03 - Murder at Sedgwick Court (4 page)

It
seemed to Rose that the additional guests arrived in dribs and drabs. First to
arrive had been the heiress, Emmeline Montacute, with her companion, Jemima Wentmore.
The former had been exquisitely turned out: her clothes good, make-up skilfully
applied and hair well-dressed, the overall effect being one of a young woman of
beauty, although how much of this was due to the girl’s own natural prettiness
and how much to art and fine clothes was hard to tell. What could not be
concealed however, was her enthusiasm. Her face beneath its carefully applied
powder and rouge was animated, and excitement flowed from her, seeming to light
up and warm the winter’s day. And there was something delightfully infectious
about her mood. Even Rose felt the apprehension she had initially felt at the
prospect of the arrival of such illustrious guests begin to lessen and ebb away.
   

 In
comparison Jemima Wentmore appeared a much more insignificant character, a shadow
even, the portrait of a woman sketched in grey. But this initial impression, Rose
thought, was somewhat misleading. Jemima was prettier than on first glance she appeared
to be. But, unlike Emmeline, she had not tried to accentuate her looks, rather
the reverse was the case. Her clothes were well made but quite plain and a
little drab, as if her intention had been to deliberately make herself look dull
and less interesting than she might have looked had she been decked out in
clothes that were of a brighter hue.  

‘Did you
oversee the packing of my things, Jem?’ asked Emmeline over her shoulder. Embedded
as she was in ermine, she was in the process of allowing the footman to take
her luxurious fur coat and hat.

‘Yes, of
course, Emmie, there’s no need to worry,’ Jemima answered, unbuttoning her own dull
coat, innocent of any fur trimming. Standing behind Emmeline, she appeared
immune to the infectious qualities of her friend’s presence, if anything she looked
rather exasperated.

Poor
thing, thought Rose, I suppose it must be rather trying looking after an
heiress. Less charitably Lavinia whispered to her a little while later: ‘Detestable
girl. It’s a pity she has to be here to spoil things. And the situation’s made all
the worse in that one simply doesn’t know what Jemima’s role is. I mean to say,
is she some dependant of the Montacute household or Emmeline’s paid companion?
And of course I can’t possibly ask Emmeline. But the way Jemima speaks to her;
calling her “Emmie”, if you please! But that does suggest that they are
relatives of some kind, doesn’t it? And Emmeline will insist on calling her
“Jem”, not “Jemima”, which really is all rather confusing and over familiar,
don’t you think? I mean, what is one expected to do? Especially as Jemima will
insist on fading into the background at any gathering and suffer being talked
to as if she is a lady’s maid.’

Rose
refrained from comment. Later, as she became better acquainted with the heiress,
what became apparent was that, while Emmeline might put upon Jemima, she considered
her to be a confidante rather than just an upper servant.

‘Oh
well,’ continued Lavinia, sighing prettily, ‘I suppose there is nothing for it but
that a place must be laid for Jemima at table for dinner and she be given one
of the better guest rooms.’ She smiled as a thought struck her. ‘I say, Rose,
it’s jolly fortunate that the little bedroom next to Emmeline’s grand one while
rather small is elegantly furnished. Quite the thing.’

Rose had
at first been somewhat surprised at the level of hostility Lavinia felt towards
Jemima who, at worst as far as she could see, was insipid and a little boring.
But after analysing Lavinia’s dislike of the girl more thoroughly, she realised
her friend was simply jealous of the girl’s friendship with the heiress. It might
be Lavinia that Emmeline was having fun with, laughing and giggling together at
some trivial matter with Jemima in the background merely looking on, but it was
her friend-cum-companion’s advice and opinion that Emmeline sought, not
Lavinia’s.

Next to arrive
had been Felix Thistlewaite, a pleasant-looking, freckled face young man with
sandy coloured hair, which seemed to insist on standing up on end, making him
look a little dishevelled. His valet or manservant, if indeed he had one, had
obviously not made a good job of turning him out. But the overall effect made
him look interesting and slightly eccentric rather than not groomed. Rose,
looking at his clothes more closely, noticed that while his tweed jacket had
been darned in one or two places and was a bit antiquated as to cut, it had once
been very good. As the days went on and she saw more of his clothing, she
noticed that they were all in a similar condition, and wondered if they had
been borrowed or inherited from some relative. Certainly they did not fit him
particularly well, for they had a tendency to be too big on the shoulder. But
if the young man was embarrassed by his appearance, he did not show it.

