Murder At Rudhall Manor (10 page)

"This wicked girl was hiding under the bed, Lord Adair.
Do you need any more proof that she is up to no good?" Lady Sedley asked,
pawing at his beautifully cut blue velvet evening coat.

Aunt Sedley's spectre glided into the room and positioned
itself behind Lord Adair. Her ghostly eyes twinkled at the sight of Lord
Adair's firm behind, and she bobbed a little bit in admiration.

Lord Adair took out a cigar and lit it.

Lady Sedley bristled and pawed at the gilt button more
insistently. "We are not safe with her in this house. We need to keep her
away from the family."

He flicked an impersonal glance towards Lucy. "She
cannot leave until I complete my investigations."

Elizabeth reared her head from a chair near Lady Sedley's
bed. "But surely you can't mean that? Are we to keep a murderer and a
thief loose in our home? What if she was prowling tonight with the intent of
choosing her next victim?"

Lady Sedley squeaked and immediately wrapped herself around
Lord Adair's arm in fright where she hung bubbling and spluttering like a dozen
eggs frying in a hot pan.

Lord Adair ignored the parasite curled around his arm and
using his left hand calmly extracted the cigar from between the fingers of his
besmirched right hand. He took a small puff. "Miss Trotter, Miss Sedley is
correct. This does not reflect well on your character."

Peter's long grey wool nightcap nodded in agreement.

Lucy's eyes flared in anger. Lord Adair knew she was trying
to find the killer. How else was she supposed to discover anything if not by
snooping? She hung her head pretending to be ashamed while calling Lord Adair
an infernal scoundrel in her head.

"I say, what are we discussing?" Ian asked. He
understood things late or not at all, and when he did understand anything, it
was only half of it.

Aunt Sedley bobbed over and stuck her spirit fingers into
Ian's ears and pretended to clean them out.

A laugh escaped Lucy's lips frightening all humans present
in the room except Lord Adair.

Elizabeth growled impatiently. "Can't you see she is a
dangerous loon?" If we cannot throw her out of the house, then I suggest
we move her to a room farther away from the family. Perhaps in a different
wing?

"We don't have any rooms available," Lady Sedley
objected.

"Who is coming to stay?" Ian drawled. Aunt Sedley
pushed a phantom handkerchief through one of his ears and pulled it out of the
other.

"She can move to the basement, Lord Adair. She can stay
with the servants," Elizabeth offered after a brief moment.

Lucy turned a shocked face towards Elizabeth.

Lady Sedley brightened. "That is a splendid suggestion.
I can ask my maid to keep an eye on her from now on."

Aunt Sedley produced a ghostly hammer and started walloping
Lady Sedley on the head. It didn't hurt Lady Sedley, but the action seemed to
give the spirit some sort of morbid satisfaction.

"Allow me to keep an eye on her. She won’t hurt the
family," Lord Adair smoothly interjected.

Elizabeth lips tightened, but no one dared to oppose Lord
Adair's suggestion.

"But I agree with Miss Sedley," Lord Adair
continued, tapping the cigar so that a shower of grey ash melted into the
carpet. "Miss Trotter will have to move to the basement before eleven
tomorrow morning."

"Ah," Ian came awake, "Miss Trotter is moving
to a servant's room. Whatever for?"

"She was caught hiding under mother's bed,"
Elizabeth snapped at Ian.

Lucy's shoulder sagged, though a part of her admitted that
things could have been worse. She could have been locked in a room until Lord
Adair finished his investigations.

When she next dared to look up, it was to catch Lady Sedley
goggling at Peter trying to communicate something telepathically. Clearly Ian
had inherited his brains from his mother.

"After all the excitement, we need a drop of the strong
stuff," Lord Adair remarked. He pulled out a dark bottle from one pocket
and a glass from the other. Pouring a generous amount for himself, he handed
the bottle to Lady Sedley. "Take a big swig," he encouraged with a
kindly look in his eye.

Lady Sedley detached herself from his arm and drank. Colour
rushed back into her face, and with eyes crossed, she passed the bottle to
Peter.

