02 - Murder at Dareswick Hall (19 page)

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 Simpson. 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.’

‘Well, that
would help explain something that I thought rather odd that happened on Friday
night.’

‘What
was that?’ Deacon was intrigued.

‘It was
after the footman had spilt the soup all over Sneddon. There was much ado about
it, as you can imagine. The baron demanded that the footman get Lord Sneddon’s
valet to see to him straight away. But Sneddon asked for the baron’s valet instead
because he said his man wouldn’t be any good at dealing with it. It just seemed
to me strange at the time, that’s all.’

‘Interesting,’
agreed the inspector. He thought for a moment as if trying to decide about
something and then said; ‘Let me show you something, Rose. A couple of the
constables discovered this at the back of Sneddon’s wardrobe while they were
making a search of his room.’ He produced an ornate, paisley-patterned man’s
handkerchief from his breast pocket and proceeded to unfold it and empty its
contents onto the desk revealing various pieces of expensive looking jewellery.

‘Why,
it’s my mother’s pearl necklace!’ exclaimed Rose, holding up a string of pearls.
‘I wore them to dinner on the Friday night but I couldn’t find them last night
when I was dressing for dinner. I was sure that I had left them on the dressing
table and just assumed that the maid had packed them away in my case. I was in
a bit of a rush so I didn’t have time to look, and then later I forgot all
about it. Oh!’ Her face clouded as an awful thought struck her. ‘Are you saying
that Lord Sneddon was rummaging about in my things and stole them? Surely not!’

‘I
think it’s much more likely to have been his valet, but he’d certainly have had
to have been in on the act. They were found in his wardrobe after all. Do you
recognise anything else?’

‘This
looks a bit like the gold necklace that Josephine wore at dinner last night,
although I wouldn’t swear to it being the same one,’ said Rose, peering closely
at the trinkets.

It was
on the tip of her tongue to suggest that he ask Josephine to take a look, and
then she remembered just in time that Josephine had inexplicably disappeared.
Her conscience pricked her. Now that they were sharing information, and the
inspector had even gone so far as to call her by her Christian name, it seemed
as good a time as any to disclose to him that Josephine knew about her sister
being blackmailed; worse, that she had said she would tackle Sneddon on the
matter herself. However, Rose told herself, surely if she had done Sneddon
would have informed her that he had returned the letters to Isabella’s safekeeping.
There would have been no need for her to kill him, although the very thought
that she might have done such a thing was preposterous. But it worried her that
Sneddon had been found with his back to the door slumped over the desk. It was
just possible that Josephine had not bothered to ask him for the letters, had
assumed that he would refuse to give them up. If it had not been for the
distress of the news of the maid’s death leading him to re-evaluate his life,
then Sneddon would surely have laughed in her face and refused to hand the
letters over.

How
awful, thought Rose, if Josephine had killed Sneddon needlessly. She looked up.
Had Deacon met her gaze at that moment, she might have been tempted to tell him
her fears. As it was he appeared deeply absorbed in looking at the jewellery,
turning each piece over looking for the hallmark.

Further
consideration of or discussion on the matter was not possible as they both became
aware of a kerfuffle in the hall followed by various sets of men’s footsteps. There
appeared to be a scuffle going on, this impression further heightened by the
utterance of an oath and a man shouting.

‘That’ll
be Lane now with the infamous Mr Ricketts who appears to be kicking up a bit of
a fuss. No doubt we’ll speak again, Miss Simpson.’

It
seemed to Rose as she left the room, looking with interest as she passed
through the hall at the disreputable and restrained figure of Ricketts, that Deacon
had given her sufficient food for thought. But something in particular was
niggling at the back of her mind. It was only when she was approaching the
garden room that she realised what it was. Something told her that there had
been another reason for Isabella throwing the letters onto the fire than the
one she had given, but she couldn’t for the life of her think what it could be.

‘Well,
well, Mr Ricketts, do come in. I’ve been rather curious to meet you, I must
admit.’ Deacon held open the study door and Lane deposited the man, still
struggling, onto the nearest chair.

‘He
tried to make a run for it, sir,’ explained the sergeant. ‘He might’ve got away
with it too if greed hadn’t got the better of him. He stopped off on the way to
go into Lord Sneddon’s room and rummage through his things.’

‘Ah,
indeed Ricketts, no doubt you were looking for this.’ Deacon held up the
jewellery. The man cursed and spat onto the floor.

‘Really,
Sergeant, what is the world coming to?’ enquired the inspector. ‘They certainly
don’t make valets like they used to. I’d have expected better manners from one,
wouldn’t you?’

‘Particularly
one who was valet to the British aristocracy,’ replied Lane, grinning.