‘I say,
Lavinia, it’s quite a place you’ve got here. Have the others arrived yet?’ Felix
Thistlewaite cast his gaze around and Rose wondered if he was looking for one
person in particular or whether he was referring to the Continent party as a
whole. Certainly his glance appeared anxious, possibly nervous, which was at
variance with his otherwise relaxed demeanour. 

The final
guest to arrive had been Count Fernand who had cut quite a figure, not least by
his rather bizarre appearance. Lavinia, Cedric and Rose had all happened to be
in the hall when he had arrived and so were present to see him enter dressed in
full top hat and tails despite it being only mid-afternoon. That in itself was
unusual but would not have caused any one of them to catch their breath. What
had was that the man wore a waistcoat of scarlet crushed velvet and a full
length black cape or cloak which almost touched the ground, and was lined with a
vivid crimson silk.

On seeing
that he had an audience of sorts, the count had unfastened his cloak himself
and swirled it in the air much in the style of a matador trying to attract the
attention of a bull. Instinctively, as one, they had all taken a step
backwards, almost as if they had been afraid a bull would miraculously appear
out of thin air, or perhaps more reasonably that they would be struck by the
swishing cloak as it cut this way and that through the air under the control of
the count’s dextrous fingers. Notwithstanding this, Count Fernand made
compelling viewing, and even Cedric and Rose who both considered the theatricals
to be a little absurd, looked on intrigued and not a little bewitched by his
performance.

It would
all have been rather comical or ridiculous, Rose thought, had the count not
been so very tall and handsome, and had not the rather strange attire suited
him superbly. The man himself looked nothing less than exotic. Cedric was tall,
but this man was taller still. His hair was so black that it had a blue sheen
to it and his skin, slightly olive in hue, contrasted well with the whiteness
of his shirt. There was a thumb length scar on his right cheek which gave his
face a slightly roguish air, adding greatly to the sense of mystery and perhaps
even a touch of danger, which seemed to exude from him. Certainly, Rose
thought, as a figure of a man he could be nothing but admired. Even so, it
became apparent that her view was not shared by all, for she was standing close
enough to Cedric to hear him whisper a shocked and rather disgusted ‘Good Lord!’
under his breath. The spell was broken and she bit her lip to stop herself from
giggling. She hoped desperately that the count had not overheard his host,
although the man himself appeared to be currently engaged in profuse bowing to
his hostess, finished by the brush of his lips on her hand, the result of which
had Lavinia in raptures, giggling away very prettily.

Rose was
curious to see how Count Fernand would be received by the rest of the party,
both by those with whom he was already acquainted, and by those to whom he was
a stranger. She trailed behind him as they entered the drawing room. Cedric,
she saw, was very inclined to fall back and walk with her, but as host felt obliged
to lead the way. The count at once made his way across the room to Vera and
gave a spectacular bow before kissing her hand. Vera in turn gave a startled
“Oh!” and withdrew her hand as if it had been stung by a wasp. Felix
Thistlewaite, Rose noticed, was trying hard not to laugh. If the count was
disappointed by Vera’s reaction to his greeting, he did not show it but instead
proceeded to bow to the rest of the party in his unique flamboyant way.

Theo
Harrison, Vera’s fiancé, merely raised his eyebrows and frowned slightly but
otherwise looked unperturbed and, if anything, rather bored. Rose remembered
Lavinia’s description of him as being rather handsome in a country doctor sort
of way. She was inclined to agree with her. Physically he was not as imposing
as either Cedric or Count Fernand, being only of average height, but his
features were even and regular, and the country air had given him a healthy
glow. His well-cut tweed jacket and flannels fitted him well and suited both
him and his surroundings admirably. He might not have the ostentatious dress of
the count, or such an extravagant manner, but there was something quietly steady
and authoritative about him all the same that demanded respect. Rose envisaged that
his bedside manner was likely to be very good, firm but kind and perhaps more
importantly reassuring. She imagined he was well-liked and respected by his
patients in equal measure. It did not surprise her in the least therefore that
Vera should hold him in such high esteem and love him in such a doting way.

