Snobbery With Violence: An Edwardian Murder Mystery

by Marion Chesney

  Little green velvet shoes peeped out from below her gown as she drew forward a chair to sit down.

  “Pray be seated, Captain,” she said. Daisy stood behind Rose’s chair and Becket behind Harry’s.

  “I think we should all sit down,” said Rose. “There is no need for ceremony.”

  Becket helped Daisy into a chair and then sat down himself.

  “I was wondering about sexual diseases,” said Rose.

  Harry stared at her, wondering whether he had heard her properly. “Did you say sexual diseases?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” asked Harry nervously.

  “It is just an idea,” said Rose. “You see, Daisy tells me that gentlemen have been known to have intimate relations with virgins in the hope of being cured of, say, syphilis.”

  “Where is this leading?”

  “Mary hinted that she had someone interested in her, that she had been spoken for. Now it would never have crossed my mind before that any unmarried young lady would fall from grace. But if a man had one of these terrible diseases, he might be very persuasive, promise her anything. Then, if she found out the truth, she might want to take her own life.”

  “I fear your new-found knowledge of the nastier aspects of the world is making you jump to mad conclusions,” said Harry.

  “Not quite. Margaret Bryce-Cuddlestone spent a night with Lord Hedley. Today she sent for the doctor. She was most upset.”

  “But why sexual disease? She might just be frightened that she is pregnant.”

  “Perhaps. But don’t you see? If Lord Hedley slept with Margaret, it follows he may have slept with Mary Gore-Desmond. Perhaps she threatened to tell his wife and his wife has the money.”

  Harry sat silently in thought. “You don’t like the idea,” said Daisy pertly, “because you didn’t think of it.”

  “Mind your manners,” snapped Harry.

  “Daisy was only trying to help,” said Becket angrily and Harry looked at his manservant in surprise.

  “So what do you suggest we do?” he asked. “Confront Miss Bryce-Cuddlestone? She will deny it. She has too much to lose. And Hedley will most certainly deny it.”

  “Perhaps you should tell Kerridge of our suspicions. He might get the doctor to talk.”

  “Shhh!” said Daisy suddenly. “I think I heard something.”

  She ran lightly across the room and threw open the door. She could hear footsteps hurrying off in the distance at the back of the hall. Daisy ran in pursuit and found her way blocked by Curzon. “Is anything the matter?” he asked.

  “Get out of my way!” shouted Daisy.

  Curzon took her arm in a strong grip. “It is time you and I had a word, Miss Levine. You do not shout at a superior servant in that manner. You—”

  “Daisy!” called Rose, hurrying across the hall. “Is anything the matter?”

  “I’ll speak to you later,” hissed Curzon.

  “It’s all right, my lady,” said Daisy. They walked back to the library. “Someone was listening,” said Daisy. “I heard these footsteps running away and went after whoever it was, but that great idiot Curzon blocked my way.”

  Harry looked at Rose. “Is there a constable outside your room at night?”

  “Yes. Well, there was last night.”

  Harry turned to Daisy. “Make sure he’s on duty tonight.”

  Rose was mounting the staircase with Daisy when Curzon came hurriedly up after her.

  “Lady Hedley wishes a word with you, Lady Rose. Follow me. Alone,” he added with a glare at Daisy.

  Feeling nervous, Rose walked after him, wondering if Lady Hedley had been the one listening at the library door, and then dismissed the idea as ridiculous.

  Curzon threw open the door and announced her and then left them together. Lady Hedley was seated before the fireplace in her sitting-room, working at a piece of tapestry.

  “Sit down,” she ordered. “No, not there. Opposite. Where I can see you.”

  Rose did as she was bid. There was a long silence while Lady Hedley’s needle flashed in and out of the piece of tapestry mounted on a frame.

  Then she began. “We have not really had an opportunity to talk.”

  “I am most grateful to you for your hospitality,” said Rose.

