03 - Murder at Sedgwick Court (22 page)

‘Brooding,
no doubt.’

‘She said
she wasn’t feeling well.’

‘I
daresay she would say that. But the fact remains, Miss Simpson, that less than
a day later Miss Montacute was murdered.’       

Rose felt
a little sick. What if it transpired that Vera had killed Emmeline? How would
she feel knowing that she had provided the police with some of the supporting
evidence they required to send poor, wronged Vera to the gallows? She bit her
lip and did her best to swallow the lump that was forming in her throat. For
she had remembered Vera’s mood the previous night. How the woman had watched
while the man she loved had laughed and flirted with another woman, oblivious
of her presence and seemingly uncaring of the pain he was causing her. Rose
recollected also the very words Vera had uttered, spat through clenched teeth: “I
hate them, I tell you I hate them! I wish they were dead!”

If she
were now to reveal to Inspector Bramwell the words spoken by Vera while she was
at her lowest ebb, what then? Would he keep an open mind and look for other
suspects? Or would he decide that Vera was the murderer and not look elsewhere?

She
looked up and noticed that the inspector was looking at her curiously. She
wondered if her face revealed her various emotions.

‘Are you
all right, miss? You’re looking a bit peaky if you don’t mind my saying.’

Rose
looked confused. She had not seen the inspector’s lips move. And then she
realised that the words had been spoken by Sergeant Lane and not his superior.
She had half forgotten that the sergeant was there, scribbling down her every
word. She slowly nodded although in truth she did not know how she felt.

‘Now,
perhaps you’ll tell me about last night,’ continued the inspector. ‘I
understand his lordship turned the conversation after dinner to the maze.
Showed you a plan of it and described the path to take to get to the middle.’

‘Yes, he
did. It was going to be a sort of game today. To see who could make their way there
first without the plan. You will have seen for yourself that it is quite a
large maze, Inspector. Lavinia told us a story about a young maid going there
once to meet her young man and getting terribly lost.’ Rose sighed. ‘It doesn’t
seem fair that Emmeline was killed there. She was so eager to see the maze.’

For a few
moments no one spoke. In her mind’s eye Rose saw again Emmeline, young and
lovely as she had been; laughing and smiling as had been her way. Until now she
had thought only of those affected by Emmeline’s death and the unpleasantness
of it having occurred at Sedgwick. Only now did she allow herself to feel the
full horror of what had happened. How very awful it was that Emmeline, so full
of life, had been done to death. What a waste of a young life.    

‘It’s all
right, miss. I only have one more question to ask you,’ the inspector said
rather gruffly. ‘But it’s an important one at that. I’ve been told Miss
Brewster said something to you before she fainted. As I understand it she
didn’t join you in the search for Miss Montacute?’

‘No. She wasn’t
feeling very well.’

‘Dear me,
not unwell again? Poor Miss Brewster. She does appear to suffer from bad
health.’ The inspector got up from his chair and started to pace the floor.
‘Well, Miss Simpson? Did Miss Brewster say anything before she fainted?’

‘Yes …
yes, she did.’

Rose
heard again Vera’s voice: “Dead! No, she can’t be. She can’t be dead. Oh my
God, what have I done? I never meant to …” She remembered she had asked Vera later
what she had meant by it, and that the woman had been evasive. More than that, Vera
had pretended that her words had meant nothing, and yet, of course, they must
have meant something, otherwise why say them? Vera had been frightened, Rose
remembered now. And she herself had been annoyed with her, certain in her
belief that the woman was lying or hiding something.

She sat
there for a moment in a quandary as to what to do. If she told the inspector
what Vera had said, it might be the final nail in the coffin as far as
confirming their suspicions of the woman. But what else could she do? And what
if Vera was guilty? Wouldn’t she want to see her brought to justice?   

‘Well,
Miss Simpson? What did Miss Brewster say?’

Inspector
Bramwell was watching her closely with those small, watery eyes of his which
were surprisingly observant. Rose thought she heard a note of impatience in his
voice. He knew full well that she was prevaricating.

‘She said
– ’

At the
very moment she was about to tell them about Vera’s desperate confession,
uttered in a moment of weakness before the woman slumped to the ground, the
sound of running feet on the black and white tiles in the hall beyond diverted
their attention. It was proceeded at once by the study door being flung open,
the constable obviously having decided that the information he had in his
possession was far too important to require him to stop and knock before
entering.