Count
Fernand had been exuberant in his greetings of everyone, but particularly the
women. Rose herself had not been neglected for she had received her share of
elaborate bows and had her hand kissed fervently. But she was aware also that
the count’s eyes seemed to comb the room as if he were looking for someone in
particular who was not present. Felix had behaved in a similar manner when he
had entered the drawing room a couple of hours before. The only members of the
party missing were Emmeline and Jemima, who had withdrawn to their rooms
shortly after their arrival on the pretext of having a rest and a wash after
their journey. Now she reflected upon it, Rose remembered overhearing Felix
asking Lavinia where they were, a little while before the count’s arrival. She
told herself that she should not read too much into this, this desire to see
the heiress and her companion. It was after all to be expected and hardly very surprising
if one thought about it, for of course they must all have become
well-acquainted during their stay on the Continent.

Rose
wondered afterwards, as she had wondered about Lavinia’s sudden arrival,
whether thinking of them, rather than just coincidence, had caused the two
women to join them at the very moment that they did. It was just as Vera,
having sat down in an armchair as far away from the count as possible, was idly
turning the pages of some magazine and was therefore distracted. Theo on the
other hand, having earlier become rather bored with the conversations and gone
to the window to look out, had turned at the sound of the door opening and glanced
back into the room.

Before
they entered the room, the women’s footsteps were heard in the hall, and at
once both Count Fernand and Felix had looked up expectantly. Their air of
anticipation seemed to have been picked up by the rest of the room as if it
were contagious. For everyone else, with the exception of Vera, stopped what
they were doing, not in a sudden, abrupt way, but more coming to a dwindling
stop. People took a step or two away from each other, the better to turn around
and study the door, and conversations that had begun faltered and faded in an
awkward, embarrassed sort of way as if the speaker had suddenly became aware
that his listeners had become less attentive or interested in what he had to
say. Their attention was being drawn instead to something more fascinating
behind his shoulder.

So it was
that when the door finally opened the two newcomers found that all eyes were
turned on them as if it were supposed that they might create a more spectacular
sight than even the count in all his finery. In addition to this, the room was
in almost complete silence, save only for the noise of Vera flicking the pages
of her magazine, apparently oblivious to everything and everyone else.

Emmeline
entered the room first somewhat apprehensively, followed by Jemima in her wake,
as if she were her bridesmaid carrying her train. Emmeline made a very pretty
sight, if not quite so bizarre a one as the count. She wore an elaborately
embroidered silk and velvet dress and appeared quite as beautiful as Lavinia, with
dark chestnut locks compared with Lavinia’s fair ones. Her eyes were shining
and she was clearly delighted to see again the friends she had made on the
Continent, and to make new acquaintances.

There was
an openness about Emmeline’s manner which was engaging. After an initial,
awkward silence, she laughed her infectious little laugh and the tension and apprehension
in the room was broken. The room was relieved. Conversations were resumed and the
silence that had momentarily filled the room retreated to the edges. It was
almost as if there had been no waiting, no nervous anticipation in the room. Almost,
but not quite.

It was
true that the count was now happily engaged in conversation with Emmeline and,
after pausing for a moment, Felix likewise had made his way to Jemima and was
talking to her earnestly, so that the majority of the party were taken up with
talking or listening to one person or another. But Rose was still aware of a
strong energy in the room, as sharp as anticipation and suppressed excitement.
She looked around and her eyes alighted on Theo Harrison standing alone by the
window, sufficiently removed from the others so as not to be obliged to enter into
any of the various conversations. What arrested her attention was the frozen look
upon his face. She noticed also that he was clutching the window frame as if
for support. Rose followed his gaze to see what had affected him so deeply, to
see what he found so very fascinating that he stood transfixed as if he no
longer knew where he was and was oblivious to those around him. A quick look
around the room reassured her that no one else had noticed that he was looking peculiar.
And then she identified the one person whose presence he acknowledged, the one
person who had arrested his attentions and caused him to stare dumbfounded. For
his eyes were fixed on Emmeline Montacute, so intently that surely he saw no
one else.