  The needle paused. “No you’re not,” said the countess. “How could you be? What do you think of this castle?”

  “Very fine.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, very romantic, like castles in stories of knights and ladies.”

  “Piffle. I assumed you had some intelligence.”

  “You do not expect me to say what I really think,” said Rose, becoming angry.

  “It would be pleasant if you would try to do so.”

  Rose took a deep breath. Why should she care what Lady Hedley thought?

  “All right. It is silly, a folly, and set as it is against the poverty of the local village, a disgrace.”

  “Still banging on about that village, hey? It may please you to know that Hedley has set about repairs.”

  “Yes, it does please me.”

  “He’s only doing it because the gutter press have criticized the living conditions.”

  There was another long silence. Rose felt herself becoming almost hypnotized by the flashing needle.

  “What did you think of Mary Gore-Desmond?”

  “Nothing at all. I barely knew her.”

  “I saw too much of her. Did you know I brought her out?”

  “No, my lady. At the last season?”

  “Yes, for part of it. Her mother fell ill towards the end but was still hoping her plain daughter should make a match with someone, anyone. So we took her on. Nasty little thing.”

  “My lady, she’s dead!”

  “That doesn’t soften any memories I may have of her. But the real reason I asked you here was to find if you had recovered from your shock.”

  “I hope so, my lady, but to tell the truth, I am afraid the experience will haunt me for some time.”

  “I used to play up there when I was a child when we were brought here on visits. The place was fairly new then. As children, we thought it romantic.”

  “I was not playing. Someone asked to meet me on the roof and then pushed me over.”

  The marchioness laughed. “We used to invent stories like that. It does take me back.”

  The dressing gong sounded.

  “Run along,” said Lady Hedley. “And behave yourself.”

  Rose repeated the conversation to Daisy. “She sounds mad,” said Daisy.

  “No, I think she is eccentric. It must be so terrible to have a philandering husband.”

  “That’s mostly what this lot do to pass the time,” said Daisy cynically. “But we should tell the captain about Mary Gore-Desmond having stayed with them in London.”

  But Rose was not to be allowed any chance of speaking to Harry after dinner. Her mother drew her aside in the drawing-room and said, “It has come to our ears that you have been seen spending a certain amount of time with Captain Cathcart. Now although your pa is grateful to him for his help and although his family background is impeccable, he does not have any money other than the money he earns. So he is, in effect, a tradesman.”

  “I have no interest in Captain Cathcart.”

  “I will determine it stays that way.”

  When the men joined them in the drawing-room, Lady Polly stayed firmly by her daughter’s side.

  She need not have bothered. There was no sign of the captain.

  He was in the library with Becket and Daisy, having had a note from Daisy passed to him by Becket.

  She told him all about Rose’s interview with Lady Hedley.

  “It’s beginning to look as if Hedley himself might be responsible for these murders, and that is going to be very hard to prove,” said Harry. “But Lady Rose is surely safe. There will be a constable on duty outside her door tonight.”

  Curzon had supervised the sandwiches and drink
s to be taken up to the drawing-room. Now all that was left was to see that the various bedtime requests were taken up to the rooms.

  Mrs. Jerry Trumpington required a bedtime drink of hot milk and brandy; Miss Maisie Chatterton, cocoa; and so on. He ran his eyes down the list in his hand. At the bottom was tea, Indian, with milk and sugar for Constable Bickerstaff.

  “Who is Constable Bickerstaff?” he shouted.

  “That must be the officer outside Lady Rose’s bedroom,” said the cook.

  “I think it’s a bit much when common officers start using this place as a restaurant,” grumbled Curzon.

  He said to the second footman, John. “Get one of the house-maids to make a pot of tea and you carry it up. And take Mrs. Trumpington’s drink and deliver Miss Chatterton’s cocoa as well.”

  John collected the three drinks on a large tray and headed for the stairs. There was a back staircase in the castle for the servants, but most used the main staircase unless they were carrying down the slops. He delivered Maisie Chatterton’s cocoa first and then hurried along to the other tower, where Lady Rose and Maisie Chatterton had their rooms.