‘Constable!
I am in the middle of an interview, I – ’

Inspector
Bramwell had jumped up from his seat at the interruption. Pinkish spots had
appeared on the loose flesh of his cheeks like badly applied rouge, and his
eyes appeared darker and less watery.

‘Sir … Sorry,
sir.’ The man put a hand to his chest while he caught his breath. ‘It’s just that
we’ve received a telephone call from the mortuary, sir. They found something,
the doctors did. On the deceased’s body, sir. They found something that tells
us who the murderer is … well as good as. It’s as good as a confession, sir, so
it is. It’s – ’

‘Hold
your tongue, man!’ The inspector swung around to face Rose. ‘That will be all
for now, thank you, Miss Simpson. I may wish to speak with you further. If I do,
I’ll send for you. But you may go now. Sergeant, see Miss Simpson out, will
you?’

‘Well,
darling, what did you think of Inspector Bramwell?’ asked Cedric, as soon as
Rose had re-entered the drawing room.’ Was he as beastly to you as he was to
me?’

‘I’m not
sure what to make of him,’ Rose said, linking her arm in his as they made their
way to the far end of the room. They chose a richly upholstered settee and sank
down on to it, their hands still entwined and their heads bent closely towards
each other.

‘Cedric,
I’m awfully afraid that I’ve made an absolute fool of myself over that business
about Emmeline and Jemima not being Emmeline and Jemima, if you know what I
mean? You should have seen the inspector’s face when I suggested it to him. He
didn’t believe it for one moment, even when I explained my reasoning.’

‘Well,
more fool him, that’s all I can say.’

‘You are
a darling, Cedric. But I know full well that you’re not entirely convinced
either, are you? The more I think of it, the more I believe I may have it all
wrong, anyway. The real Emmeline Montacute and Jemima Wentmore aren’t at home.
The police have already checked. It’s just as Lavinia told me. They left
without telling anyone of their intentions.’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, I don’t think
it matters too much now. Emmeline’s father arrives back from his travels in a
day or so and is coming down to Sedgwick to formally identify his daughter’s body,
so we’ll know one way or the other by then.’

‘Is he
indeed? Did you find out anything else from the inspector?’

‘No, not
really. He plays his cards close to his chest. Oh, wait a minute, there was
something.’

‘Yes?’

‘He
showed me Emmeline’s diamond necklace and asked me if I recognised it.’

‘Did he?
I wonder why he did that.’

‘Come to
think of it, he asked me quite a few questions about the diamonds. He was
particularly interested in the count’s parlour game. The one involving the
jeweller’s loupe. I suppose it’s because he suspects him of being a jewel
thief. I explained how it had come about, the game, I mean.’

‘Because
of what Vera said? It was awfully cruel of her to bring up the subject of the kidnapping,’
said Cedric. ‘I say, Rose. You don’t think Emmeline’s death could have anything
to do with a kidnap attempt, do you?’

‘I don’t
see why not. I was just wondering that myself as it happens. It seems just as
likely as diamonds or Theo’s relationship with Emmeline and Vera’s jealousy. Inspector
Bramwell knew all about that too, Theo and Emmeline, I mean.’

‘Do you
feel any closer to knowing who did it?’

‘I’m
sorry, darling, I don’t ... Oh, Cedric!’

‘What,
darling? Is something wrong?’

‘I can’t
keep it to myself any more. I’m being awfully mean to you. Keeping the best bit
of news to last.’

‘Oh, and
what’s that?’

‘They’ve discovered
something. The police, I mean. Or should I say the pathologist? While I was
being interviewed, a constable rushed in and said that they’d found something at
the mortuary. It was on Emmeline’s body. He said it as good as proved who her
murderer was.’    

‘Did he
indeed? I wonder what they’ve found.’

‘Before
we do anything else, we’d better find out what that fool of a constable was
talking about,’ grumbled Inspector Bramwell. ‘Better not get your hopes up,
Lane. Likely as not the fellow’s got hold of the wrong end of the stick. It may
be very little at all. The man has no sense. To come barging into the room like
that and saying what he did in front of Miss Simpson of all people. I suppose
it’ll be the gossip of the drawing room by now.’

‘Miss
Simpson’s not like that, sir,’ Sergeant Lane said. ‘She’ll keep news of it to
herself.’

