Edwardian Murder Mystery 01; Snobbery with Violence emm-1

by M C Beaton

  “I believe your husband takes arsenic for an…er…illness.”

  Silence. The needle continued to flash.

  “I believe,” said Rose, steeling herself, “that he slept with Mary Gore-Desmond sometime at the end of the season because he believed that sleeping with a virgin would cure his illness. I also think Colette knew this and tried to blackmail him. I believe it was he who threw me off the castle roof.”

  “You are a dangerous and vicious liar,” said Lady Hedley. “I love my husband and no one is going to take him from me. You silly young things. What do you know of love?”

  Rose stared at her, her mind racing. One of Lady Medley’s lace sleeves fell back as she continued the ply her needle, revealing a surprisingly strong-looking arm.

  “I had the money, you see,” said the marchioness suddenly. “A chain of grocery shops. Ifou’ve heard of Crumleys?”

  “Yes,” said Rose. “I believe the shops are all over the country.”

  “My father. He rivalled Lipton. But it was trade. I was classed as the daughter of a shopkeeper, no matter how many millions we had. My first season was a nightmare. I was snubbed and patronized all round. It was then that my father, God rest his soul, who was a very shrewd business man, decided to get me a title. His spies told him that Hedley was in debt. Hedley agreed to the marriage, and a good few of those dreadful women who had snubbed me had to watch me take precedence. I did not enjoy the intimate side of marriage and told him to take his pleasures elsewhere, provided he was discreet.

  “I believe he went to brothels. But when he contracted syphilis, he began to become foolish. Someone has to look after him,” she ended with a sigh. She picked up her needle again.

  Rose stared at her. Could it be possible? she wondered. Could the inoffensive-looking Lady Hedley be the strong one in the marriage? If that was the case, then…

  She took a chance. “It was you,” Rose said. “It was you who murdered Mary Gore-Desmond and killed Colette and tried to kill me.”

  “But you see, you have no proof and no one will believe you.” Lady Hedley continued to stitch at the tapestry just as if Rose had been talking about the weather.

  “I will find proof,” said Rose.

  “But you are leaving tomorrow morning.”

  “How did you manage to come and go without anyone seeing you?” demanded Rose. “How did you manage to put a drug in the constable’s drink? The voice John heard came from below him. So how could you pass him to get at the tea?”

  “Simple. The back stairs for the servants are narrow and steep. One of our servants fell down and broke his neck and so after that they were instructed to use the main staircase except when carrying down the slops. I called John, ran up the back stairs and out where he had left the tray. Matter of minutes. I am very resourceful, you know.

  “Colette was the worst. Silly woman. She tried to blackmail me. She had seen me on the back stairs the night Mary was poisoned. I told her I would pay her in diamonds but she was to pack her suitcase and meet me outside. I told her I would meet her at the back of the castle because I did not want anyone to see the transaction and the silly fool believed me. So we were standing by the moat and I simply pushed her in. Fortunately she could not swim, although I was fearful the splashing and noise she was making before she drowned would wake someone. The supposed box of diamonds was simply a box with two bricks in it. I put the bricks in her suitcase and threw it in the moat.

  “Hedley knew nothing about it. He’s a child. He’d ordered so much arsenic from some quack in London, he didn’t even know some was missing.”

  Rose got to her feet. “You are a monster,” she said. “I am going straight to Kerridge.”

  The marchioness ferreted in her work-basket and produced a revolver which she pointed at Rose.

  “Sit down,” she said. “You are not going anywhere until I decide what to do with you.”

  Rose stayed standing. The light from the fire shone red on the barrel of the wicked-looking revolver.

  Her knees were shaking, but she said, “I am going to walk out of here and you are not going to stop me. You cannot shoot me.”

  The marchioness rose as well and walked around the tapestry stand to face Rose. “I can shoot you and put the gun in your hand and say you committed suicide. Everyone will believe me because you are regarded as odd.”

  The door swung open and Daisy darted into the room and flung herself in front of Rose just as Lady Hedley fired.