Once everyone had taken a relaxing gulp and the bottle had
been extracted from Ian's vice like grip, Elizabeth stood up and smoothed her
skirts. "Well, now that is settled," she said, "we can all
depart for bed." She caught her brother's arm, while her lashes fluttered
helplessly at Lord Adair. "Ian, the hallway is eerily dark. Will … will
you escort me to my room?"

Lord Adair contemplated the golden liquid in his glass,
while Ian looked comically taken aback by the request.

"You are jesting, Lizzy? You are afraid of a dark
hallway? Why, you would frighten the ghosts away with that cackling laughter of
yours," Ian grinned.

Aunt Sedley nodded in agreement.

"Allow me," Lord Adair cut in smoothly.

Elizabeth smiled triumphantly as she hooked her claws in
Lord Adair's arm. Aunt Sedley smoothed her hair, adjusted her corset and
floated out behind them. It seemed even the dead were not immune to Lord
Adair's charms.

Ian followed looking confounded as usual.

Lucy crept out next, and as soon as she had walked a few
steps away from the room, a heavy burden seemed to escape the knotted bun at
the nape of her neck. She strode swiftly down the hallway only to halt suddenly
beside the hideous statue of Medusa.

A vision of Lady Sedley goggling at Peter's woolly night cap
arose in front of her eyes.

She blinked away the image and spun on her heels.

This time her swift walk down the corridor was not towards
her room but back from where she had come.

 Lucy Anne Trotter had decided to eavesdrop some more.

***

"Ask Lord Adair to cease investigating at once."
Lucy overheard Lady Sedley tell Peter.

"Me?" Peter squeaked.

"Yes, you," Lady Sedley snapped. "You are now
the owner of Rudhall and all it contains. Stand tall, lift up your weak chin
and order that man to leave your property."

"Glurg," Peter managed to say.

"That," Lady Sedley said coldly, "is not
helpful."

The silence seemed to stretch.

Peter must be digging deep within his soul, Lucy mused.

Then she heard him ask ever so softly, "But he may find
father's killer and the jewels."

"We can find the jewels ourselves. Don't you
understand, you fool —"

A rough hand clasped around Lucy's mouth while another
caught her around the waist. The stench of smoke and wet dog tickled her nose.

Her eyes grew large in horror as she felt herself being lifted
off the ground.

"You are unbelievable," Ian whispered in her ear
as he walked down the hallway. "You were banished to the basement for
hiding under mother's bed, and here I find you going right back to doing
exactly what you were punished for."

Lucy cursed her foolishness. Why, oh why had she been
convinced that so soon after her banishment to the servant's room no one would
expect her to repeat her offence? She had thought she was being clever.

Ian chuckled and playfully slapped her bottom.

She panicked and began wriggling in his grip like an
agitated earthworm and kicked about like an offended vegetarian giraffe.

Her squirming and flailing did not help. Ian easily carried
her down the hallway, turned the corner and flung open the first door on the
right.

He threw her inside.

She fell face down.

She heard the bolt shut and realised that Ian had locked the
door from the outside. He had left her alone in this strange room which had not
a glimmer of light anywhere.

She had just opened her mouth to scream when he returned
carrying a candle.

The yellow light cast looming shadows on the wall. It was a
room she had never been in before. It was empty of furniture save a cupboard in
the corner and a broken table by the window.

His teeth gleamed white as he leered at her.

"He is just like his father." Aunt Sedley floated
in through the blank wall. She tilted her head. "Not as dashing though. Do
you want to kiss him?"

Lucy shook her head frantically. "I want to get
away."

Ian frowned and took a step towards her. "Don't make a
noise or I will tell mother what I saw. And this time your punishment won't be
so kind."

"Don't show fear," Aunt Sedley commented sipping
from a teacup.

Lucy crossed her arms and looked Ian in the eye. "What
do you want?"

"A kiss and cuddle," he replied.

The windows rattled. "That is the best I can do. No
pillows, drapes or quilt in this room to frighten him with," Aunt Sedley
said stirring sugar in her cup. "The cold is not helping. He is full of
lust. He won't feel the chill."

Lucy threw a pleading look in the ghost's direction and took
a step back.

Ian took a step forward.

Aunt Sedley sighed. "You should learn how to defend
yourself from unwanted advances. I learned it all when I was fifteen. I could
have taught you the Hunga Munga, but the tool needed is not at hand and it will
take some time to teach you … I could try to explain about certain points in
the body to attack that will kill him in an instant. I learned that trick from
a wonderful lover—"

Ian grabbed Lucy's arm. "Can't you think of something
quick?" Lucy squeaked at the ghost.