‘Pah!
She’ll tell Lord Belvedere at least, you know she will as well as I do.’

‘I’ve
arranged for the call to be put through here, sir.’ Sergeant Lane said, keen to
change the subject.  ‘It’s a pity Jackson didn’t ask for details before hanging
up, although perhaps they wouldn’t have given them to him. They’d have wanted
to speak to you first, sir.’

‘Well, at
least the man had the sense to ask them to ring back before he hung up. I’d
telephone the mortuary myself but they’d probably put me through to a different
fellow than the one who rang up, who’d know nothing about this business. No … all
in good time. I’ll wait for them to telephone. Besides, I want to go over one
or two things in my mind first.’ He turned to look at the sergeant. ‘Are you
feeling hungry, Lane? I am. Isn’t it time for tea? Go to the kitchen and ask
them to bring in a tea tray, will you? Better still, pull that bell rope over
there.’

‘It’s all
right, sir, I’ll have a word with one of the footmen. I think there’s one in
the hall. I hope you don’t think it a liberty, sir, but, when I was seeing Miss
Simpson out just now, I suggested to one of the servants that tea be laid in
the library for the family and their guests. They were getting a bit restive seeing
as they had been confined to the drawing room all day.’

The inspector
snorted. ‘Very considerate of you, Lane, I’m sure. Although they took their
lunch in the dining room, didn’t they? And we’ve allowed them a stroll in the
gardens. That’s not confining them to the drawing room in my book. Count
Fernand and Mr Thistlewaite will be down for their tea too, no doubt. Have one
of the constables keep an eye on them. I don’t want them talking with those among
the party we haven’t had the opportunity to interview yet. Although happen the count
will keep himself to himself.’

‘Yes. I’m
certain he’ll want to keep his head down.’

Sergeant
Lane left and returned a few minutes later having accomplished his mission on
both fronts. As he had anticipated, a footman had been easily found. Much to
his satisfaction also, he had seen the count safely ensconced in a corner of
the library with an expression on his face, and an air about him that deterred
any of the others from going over and speaking to him. Felix Thistlewaite too appeared
unusually quiet and wrapped up in his own thoughts. With his back to the room,
he had looked out of the window on to the grounds beyond, although he could see
almost nothing given how dark it was now. He had given up even the pretence of
this pursuit once the curtains had been drawn and the world outside shut out. Then
the young man had stood rather awkwardly, clutching a plate in his hand but
hardly eating a morsel. Every now and then, the policeman had noticed, he had
stolen a glance at Jemima Wentmore, but she either did not notice he was trying
to catch her eye, or else was purposefully ignoring him. 

‘What did
you make of Miss Simpson’s theory that Miss Montacute might not have been Miss
Montacute at all, sir?’ the sergeant asked as soon as he had closed the study door.
‘It sounded a bit far-fetched to me, although, for what it’s worth, there’s
usually something in what Miss Simpson has to say.’

‘It that
so, Lane?’ Inspector Bramwell glared at his sergeant. ‘Well you’ve heard my
views on amateur sleuths, Sergeant. Their activities are not to be encouraged.
Having said that, we’ll have to look into it, more’s the pity. There may be
something in it and there may not.’ He began to pace the room. ‘We can’t have
Montacute being told that his daughter’s been murdered only to find that she’s
alive and well in London. No. That wouldn’t do at all.’ He stopped his pacing
and turned and glanced at the sergeant. ‘We need to find out the truth before
Montacute’s ship comes in to dock.’

‘Couldn’t
we just get the secretary chap down here? Stapleton. He’d be able to tell us if
Miss Wentmore is who she claims to be, and if she isn’t we could then have him
look at the corpse.’

‘We
could. But I’ll wager that we can find out easily enough by ourselves. While
we’re waiting for tea to arrive, go and have another look at their bedrooms, Miss
Wentmore’s and Miss Montacute’s. Happen as not you’ll find something in one of
them that’ll tell us one way or the other.’

‘As you
wish, sir,’ said Sergeant Lane, somewhat reluctantly. He would have preferred
instead to wait for the telephone call and find out if what had been discovered
at the mortuary was really as important as the constable believed it to be.