  The bullet hit Daisy in the side. But Daisy had inherited Rose’s steel-boned corsets and the bullet ricocheted off one of the steels, pinged off a bronze bust of Lord Hedley, and planted itself in the marchioness’s forehead.

  Becket was shouting, “Police!” at the top of his voice.

  Footmen and police came bounding up the stairs. The marchioness was lying on the rug by the fire, a hole in her forehead and her brains spilling out the back of her head over the rug.

  Daisy had fainted. While Becket was rapidly explaining that he and Daisy had heard Lady Hedley’s confession, Rose ripped open Daisy’s muslin blouse. “Get me scissors,” she shouted.

  A policeman handed her a pair of scissors from the work-basket and Rose cut the lacing on the stays and pulled them apart. There was no blood. She began to cry with shock and relief.

  Then Harry was there with his arms around her, helping her to her feet.

  ♦

  “I don’t care if it’s a cover-up,” said Kerridge wearily early that evening. He and Harry were closeted in the study. “The criminal is dead and so I don’t mind bowing to pressure. The story is this. Lady Hedley took her own life while the balance of her mind was disturbed. Mary Gore-Desmond’s death was accidental. Colette? Who cares about a blackmailing French maid who doesn’t seem to have any family that we can trace?”

  “So who knows the truth?”

  “Just you, Becket, Daisy and Rose. Oh, and Rose’s parents. A couple of footmen. Do you know Lady Polly’s reaction? She said, “Do you mean that maid saved my daughter’s life? Oh, dear, we’ll need to keep her now. She knows too much and she knows about the other business.” What other business, Captain Cathcart?”

  “Haven’t the faintest,” lied Harry, for he knew Rose’s mother had been referring to the bombing at Stacey Magna. “How is Lady Rose? I haven’t been allowed to see her.”

  “Remarkably well, considering everything. She’s a brave girl. If it hadn’t been for her we’d probably never have found out.”

  “If it hadn’t been for Daisy, she’d probably be dead. How is Daisy?”

  “Chirpy as a Cockney sparrow. The doctor says she has a huge bruise under where the bullet hit the steel. Oh, that was something else Lady Polly found to complain about. She asked Lady Rose, ‘What were you doing giving an expensive corset to your maid?’

  “So Lady Rose starts to complain that she cannot abide the constriction of that sort of stays and they end up having an argument about dress.”

  “How’s Hedley?”

  “He’s trying to look shocked, but you can see it’s dawning on him that he gets all her money. He’ll be able to buy his virgins, now. What a world. I suppose you’ve turned out not to be any use to Hedley.”

  “On the contrary, I am employed to go about the sordid business of making sure the footmen on the scene keep their mouths shut. I suggested it might be a good idea to bribe Daisy. No one apart from Rose is thanking her and I feel she deserves a reward.”

  “What will you do with your life now?” asked Kerridge.

  “I’m not quite sure,” said Harry, bending down and rubbing his bad leg. “But next time, I will be sure that the people I work for are decent and honourable.”

  “Captain, if they were decent and honourable, they would not require your services. You’ve heard of Pinkerton’s National Detective Agency, haven’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “You might try something like that. Get something maybe a bit more meaty than blowing up railways stations all
because some earl doesn’t want to entertain the king.”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. There’s the dressing gong.” Harry held out his hand. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you. I don’t suppose we’ll meet again.”

  Kerridge shook his hand. “I’m sure we will, Captain. I’m sure we will.”

  ♦

  Harry had assumed that Lord Hedley would not be present at the dinner table, but there he was at the head as usual. He was wearing a black armband, as were the other men there. The ladies had all found something black to wear.

  To his surprise, Rose was there as well, her face looking pale and almost translucent above the black of her dress.

  Conversation was muted, but as the wine circulated, voices began to rise. “So awful,” said Maisie Chatterton to Harry. Harry was amused to notice that all the drama had made Maisie forget to lisp. “But I always thought there was something a little bit mad about her. I never want to come here again.”

  “I think we’ll all be glad to leave in the morning,” said Harry.

  Miss Fairfax’s voice boomed out, “I think it’s all very fishy. No one will tell me quite what happened. I was talking to Lady Hedley the other day and she seemed happy and well.”