‘And
what’s that whiff? When did you last have a wash, Ricketts? And that’s a very
interesting way to button a waistcoat. It’s new to me, no doubt it must be the latest
fashion.’

‘You’ve
got nothing on me,’ protested the valet. ‘That stuff weren’t found in my room,
were it?’

‘It
wasn’t,’ agreed Deacon. ‘But you knew it was in your master’s room because you
put it there.’

‘How do
you know I did?’ said Ricketts, sullenly. ‘How do you know as he didn’t put it
there himself?’

‘Even I
don’t think that Sneddon would stoop so low as to actually pilfer himself. No,
he’d leave that for you to do. You know the saying, no use having a dog if
you’ve got to bark yourself, well, no use having a tealeaf if you’ve got to
steal yourself.’

‘Who
are you calling a tealeaf? I’m no thief,’ wailed Ricketts.

‘I beg
to differ,’ said Deacon, holding up his hand as the man made a move to protest
further. ‘Look Ricketts, I’m not interested in your stealing, well, not so far
as it has nothing to do with Lord Sneddon’s death that is. Of course, you will
be thoroughly searched before you leave these premises. So if you’ve a mind to
take anything with you that doesn’t belong to you, think again.’

‘It
ain’t got nothing to do with his murder,’ Ricketts replied, scowling at the
carpet.

‘I’m
glad to hear it, although forgive me if I don’t just take your word for it. Now,
listen to me.’ Deacon became serious. ‘We know Sneddon was short of money, what
with his gambling and suchlike, and I understand his father’s estate is heavily
mortgaged to the bank. So let’s just suppose he decides that the answer to his
immediate problems is to marry a rich woman. However, unfortunately for him,
despite his good looks and the charming manner he can effect when the mood
takes him, his reputation goes before him and there is a severe shortage of
suitable women prepared to tie the knot with him. He, on the other hand, is
particularly desperate to hurry things along. That’s where you came in, I
think. I think the two of you entered into a sort of partnership. You stole to
order, jewellery and other such items that could be easily hidden by Sneddon in
his room and also material which could be used by him for the purposes of
blackmail. Am I right?’

‘Might
be,’ the inspector thought he heard the man mumble under his breath. He chose
to interpret it as confirmation.

‘Right,
now I want you to tell me all about last night. I assume that you had some sort
of arrangement whereby you would show Sneddon what items you had taken during
the day and he would then hide them in his room?’ There was silence. ‘Come on,
man, cooperate, otherwise you might just find this murder pinned on you,’ said the
inspector, losing patience and raising his voice. ‘I think we could put a good
case together for you two having had a disagreement which got out of hand over
how to split your spoils, don’t you, Sergeant?’

‘I do,
sir,’ agreed Lane. ‘It would certainly make life easier for us. An open and
shut case. We could go back to London right now. We might even be home in time
for tea.’

‘Alright,
alright,’ said Ricketts, admitting defeat. ‘I’d arranged to meet him in the
library at one o’clock this morning. We usually met around that time ‘cause all
the household are normally in bed by then, even that damned butler who keeps
insisting on doing the rounds before he retires for the night.’

‘How
did you get out?’

‘What
do you mean?’

‘The
doors to the servants’ quarters were kept locked at night. Crabtree told us so himself.’

Ricketts
made a face. ‘It didn’t take much effort to pick the lock, I can tell you. It
was child’s play, that’s what it was. The silly old fool thought he was being
so clever.’

‘So
what happened last night when you met up with Sneddon?’

‘Well,
I found her there, didn’t I? You know, the woman he was all set to marry. Gave
me quite a turn it did, seeing her there, because of course I wasn’t expecting
to.’

‘And
then what happened?’ prompted the inspector.

‘He
asked me bold as brass to return her letters to her. You could have knocked me
down with a feather.’

‘And?’
said Deacon, impatiently.

‘Well,
I went out and got them, of course, and gave them back to her.’

‘That
can’t have made you very happy. You must have been annoyed, furious in fact, I
would have thought. I take it you had arranged to take a cut of the blackmail
proceeds?’

‘As it
happens, Lord Sneddon had already paid me for that particular service when I
first gave him the letters. But I was a bit miffed, yes, I admit it. I went to
a great deal of effort to get those letters. I didn’t know what he was playing
at giving them back to her. I weren’t afraid that he’d turned over a new leaf, if
that’s what you’re getting at. He needed the money too much for that. Nah, I
just thought that he might have been going a bit soft as far as she was
concerned. But then it occurred to me that he might have his eyes set on bigger
pickings, you know, a richer wife.’

‘You
must have been curious, though. Weren’t you tempted to return to the library
once Isabella Atherton had left in order to have it out with him?’