"Oh, no, my love. This will take some time," Ian
breathed into her ear.

Aunt Sedley pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Ah, I think
I have it."

"Hurry," Lucy urged.

"Ooh, naughty, naughty," Ian chuckled and licked
her earlobe.

Aunt Sedley fluttered down next to Lucy and eyed Ian's busy
tongue meditatively, "This is what I think you should do. Bite his arm
painfully enough to make him screech and release you. He will be busy letting
out a stream of profanities while you race over to the candle lying on the
table, pick it up and fling it in his direction. He will squeal in fright and
dodge the candle in order to save his limbs from burning. The candle will fall
to the ground and start rolling on the dry wooden floor. He will recall at that
crucial moment that when dry wood and a burning candle meet, it usually means a
flaming disaster. Predictably, he will scrabble after the candle to save the
house from burning down. Meanwhile, you wrench open the door and flee down the hallway.
Thereafter, run very fast, for it won't be long before he comes hurtling after
you."

"Thank you," Lucy told the spirit.

"You are welcome," Ian replied and chewed her ear
lobe more enthusiastically.

After that, it was a simple matter of following Aunt
Sedley's directions, which Lucy did beautifully. She bit Ian, flung the candle
in his direction and wrenched open the door. And just as Aunt Sedley had
predicted, she was soon running down the hallway thanking her stars that Ian
was a dimwit.

Dimwit turned out to be quicker than she had expected for
his bruised manly ego spurred him on.

He came flying down the corridor like an enraged Viking who
had been pinked by a chit of a girl.

His Stone Age ancestors awoke inside his wily soul and
reared their angry heads. They bared their sharp teeth and did a fiery little
dance.

Encouraged, Ian quickened his pace and ran like he had never
run before. The wind rushed through his black hair making the oily locks streak
back and sway to and fro.

Soon his ancestors started singing battle songs inside his
empty head. He smiled a grim smile as he bounded forward with his legs spread
far and wide.

At this point his ancestors from the Iron Age joined him as
well. They pulled out trumpets, flutes and drums and started playing a perky
little tune.

He was now running so fast that his feet were barely
touching the ground, his bottom was swinging madly, while his fleshy cheeks
were jiggling alarmingly.

Lucy gulped and forced her limbs to accelerate.

He was bigger and faster.

She had to reach her room before he caught her again. A
quick glance behind showed he was closing in on her when suddenly a low moan
reached her ears. A loud crash followed, and she turned back in time to see Ian
lying flat on the ground with Palmer, the baboon, sitting on his back.

Palmer seemed to be picking nits out of Ian's hair and
calmly eating them while Ian struggled to get the heavy animal off his back.

She didn't wait to see more but hurtled back to her room.

"Change of plans," she whispered as she threw
herself on the bed in relief. "I am going to start searching for the
jewels. No more eavesdropping."

"I concur," Aunt Sedley said swinging upside down
from the ceiling.

"And you can help me look for the jewels," Lucy
said, sitting up on the bed and staring up at the spirit slowly revolving near
the roof. "You can go anywhere and listen to anyone without being seen.
This is perfect."

Aunt Sedley stopped revolving, hooked two of her fingers
together and swung from side to side.

"Whose room will you search first?" Lucy prompted.

Aunt Sedley ducked her head, bit her lip and placed her
palms on her cheek.

Lucy frowned. "Why are you acting so odd? Are you
coming down with some sort of ghostly fever?"

"I am blushing, you nitwit," Aunt Sedley snapped.

"Whatever for?"

"I am sorry. I can't help you search the house."

"You were blushing because you can't help me look for
the jewels?"

Aunt Sedley floated down and sat next to Lucy. She giggled.
"Well, no … I was blushing because—"

"Yes?"

"You would be surprised to know that when I was alive,
I was extremely arrogant. I had all sorts of men wanting to marry me and I
refused them all. I believed anyone who was not blue blooded was not worthy of
my affections."

Lucy drummed her fingers on the pillow. "And now that
you have no blood—"

"Are you trying to hurt my feelings?"