‘If
they’re not who they claimed to be,’ said the sergeant, hovering by the door, ‘they’d
have to have some connections with the Montacute family, don’t you think, sir?
They’d have to know that the real Miss Montacute and Miss Wentmore were abroad
at the time, else they’d be taking an awful risk. They might have got away with
it on the Continent but they’d be taking a bit of a gamble here at Sedgwick if
the ladies were back at home in the Highlands.’

‘I’m not
sure I follow all that, Lane. But we have it on good authority that Miss
Montacute and Miss Wentmore are not at home. Although you might have a point
there, Sergeant, about them having some connections with the Montacute family.
But, from what we know of the real Miss Montacute, she lived the life almost of
a recluse. There wouldn’t be much mention of her made in the newspapers, if
any. The impostors, if that is what they are, needn’t have been afraid Lord
Belvedere would open his copy of
The
Times
over breakfast one
morning only to find that Miss Montacute was reported as having gone to some society
do or the other the night before.’

‘What
would be their game, I wonder, sir? Do you think it would be the same as the count’s
malarkey? They had a very valuable diamond necklace in their possession, we
mustn’t forget that, sir. That’s of some interest, don’t you think? Hello,
there’s the telephone.’

The inspector
pounced on the instrument much as a cat would a mouse and held the receiver up
to his ear. The sergeant meanwhile lingered by the door, reluctant to leave. He
listened with interest to Inspector Bramwell’s half of the conversation, which
was disappointingly lacking in providing any clarity as to what had been
discovered, consisting as it did of little more than grunts and one word
answers.

‘What!’
The inspector had almost dropped the receiver in his excitement. ‘Read it to me
again, slowly this time mind … hmm … Are you sure it says that? It couldn’t be
some other initials? No? … Are you quite sure? … Very good … And where did you
say you found it? … Have a man drive down with it to me at once, will you? … Of
course I need it today! No it can’t wait until tomorrow. I want to have it in
my hand when I interview … Now listen to me, my man … What? … Yes, that’ll do
nicely. I’ll expect it within the hour.’          

The inspector
hung up the telephone receiver and gave the sergeant a look of triumph.

‘Well,
sir? Was that young constable right after all? What have they found? Does it prove
who the murderer is?’

‘So many
questions, Sergeant. But as regards the most important one … you could say
that, Lane,’ the inspector replied, grinning. ’As good as, anyway. Well, well,
well. What a turn up for the books.’

‘As good
as proved the murderer? I’m not sure I follow you, sir.’

‘Then
I’ll tell you, Sergeant. We now know why Miss Montacute went to the maze when
she did. And what is more, we know the identity of the person she went to meet.’   
    

‘Do I
take it then, sir, you won’t be wanting to interview Miss Wentmore now after
all?’ enquired Sergeant Lane. ‘Even if I do find something in her room or Miss
Montacute’s which would substantiate Miss Simpson’s theory concerning those two
ladies?’  

‘No, Sergeant.
We’ll speak to her later. I think our investigations are pointing us in another
way, don’t you?’ He sat down heavily in his chair. ‘You carry on with your
searching of the ladies’ rooms and then we’ll have our tea. By that time the
others should have finished theirs and that package will have arrived from the
mortuary. I don’t want to interview the doctor until I have it in my hands and
can show him. Have a word with the servants and tell them they’re to bring the
parcel to me as soon as it arrives.’

‘Here’s
the package you were asking for, Charlie,’ said one of the hall boys passing
over an envelope to the footman. ‘You should have seen the motor the man was
driving who brought it! He said he’d driven like the wind on account of the inspector
requiring it immediate like. Said it was a valuable piece of evidence and that
I weren’t to lose it.’

‘Did he,
indeed? Sounds to me he said rather too much,’ the footman said laughing.
‘Don’t let Mr Manning catch you passing on gossip.’

‘Mr
Manning’s all right. It’s Mr Torridge I’m scared of.  Not that he’d be able to
catch me these days, what with him being so doddery.’

‘You
cheeky young scallywag! I’ve a good mind to box your ears for you, myself.’

The boy
laughed and ran off just as the under-butler appeared.

‘What
have you got there, Charlie? Is that the package the inspector’s been expecting?’

‘Yes, Mr
Manning. It doesn’t seem much, does it? Just an envelope. By the feel of it,
I’d hardly have thought there was a letter inside.’

‘Well, you’d
best take it into the inspector, Charlie. It’s not up to the likes of us to
decide what’s important and what’s not in a murder investigation.’