  There was a shocked silence. Then Sir Gerald said, “Now, my precious, you mustn’t be so tactless. It makes your eyes narrow, and we don’t want that, now do we?”

  To Harry’s amazement, Miss Fairfax gave a giggle and rapped Gerald on the arm with her fan. “Naughty, naughty boy.”

  She really must have an awful lot of money, thought Harry cynically. He glanced again at Rose, who was Ustlessly picking at her food. Did she feel like him, a misfit? He had been more comfortable in the company of Kerridge than in the fellowship of his peers.

  Upstairs, Becket knocked at the door of Daisy’s room and crept in. He glanced at the inner door which connected Daisy’s room with Rose’s and whispered, “Is she in there?”

  “Gone down to dinner.” Daisy was lying propped up against the pillows, a bound copy of Young England on her lap and a box of chocolates on the table beside the bed.

  Becket drew up a chair and sat down next to her. “Did you get your pay-off?”

  “One hundred guineas. Did you get the same?”

  Becket nodded.

  “Going to leave the captain?”

  “Never. What about you? You could buy a shop.”

  “No, I’ll stick with Lady Rose. She needs me. If we’re going to run away to London, she’ll need some money and so will I.”

  “Thank goodness you had those corsets on.”

  “She’d just given them to me, too. She hates them, but I felt so grand even though they were uncomfortable. Choc?”

  “Thanks,” said Becket, picking one out. “Someone’s coming along the corridor. They’ve stopped outside the door.”

  “Get into the bed,” said Daisy, whipping back the covers.

  There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” called Daisy.

  Curzon, the butler, walked in. “I know the true story of how you saved your mistress’s life. I have always said that breeding will out. I would like you to accept this as a token of my esteem.” He held out a carved cigarette-box.

  “Thank you,” said Daisy in a weak voice because Becket’s body under the covers was crammed against her own and she wanted Curzon to go.

  To her relief, the butler said, “I can see that you are still very shocked. Be always assured that your secret is safe with me.”

  “Thank you.”

  Daisy waited until she heard Curzon’s footsteps go along the corridor and down the steps and then she whipped back the covers. “Get out of here!”

  “I wasn’t doing anything,” complained Becket. “I was suffocating. Any cigarettes in that box?”

  Daisy opened the lid and sniffed. “Turkish. The best.”

  “Let’s have one, then. Do you smoke?”

  “Now and then.”

  He lit cigarettes for both of them. “Will you write to me?” he asked.

  “Yes, I can write now,” said Daisy proudly.

  “Aren’t you going to give some of that money to your family?”

  “Naw! Da would drink it all. So would Ma, come to think of it. Oh, maybe I’ll go down there and see if I can slip something to the children.”

  “Daisy, do you think that one day, maybe one day, we –”

  The inner door opened and Rose walked in. “You should not be here, Becket,” she said. “I think Daisy deserves to enjoy your company, but if my mother should find you here, I would be in more trouble than I am already. And smoking, as well!”

  Becket left. Daisy began to get up. “No, stay where you are,” said Rose. “I can put myself to bed. My parents’ servants have packed most of our things, so you do not need to exert yourself.”

  “You’ll be glad to get out of here,” said Daisy.

  “Yes, of course I will. Good night.”

  Rose trailed off to her own room and sat down at the dressing-table. Back to London tomorrow. No more frights and alarms, no more Kerridge and his policemen, no more Captain Harry Cathcart. Why did life suddenly feel so flat?

  ∨ Snobbery with Violence ∧

  Epilogue

  There’s something undoubtedly in a fine air,

  To know how to smile and be able to stare,

  High breeding is something, but well-bred or not,

  In the end the one question is, what have you got.

  So needful it is to have money, heigh-ho!

  So needful it is to have money.

  And the angels in pink and the angels in blue,

  In muslins and moires so lovely and new,

  What is it they want, and so wish you to guess,

  But if you have money, the answer is Yes.

  So needful, they tell you, is money, heigh-ho!

  So needful it is to have money.