  He thought sulkily, and not for the first time, that the gas should have remained lit. It was difficult balancing the tray and a candle. He put the tray down on a small table in the passage outside Mrs. Trumpington’s room, put the glass of milk and brandy on a smaller tray and knocked at the door. He handed the tray to the lady’s maid and then turned and picked up the tray with the remaining drink from the table. He was heading up the tower stairs when he heard a voice call, “John!”

  The voice was muffled and he could not tell if it came from a man or a woman. He set the tray down on the stairs and held his candle high. It was probably Mrs. Trumpington complaining again. Probably a skin had formed on her milk and brandy. She had complained before.

  He ran down and knocked on her door. “Anything up?” he asked the lady’s maid.

  “No,” she said, “and don’t knock again. Madam is just about to go to sleep.

  John sighed and went back up the stairs and picked up the tray. He approached the constable who was sitting on a chair outside Rose’s room.

  “Are you Bickerstaff?” he asked haughtily.

  “That’s me.”

  “Here’s your tea.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  John grunted by way of reply and marched off down the stairs. He was already planning to try to find a position in a “regular” household, one where they didn’t have murders or expect footmen to serve policemen.

  Bickerstaff sipped the tea. It had a funny taste, but it was probably one of those foreign teas. Give him a good cup of Indian any day. But it was hot and strong and he drank it gratefully.

  The tray with the tea was on the floor beside him. He bent down to pour himself another cup when he began to feel dizzy. His legs and arms were beginning to feel like lead. He slumped down onto the floor and with his last remaining strength kicked at the door of Rose’s bedroom and shouted faintly, “Help!”

  Rose awoke with a start and rang the bell on her bedside table. Daisy came running in, crying, “Did you hear something? I heard something.”

  “Ask the constable if everything is all right,” said Rose.

  Daisy opened the door and screamed, “He’s dead! Oh, my God, he’s dead!”

  Ten

  If this young man expresses himself in terms too deep for me,

  Why, what a very singularly deep young man this deep young man must be!

  —W. S. GILBERT

  Doors flew opened, voices shouted, guests and servants came running. Kerridge, now staying at the castle, appeared wrapped in a large Paisley dressing-gown to take charge.

  Once more a servant was sent to Creinton to bring Dr. Perriman. Kerridge bent over Bickerstaff and felt his pulse. Then, producing a large handkerchief, he covered his hand and gingerly lifted the lid of the teapot and sniffed.

  “He’s drugged,” he said. “He’s not dead. I want the servant who brought this tea up to come to the study and I want to interview the kitchen staff. Some of you get Bickerstaff to a bed.” He turned to Rose. “What alerted you?”

  “I heard a banging at my door,” said Rose. “I think the poor man must have realized at the last minute that he had been drugged and hit the door.”

  Curzon pushed forward. “It was John, the footman, who took the tea up.”

  “Whose idea was it to serve the constable with tea?”

  “It was on the list,” wailed Curzon.

  “What list?”

  “There’s a list in the kitchen for all the late-night drinks that people may require in their rooms.”

  “And who makes up this list?”

  “It’s pinned up during the day in the main kitchen and various valets and lady’s maids write down what is required.”

  “Bring the list to my study. Ah, there you are, Judd. Get another officer to stand guard outside Lady Rose’s door and make sure he does not drink or eat anything while on duty.”

  “It was probably another of Mr. Pomfret’s pranks,” said Lady Sarah Trenton. She had flirted with both Freddy and Tristram to no avail and was feeling rejected and sour.

  “I’d better see them. Back to your rooms, everyone. I’ll talk to the footman first.”

  Lady Polly fussed over her daughter as she helped her back into bed. “I will be so glad when we get you away from this dreadful place. I shall heave a sigh of relief when we can get you off to India with Mrs. Trumpington.”

