03 - Murder at Sedgwick Court

by Margaret Addison

  MURDER

  AT

  SEDGWICK COURT

  by Margaret Addison

  A Rose Simpson Mystery

  Copyright

  Copyright 2014 Margaret Addison

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system, without prior written permission from Margaret Addison except for the inclusion of quotations in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Rose Simpson Mysteries (in order)

  Murder at Ashgrove House

  Murder at Dareswick Hall

  Murder at Sedgwick Court

  Chapter One

  ‘So here it is,’ said Cedric, sixteenth Earl of Belvedere, waving a hand nonchalantly about him. Notwithstanding the apparent carelessness of his gesture, the young man’s action managed to encompass everything in sight. ‘This is Sedgwick Court, as far as the eye can see, don’t you know? Ancestral home of the Sedgwicks and all that.’

  There was a sharp intake of breath from his companion and then silence as she took in the view, somewhat overcome by the scale of it all. Of course, she had expected to be impressed. After all, Lavinia had raved about the house and had gone on and on about how immense it was. A great mid-eighteenth century, neo-Palladian mansion of a place that had been in her family for generations. And Rose was not disappointed by the reality. The house was all her erstwhile friend had claimed it to be and more, and had anyone asked, she would have readily admitted that it quite dwarfed both Ashgrove House and even Dareswick Hall. The building was indeed a colossal palace of a place with its smooth, plain alabaster-coloured exterior; its corner towers topped by pyramidal roofs; and its great Corinthian columns, which flanked the entrance porch, combining to give the overall impression that Sedgwick Court was a great temple from ancient Greece, risen from the ruins and transported to 1930s England.

  Yes, the young earl’s companion had expected to be impressed by the dwelling that was Sedgwick Court. What she had not expected, however, was the great expanse of the country estate itself, landscaped on an immense scale by a follower of the great Capability Brown. She marvelled at the park with its sunken ha-ha fences, confusing the eye by giving the impression that each piece of the parkland, no matter how differently managed or stocked, was as one for as far as the eye could see. She admired too the impression given of one single body of water which, Cedric had just explained to her, was in reality a number of expansive lakes cut into the ground at different levels. Close up they were seemingly unconnected, but from afar the impression given was of a river that ran right through the landscape.

  ‘It’s breathtaking,’ Rose Simpson uttered at last.

  These words of wonderment sounded sadly inadequate even to her own ears, but what else could one say when greeted by such a view? It was not just that the very sight was impressive, but also that she was actually here at all with Cedric. It was quite unbelievable given their reasonably short acquaintance, everything that had happened and their very different stations in life. She had thought that she would never set eyes on Sedgwick Court. She had believed that it was some utopia forbidden her. And yet there she was, a London shop girl, guest of the landed gentry.

  ‘I’m awfully glad you like it, Rose,’ Cedric said, sounding proud and embarrassed at the same time. ‘Of course, you’re not seeing it at its very best. I really ought to have waited until spring or summer to show it you. That’s when Sedgwick looks its most glorious, with the sun reflecting on the water, the place all green and lush, and the flowers abundant and all that sort of thing. You wouldn’t believe how many artists have approached us to paint the view. But I just couldn’t wait for you to see the place. I think it the most wonderful place in all the world, don’t you? Of course, I know I’m biased and all that, but it is rather delightful, don’t you think? Even in winter when it looks a bit forlorn and brown, there’s still something about it, don’t you agree? I mean –’

  ‘It’s quite, quite lovely,’ Rose said, clasping his hands in hers. It was all she could do not to spin him around and embrace him there and then. ‘I can see why you love it so. There’s something quite magical about it, as if it’s not quite real. And I suppose it isn’t really, is it?’

  ‘No,’ agreed Cedric. ‘It’s all been landscaped within a whisker of its life. And can you see that, on the top of the hill over there? You can just glimpse it between the trees if you look carefully.’ Rose followed where he was pointing into the distance, his arm outstretched.

  ‘I think I can see something,’ she replied, screwing up her eyes in concentration as she studied the horizon. ‘Why, it looks like a miniature castle, or at least a castle ruin,’ she exclaimed in surprise.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Cedric, ‘but it isn’t real. That’s to say it isn’t really a castle ruin or even the remains of one. It isn’t the remnants of some Norman castle allowed to fall into disrepair or destroyed by a fire.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘No. It was just built to look exactly like that. A castle relic. It’s nothing more than what is termed an eye-catcher. A folly if you will, that is specifically designed to draw one’s eye into the wider landscape. It was built on a whim to satisfy some young countess at the time who thought it would be rather nice to catch a glimpse of a distant castle from the window of her boudoir. A lot of old rot, of course, and rather a waste of good stone as it has no purpose, but Lavinia and I found it rather a hoot to play in when we were children. You can just imagine it, can’t you? Lavinia was the fair damsel in distress and I was the gallant knight come to rescue her from the clutches of some villainous baron, although I’m afraid that I always fell rather short.’