  – A.H. CLOUGH

  The next morning, everyone was up early. Everyone seemed so glad to get out of the castle at last.

  Lady Polly was fussing about her daughter as a footman helped Rose into the carriage. Rose knew her parents were feeling extremely guilty at having sent her to the castle in the first place, and she hoped to work on that guilt when they got to London.

  Rose looked out of the carriage window. Harry was just emerging from the castle, pulling on his driving gloves. Infuriating man. Perhaps if she went to some parties in London he might be there. It would be pleasant to let him know just how infuriating he was.

  “What I don’t like,” grumbled the earl as the carriage jolted forwards, “is Hedley being so cheerful about getting his wife’s money.”

  “He won’t live long to enjoy it,” said Rose. “The syphilis is already beginning to eat up his appearance.”

  “That’s enough of that,” snapped the earl. “A young girl should not know of such things.”

  “Maybe if Mary Gore-Desmond had known of such things she would still be alive,” retorted Rose.

  “Don’t speak to your father like that,” said Lady Polly. “I know your poor nerves are overset by your dreadful experience, but there is no need for you to be so…coarse.”

  ♦

  The Peterson sisters were driven off in their motor car while Miss Fairfax followed in her carriage, accompanied by Sir Gerald.

  “Faster,” Harriet urged the chauffeur. “I want to leave her behind. We really need to write to Mother, Debs, and get her off our backs. She was bad enough before, but she’ll ruin our chances, twittering and ogling with that awful creature on her arm.”

  “Goodbye, rotten castle,” said Deborah, as the car rolled over the drawbridge. “As I told you, there was something fishy about Lady Hedley shooting herself. Rose was there. I tried to ask her this morning but her mother interrupted and pulled her away. Also, I sent my maid over to Creinton for some ribbons and she told me that Captain Harry, Rose and their servants were singing in the street. For money!”

&nb
sp; “Can’t have been them. The Earl of Hadshire is most frightfully rich.”

  “Ah, but the captain’s reported to have very little over his army pension,” said Deborah. “It must be so demeaning to be poor. He should marry Rose. I mean, her parents should be glad to get anyone for her now.”

  “Oh, that scandal about Blandon will be over and forgotten. She’s got money and a title and looks. She won’t stay on the shelf for long,” said Harriet.

  “You know what I think?” Deborah clutched her hat as the car swung out onto the main road. “I think Rose is the type to make things happen. Mark my words, she’ll be embroiled in another scandal before Christmas.”

  “I hear her parents are shipping her off to India.”

  “Well, all I can say is poor India,” said Deborah. “She’ll start another mutiny or something.”

  Freddy Pomfret and Tristram Baker-Willis and their valets were deposited at Creinton Railway Station by one of the castle carriages.

  “Absolutely poisonous visit,” complained Freddy, listlessly poking the fire in the first-class waiting-room. “Deaths and shootings. Boring melodrama. Like being trapped between the covers of one of Mrs. Henry Wood’s novels.”

  “And that Rose creature,” said Tristram. “Getting us into trouble. That Trumpington woman was leering at us in the most horrible way. Turns my stomach to think of it.”

  ♦

  Freddy produced a silver flask. “Here. Have a swig of this. I filled it up with Hedley’s brandy.”

  Tristam took the flask from him and downed a great swallow. “That’s better. We didn’t have a chance with the Peterson girls after that. Tell you what. Lady Rose is going to London. Let’s think up some way to get even.”

  The waiting room began to shake under the thunder of the approaching train. “Here we go,” said Freddy. “London, here we come.”

  ♦

  Margaret Bryce-Cuddlestone, accompanied by the Trumping-tons, stared bleakly out of the window. The landscape was white, in the grip of a severe hoar-frost.

  She could only be grateful that she had escaped with her reputation intact. She did not believe for a moment the reasons given for Lady Hedley’s taking her own life. Remembering her talk with Rose, she was sure that somehow Rose had found out that Lady Hedley was a murderess and had challenged her. Thank goodness it was being hushed up or she might have had to appear in the dock as a witness. The whole experience had shaken her. She could only pray that she was not pregnant. Her menstruation was not due until the following week.