‘No, it
were late by that time and he told me we would be leaving first thing in the
morning, or should I say today. So I thought I’d just wait and speak to him
then. It were obvious he had a plan of some sort. He wouldn’t have just upped
and left, now would he?’

‘He
might have done if he’d had a change of heart about the whole blackmail and
stealing business. Now, just one more question. And think carefully, Ricketts,
before you answer this one. Was Lord Sneddon blackmailing anyone else in this
house besides Miss Atherton? And I would recommend that you tell me the truth.
If he was blackmailing someone else then that person would have had a very good
motive for wishing him dead.’

Ricketts
gave him a sly look and grinned, revealing one or two rotten teeth. Deacon sighed.
He could tell at once that the man was not going to play ball. He supposed that
it had been a bit of a long shot that Ricketts would tell them the truth. For a
man like him, lying was a way of life. The man’s next words confirmed his
fears.

‘No, he
weren’t blackmailing anyone else.’

‘I
suppose you do realise that you yourself may well be in danger? It would be far
better for you if you told us who it was and handed over whatever you had on
them.

‘I told
you already, he weren’t blackmailing anyone else,’ Ricketts said stubbornly.

The
inspector threw up his hands in frustration and glanced at his sergeant. They
both knew Ricketts was lying, but that they would get no more out of him no
matter how long they persisted. The man was playing with fire and Deacon hoped
he knew that. But there was very little they could do about it.

With a
sigh Deacon let the valet go with a strict warning not to try and leave Dareswick
unless he wanted to see the inside of a prison cell, of which the inspector was
sure he was already well acquainted.

‘Do you
think that wise, sir?’ asked Lane, as soon as the door had closed after the
retreating Rickets. ‘He’s just the sort of slippery individual who’d get away
and who we’d never find again. I bet he’s got loads of bolt holes where he can
lie low until all the fuss has died down.’

‘You’re
probably right, Lane,’ agreed Deacon, ‘but that’s what I’m after in a way. I
want him to try and make a run for it, as long as we’re there to catch him of
course.’

‘Can I
ask why, sir?’ asked the sergeant looking confused.

‘We
need to find out who else Sneddon was blackmailing. We’ll never get the
information out of Ricketts just by asking him. But he’s sure to take any
incriminating material with him when he makes a run for it. There are rich
pickings to be made now that the stakes have become so much higher. We’re not
talking about indiscretions now, we’re talking about murder. I’m sure this
blackmail business is tied up with Sneddon’s death somehow. Did you see how that
fellow Ricketts smirked when I asked him about it? He won’t be able to resist
trying to do a bit of blackmail himself.’

‘Then the
man’s a fool and that’s for sure. Doesn’t he realise the danger he’s in? If
he’s not careful he’ll end up with a dagger in his back himself.’

‘That
sort are driven by greed and to hell with the risks. I take it the constables
have searched his room and found nothing?’ Lane nodded and Deacon continued.
‘He’s not clever, that one, but he is sneaky. He’d have realised that, if there
was a search, his would be one of the first rooms turned over. He’s probably
buried the stuff in the garden or behind a fireplace or in the larder, or somewhere.
Somewhere we’d never find it anyway, not without a great deal of effort and
resources. Far better for him to take us to it, and he’ll only do that when he
scarpers. We’ll have to be discreet though, he’ll do nothing if he thinks he’s
being watched. He’s probably got eyes in the back of his head, that one.’

‘So
what are you proposing to do?’

‘I
doubt he’ll risk making a run for it before it’s dark and he thinks we’re away
from here. I’m going to post a couple of men at the entrance to Dareswick, a couple
on the road leading out of the village and a couple at the back of the house,
down by the lake, where there’s a path off to the woods. He’s bound to try and
leave by one of those ways. We’ll catch him then.’

‘You
don’t think he could have done in Sneddon himself, do you, sir? It seems to me
that he could easily have got into an argument with him over the splitting of the
proceeds like you suggested, especially if Sneddon told him that he wasn’t
going to be involved in that sort of thing anymore as a consequence of his
change of heart. They probably had quite a lucrative thing going on. I can’t
see Ricketts being happy about just giving it up.’

‘That’s
as may be, and he’d be annoyed, I grant you, but I’ve come across fellows like
him before. They’re sneaky and conniving but basically they’re cowardly and tend
to run from any sign of violence. I think he’d have just upped and left,
probably taking the stolen jewellery with him. So no, I don’t reckon Ricketts
has got it in him to kill a man in cold blood, but I could be wrong.’

‘He
could just decide to stay put until we’ve finished our investigation.’

‘He
could do, but I don’t think he will. He won’t want to have the police breathing
down his neck. Now, tell me, Lane, what do you think about the others? Is there
a murderer amongst them? Who shall we start with? What about the baron, let’s
start with him.’