  Rose laughed. She could picture the scene well. For she could imagine the young Lavinia dressed in all her finery trying to look gracious and demure while all the time fighting the desire to shout out orders and instructions to her younger brother. Try as he might, she thought it unlikely that Cedric would have lived up to her expectations of how a noble knight should behave when faced with danger and adversity.

  ‘You might well laugh,’ grinned Cedric. ‘Lavinia was awfully bossy. Sometimes I wondered whether it wouldn’t have been better if the roles had been reversed and I had been one of the princes in the tower and she had been the one come to rescue me from wicked old King Richard. But this place is simply littered with them. Eye-catchers and follies, I mean.’

  ‘How marvellous.’

  ‘There’s one that looks all the world like a temple, and another one is a bridge which serves absolutely no purpose as it’s over nothing at all. Not even a stream or a ditch. My father and his father before him let some of them fall into disrepair, but I’m determined to restore most of them to their former glory. They’re wonderful places to have picnics and whatnot.’

  Rose smiled. His enthusiasm was contagious and yet this mention of Lavinia had stirred up bitter-sweet emotions within her. She had once counted Cedric’s sister, Lady Lavinia Sedgwick, as one of her closest friends. And it had been through Lavinia that she had first made the acquaintance of the Earl of Belvedere, or Viscount Sedgwick, as he had been then. Lavinia had taken up a bet with her brother that she could earn her own living for six months. She had decided to fulfil the bet by working in a dress shop and it was there that she and Rose had met and formed their friendship. Working side by side, they had buoyed each other on to cope with the mundane and tiring work, although
Lavinia had been excused from dealing with the most difficult of the customers. The proprietor, Madame Renard, had not wished to lose the most attractive addition to her shop. Lavinia’s presence had been good for business. Being attended to by a member of the British aristocracy had gone down well with the most snobbish and class conscious of her clientele. So, although Lavinia had been spared the most tedious aspects of the job, and had not been expected to sweep the floor or wrap up garments in brown paper in preparation for being sent to customers on approval, she had experienced some aspects of what the role of being a shop girl entailed, and she had found a friend in Rose.

  Despite their very different positions in society, Rose had considered their friendship to be a strong one, albeit acknowledging at the same time that in all likelihood it would be temporary in duration. She had been fully prepared for the friendship to run its course and fizzle out once Lavinia had finished her time at the shop and returned to her privileged life. What Rose had been less prepared for was Lavinia’s open disapproval and opposition to the obvious mutual attraction between Rose and Lavinia’s brother. She had met him by chance at a weekend house-party hosted by Lavinia’s aunt, to which Cedric had not been invited. The party had not been a success, culminating in death as it had done, and such an occurrence had done nothing to endear Rose to Lavinia, who believed that her friend had in some way been partly responsible for the tragic events that had unfolded. As a consequence, communication between the two had faltered and Lavinia had fled to the Continent, leaving her brother to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives and manage as best he could to deal with the aftermath.

  ‘I think we should take a tour of all the follies this afternoon,’ continued Cedric. ‘Some of them really are rather impressive, even if one or two are in a dilapidated and dejected state. I know it’s the middle of December and all, but it’s dry and sunny. If you wrap up warm in all your furs and whatnot I daresay you won’t feel the cold. Nothing better than a brisk walk on a day like this and … oh, I say, I wonder what’s up …?’

  Cedric broke off abruptly as his attention was drawn to the strange and unexpected spectacle of two of his upper servants hurrying, one could almost say running, towards him, while all the time trying rather unsuccessfully to maintain a dignified appearance. This was not helped by their attire of black trousers, waistcoats and tailcoats giving them the appearance of waddling penguins.

  ‘What can Manning want, I wonder? And by Jove if that isn’t old Torridge scuttling after him! I had no idea that the old chap still had it in him, not by the way he usually totters around. More than once I’ve thought of offering him a chair, and I would have done too if I didn’t think he’d be offended.’

  Rose looked on fascinated. Manning, the under-butler, appeared to have gathered pace even as they watched. Although, in another moment, catching sight of them studying him, he slowed to a more sedate step and Rose thought how he must wish that they were still studying the horizon so that he might break into a run unobserved by his master and his master’s guest. Even though there was some distance still between them, Rose caught the flicker of a look of annoyance cross his face, quickly replaced by a dignified expression. She was reminded that, according to Cedric, the young man was still being trained up to replace Torridge in due course when the old man saw fit to be pensioned off to live out his days in a cottage on the estate. Apparently he was clinging to his occupation, reluctant to give into retirement and old age. Rose secretly thought that he did not want to leave his new master when he had so newly come into his title. No doubt the old man thought he had a responsibility to his old master to support his son the best he could.

  Or perhaps secretly Torridge did not think that Manning was yet quite up to the job. She pitied the younger man having to endure the old butler looking over his shoulder, observing his every move as he tried to impart his years of wisdom on the art of being a butler in a great house such as Sedgwick Court. Notwithstanding Manning still being under a form of apprenticeship, the fact that Torridge was not far behind him, indeed was gaining pace and himself looked as if he wished to break out into a run, made Rose feel anxious. Something obviously was afoot as Cedric had speculated. Was something dreadfully wrong? Surely it must be. This feeling was reinforced as she caught the concerned look on Torridge’s face. Something had happened.