  “I’m not going.”

  “Yes, you are, and you are not taking that so-called maid, Daisy, with you. You will have a proper lady’s maid.”

  Rose burst into tears. Lady Polly patted her shoulder and then snapped at Daisy, “Don’t just stand there. Do something.”

  “I think you should leave her to me,” said Daisy firmly. “My lady, now is not the time to upset her by telling her she’s going to India.”

  Lady Polly shifted from foot to foot. She had never known Rose to cry before. It was all too embarrassing.

  “Very well,” she said curtly.

  Rose’s father poked his head around the door. “Dreadful business,” he said. “Place is full of murderers. I’ll send for two of the gamekeepers. They’ll do a better job of guarding Rose. Keep her in her room and get her meals sent up.”

  Rose sobbed into her pillow.

  “Well…harrumph…don’t cry,” said the earl. “Everything will look different in the morning.”

  He and his wife left. Daisy hugged Rose, rocking her back and forth. “There, now, Daisy’s here, and as long as Daisy’s here you won’t be going to India.”

  “They’ll make me,” wailed Rose.

  “Not if we run away.”

  She handed Rose a handkerchief. Rose scrubbed her eyes and sat up. “Run away?”

  “Why not? We could go back home after this is all over and really make sure our typing is perfect. Then we wait till your parents are off visiting someone and off we go.”

  “But they’ll put Captain Cathcart on the job and he’ll find us!”

  “I think not, if we talk to him first. Think of it! You and me independent and free as the air, living in London.”

  Rose smiled. “I am feeling better already. But I wonder who was out to get me this evening.”

  Kerridge had taken a statement from John when a constable entered the study and said that Miss Frederica Sutherland was anxious to speak to him on a matter of importance.

  “Show her in,” said Kerridge wearily.

  Frederica entered the room swathed in a pink satin robe. “I thought you ought to know,” she began.

  “Know what? Pray take a seat, Miss Sutherland.”

  “I saw him.”

  “Who?”

  “Sir Gerald Burke.”

  “When, and what was he doing?”

  “It was like this. I wanted a cup of cocoa, but it was late and the servants can get very uppity if you haven’t ordered in ad
vance.”

  “Go on.”

  “I thought I would go down to the kitchens and make myself some. I opened my bedroom door a crack to make sure there was no one about. John the footman passed me carrying a tray. I waited to make sure he had really gone but I heard footsteps. I saw Sir Gerald go up the stairs after John, and then I heard a voice call, ‘John.’ I thought that there were really too many people about, so I went back to bed.”

  “The voice that called out—man or woman?”

  “I couldn’t say. Could have been either. It sounded muffled somehow.”

  “Thank you, Miss Sutherland. We may have to speak to you again in the morning.”

  After she had left, Kerridge drew forward a plan of the guests’ rooms. “That’s odd,” he said. “Burke had no reason to be in that tower. He’s in the other one, the east tower.”

  “Maybe he was visiting one of the ladies,” said Judd. “Although he looked a bit of a daisy to me.”

  “We’d better see him and find out what he was doing. Where’s Curzon and that list?”

  At that moment the door opened and the butler walked in. “I cannot find it,” he said. “The list has gone.”

  Kerridge sighed. “Go and take another look. Send Sir Gerald Burke.”

  “He may be asleep.”

  “Then wake him!” snapped Kerridge.

  After ten minutes, Gerald appeared. He held out his wrists. “Put the handcuffs on,” he said. “It’s a fair cop. Isn’t that what they say?”

  “Only in penny dreadfuls,” said Kerridge. “Do sit down and tell us what you were doing in the west tower. You followed the footman, John, up the stairs. And yet your room is in the east tower.”

  Gerald wrapped himself more closely in an elaborately embroidered dressing-gown. He extracted a long cigarette-lighter, a gold cigarette-case and a box of matches from his pocket and proceeded to light a cigarette with maddening slowness.

  “Sir Gerald. I am waiting!”