don’t tell me Ricketts has tried to make a break for freedom again, won’t the fellow ever learn?’
‘Sir, sir, please sir.’ A young constable burst unceremoniously into the room. ‘Sorry sir, for not knocking and all, but they’re back. We just caught sight of the car at the brow of the drive from the upstairs windows. They’ll be at the door in a moment.’
‘Who will be, Constable?’
‘Why, Josephine Atherton and the chauffeur, sir. Well at least definitely the chauffeur. It was impossible to tell from this distance sir, whether there was anyone in the back seat.’
‘Quick, Lane.’ The Inspector bounded over to the door. ‘You get out into the hall and head off any of the servants that come, or family or guests, come to that. I don’t want any of them to have a chance to warn or speak to the couple before we’ve had an opportunity to interview them ourselves. We’ll let Crabtree open the door to them but he’s to stay by the front door. I don’t want any of the footmen to go out. As soon as the chauffeur has got out of the car and so can’t drive away, I want you, Lane, and one of the constables to appear and apprehend Brimshaw. You can take him to the garage and interview him there. Constable, you stay with me and we’ll escort Josephine Atherton into the house and I’ll interview her in here. Is that clear? Right, come on then!’
Chapter Twenty-eight
It seemed to Deacon, much to his annoyance, that the whole house had turned out to watch the wanderers come home. In reality it was only Sidney and Robert, who were soon sent packing back to the servants’ hall, Crabtree, who remained, and Rose and Cedric who had just come in from the garden through the drawing room French windows and had ventured out into the hall to ascertain what all the commotion and excitement was about. The inspector gave them a quick look of reproach but refrained from saying anything as the car was fast approaching. Indeed, unless he was mistaken, the car had come to a stop in front of the house. He gave one final warning glance to Rose and Cedric to say nothing and nodded to the butler to open the door. His sergeant stood at his shoulder, biting at the bit, anxious to pounce on the chauffeur as soon as he had climbed out of the car.
It seemed to Rose that everyone was holding their breath to see what was going to happen. With a stab of something akin to pity, she heard Josephine’s clear, pleasant voice float through the air.
‘Oh, there you are, Crabtree. I wondered where everyone was. Will you send Robert and Sidney out please, there’s a suitcase in the boot and a few other things for them to bring in so that Brimshaw can garage the car. I suppose Father’s frightfully cross, isn’t he, my up and leaving in the middle of the night like that, especially as we’ve got guests. I know it looks a little odd but I can explain everything, really I can. And you mustn’t be angry with Brimshaw, he was only doing what I asked of him. Where’s Father, in his study?’ It appeared that Crabtree had seen fit to nod, incorrect though this answer was. Either way, Josephine had received sufficient encouragement to enter the house, apparently totally unaware of what was awaiting her within.
‘Yes, I suppose I’d better get it over with. I expect Father’s been behaving like a bear with a sore head all morning, hasn’t he? He’s no doubt been awfully worried about me, silly old thing, I… Oh, I say,’ Josephine was taken aback slightly so as to lose her flow by Lane pushing past her rather rudely to apprehend Brimshaw before he had a chance of getting back in the car and driving away. ‘I do hope that’s not the new footman come to replace Robert, Crabtree. He seems an awfully rude sort of a fellow and he’s dressed rather badly. Wasn’t there a uniform available that would fit him?’
Crabtree had stepped aside so that she could cross the threshold and it was only then that she caught sight of Deacon and the worried and anxious faces of Cedric and Rose. She must have realised instinctively that something was wrong, for she opened her mouth once or twice to say something but no sound came out. Deacon stepped forwa
rd so as not to prolong the confusion.
‘Miss Atherton, my name’s Detective Inspector Deacon. I’m from Scotland Yard. I’d like to have a few words with you in your father’s study, if you don’t mind. Just one or two questions that I would like to ask you.
‘Detective Inspector? Why….?’
‘This way if you would, please, miss,’ Deacon had deftly opened the study door and was attempting to usher her inside. ‘And you needn’t worry about the young man who’s just gone out. He’s not your new footman, he’s my sergeant. He’s just gone to have a few words with your chauffeur.’
Josephine appeared taken aback by events. So much so that it appeared at first that she would allow herself to be herded into the study without making a fuss. But just as she was about to go through the door she turned and hesitated.
‘I should like Rose to come in with me please, Inspector. Say you will, Rose. Father’s less likely to be too angry with me in front of guests. He doesn’t agree with washing one’s dirty laundry in public. That’s why he was so furious with Hallam when he said what he did to Lord Sneddon.’
For a moment no one spoke, as if confused or embarrassed as to what to say. Rose decided to seize her chance. She had to find out what Josephine told the police. She had to discover what had happened the night before and what had caused Josephine to flee in the way she had. And why had she come back? Surely she realised the danger she was putting herself in by returning? And if she were to confess to her part in the crime, well then Rose would be there to offer what little comfort she could, given the circumstances.
‘Yes, of course,’ Rose said, and she had sailed into the room before Deacon had the presence of mind to refuse her admittance or to correct Josephine’s mistaken belief that her father was in the study waiting to admonish her.
02 - Murder at Dareswick Hall Page 21