  Rose looked across at Cedric and saw that he too was as apprehensive as she was. His face looked clearly worried, his mouth set in a straight line and she saw that he clenched his fists as if preparing himself for the worst. She caught his eye and realised that the same thought had suddenly crossed both their minds, preposterous though it was. On the two previous occasions that they had been at house-parties together, murder had occurred. It was nonsensical to think it was a pattern, not when she thought how often they had met up in London since the unfortunate events that had occurred at Dareswick Hall. But even so she realised that in that moment they both feared the worst. Surely death had not come to Sedgwick Court. Oh, how very unfair if it had, considering everything that Cedric had been through …

  ‘My lord,’

  Manning’s words recalled Rose to the present, banishing her daydreams. And, as the under-butler addressed his master, she was relieved to see that he was not trying to keep a stiff upper lip in the face of adversity. The news he had to impart was not catastrophic in nature after all. He was just excited and trying to keep his emotions in check as any good butler would. And, as if to dispel any lingering doubts about whether or not they were about to hear some appalling news, he blurted out: ‘She’s back, my lord, she’s returned.’

  Torridge, who had all the while been making his way laboriously towards them, had by this time caught up Manning and, after stopping for a moment to catch his breath, wheezing in rather an alarming fashion, all but pushed aside the younger man who retreated with a somewhat sheepish look.

  ‘What Manning is trying to say, my lord,’ said Torridge, addressing his master, and then breaking off for a moment to cast the unfortunate under-butler a look which would have turned milk sour, ‘is that her ladyship has returned from her travels. Lady Lavinia has just arrived back home, my lord.’

  ‘Lavinia’s back!’ Cedric put a hand to his chest and in that moment Rose realised how much he had missed his older sister, how much he had felt abandoned by her to deal with the aftermath of the Ashgrove tragedies. It was true that Lavinia had probably been most affected of anyone by what had transpired, but even so, how could she have just escaped to the Continent and left Cedric to cope with it alone? Even as she thought it, Rose knew that she was being unreasonable. Who could tell how she would have felt in similar circumstances?

  Some five or six months had elapsed since Lavinia had up and fled, and Rose realised that she was feeling nervous at the prospect of renewing their acquaintance. She contemplated what had brought Lavinia back now. She wondered whether somehow unconsciously they had called her back, she and Cedric, whether by uttering her name at Sedgwick Court, her childhood home, and recalling memories of her they had summoned her home. Of course it was all nonsense, Rose knew that. It was perfectly understandable that Lavinia should think of family as Christmas fast approached, and on the heels of that to have a sudden longing to return home. She had been away long enough and the scandal and speculation surrounding the events that had occurred at Ashgrove had long since died down and been superseded by other matters, other gossip.

  Such as what had occurred at Dareswick Hall, thought Rose gloomily. She wondered whether news of those murders had reached Lavinia’s ears. Perhaps that was the reason for her coming back. Whatever the reason, she could not help feeling apprehensive about Lavinia’s unexpected return, or rid herself of a ridiculous feeling of foreboding, as if their carefree weekend had disappeared with Lavinia’s arrival. Of course, it was illogical, she told herself. However, Lavinia’s presence was certain to change these few snatched days with Cedric at Sedgwick, not least because Lavinia was unlikely to be pleased by Rose’s prese
nce at her family home. If nothing else it was an indication that the fledgling romance that had begun between Cedric and Rose at Ashgrove had developed further in her absence. Oh well, thought Rose, she has only herself to blame for that.

  ‘Lavinia!’ Cedric’s sudden exclamation recalled her from her musings and she looked up to see a figure in the distance making its way quickly towards them through the formal gardens and across the parkland. It was engulfed in a fine great wool coat edged in silver fox fur at cuffs and neck and complemented by a fur hat that hid the figure’s face so completely that anyone at this distance, except for Cedric, would have been uncertain as to the figure’s identity. For one second, although she knew that she was being unfair to Cedric, given the look of delight that had lit up his face, Rose prayed that it was not Lavinia, that the servants had been mistaken.

  While she was thinking these uncharitable thoughts, Cedric had leapt forward as if to make his way towards the figure. Rose meanwhile remained where she was looking on, reluctant to intrude on the family reunion. But before she knew it, Lavinia was upon them, standing a few feet from her, embracing Cedric warmly, her shrill, infectious laughter carrying on the winter’s air. Peeping under her fur hat was the same platinum dyed hair that Rose remembered so well. She was equally sure that under the great coat Lavinia would have the same willowy figure. Immediately Rose felt herself fade into the background, her own looks overshadowed by her erstwhile friend’s.

  As if suddenly aware of Rose’s presence, Lavinia looked up and caught her eye. Rose took in her even, delicate, aristocratic beauty, so very different to her own plain looks. Lavinia had always had a tendency to look aloof. Now she looked something else too. Annoyed, Rose was sure of it, although the look of annoyance, if that was what it was, crossed her face only momentarily, hastily replaced by a look of superficial pleasure.