"I am sorry," Lucy hastily soothed. "I didn't
think. Continue."

"After I died," Aunt Sedley resumed reluctantly,
"I met someone."

"Someone."

"Mr Brown. He used to be a blacksmith."

"I see."

"Well, we are courting."

"I don't see."

"He is wooing me. I have been spending my evenings with
him. It is still so new that I cannot bear to put a stop to our meetings so
soon. He has taught me so much … for instance how to respect everyone, even
commoners. Why do you suppose I don't look down my fine aristocratic nose at
you?"

"I see. So, you are being wooed by a Mr Brown and you
would rather haunt the village with him than help me hunt for the jewels. You
talk to me like I am a human being and not horse droppings stuck to your
translucent boot because of this same Mr Brown?"

"We don't haunt anyone. Just float around clouds
and—" She stopped abruptly. "Why are you looking at me so
oddly?"

"I didn't know ghosts courted—"

"You don’t think we have a heart?"

"Well you are dead so how can you have a—"

"We have emotions."

"I am sorry."

"Do you have to constantly remind me that I am
dead?"

"I didn't mean to—"

"Thoughtless. All young women your age are heartless,
cold, calculating—"

"No, no, I promise I will me more sensitive.
Truly."

"Humph."

"Tell me about Mr Brown. He sounds kind and wonderful
and charming. Is he handsome?" Lucy coaxed.

"Mr Brown … "Aunt Sedley sighed and sparked a few
times before melting into a puddle at the bottom of the bed.

"Aunt Sedley?" Lucy worriedly peered at the sappy
pool on the ground.

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, Aunt Sedley reformed
herself after a moment. Her ghostly bosom heaved up and down as she gushed,
"Oh, he is handsome, sooo handsome, but what truly attracted me was his
cowlick. That wonderful tuft of hair grows right at the back of his head. It
sticks up and trembles every time I go near him."

"Are you meeting him tonight?"

Aunt Sedley squealed and flew towards the window. "I
will be late. We were meant to skim over the river tonight. I promised to meet
him after dinner. I will be back … back … back ...."

"Ghosts have dinner?" Lucy muttered to herself.
"What in the world do they eat?"

"I heard that." Aunt Sedley's voice floated back.

"I am sorry." Lucy shouted back. This time the
rain dancing on the window pane was her only answer.

***

It was mid-day and yet the room in the basement was dark
enough to warrant a candle. The tiny bed with a hard mattress had a lumpy
pillow on one end and a thin blanket folded at the other. A mere two steps away
stood a creaking cupboard, an empty basin, and a single chair with chipped
flowers and bulbs carved into its back. The room had no windows and it stank of
mould and gin.

Lucy slapped the chair with a rag and dust billowed into her
face making her sneeze.

"I see you are settling into your new room."

Lucy whipped around to find Lord Adair standing near the
door. She said nervously, "Come in."

His long black cloak rustled as he bent his head to avoid
hitting the top of the doorway and entered the room. He straightened up and
swept a critical gaze at the contents of the room. "I can arrange for you
to move into the attic with the maids instead of ...." He gestured at the
blank windowless wall.

"The maids share a room. I would rather have my
privacy," Lucy said struggling to open the brown travelling bag sitting on
the bed.

"I thought as much." He rummaged around in his
cloak and pulled out a bundle. "This is for you."

Lucy abandoned the bag, wiped her hands on the side of her
skirt and took the offered bundle.

It contained twenty candles tied together with a bit of
twine.

Her eyes grew large. "Goodness. These are
beeswax."

"And here.”He offered her the thick quilt he had been
holding in his other hand behind his back. At her questioning look, he
clarified. "The cook and the kitchen maid have made their rooms
comfortable down here, whereas you are in a peculiar position, and I suspect
without any money."

"Thank you," Lucy said, gingerly holding the
candles. She had only burned tallow before. "But why did you—?"

"I feel responsible, since I agreed with Miss Sedley
that you should live in the basement."

"I don't understand you, my lord. One moment you punish
me and the next you offer me a salve for my wounds."

"Are you angry," he asked, taking another step
towards her.

The room seemed to shrink.

She looked away from his penetrating gaze. "No, I am
not angry. I am just glad to still have my freedom."

His dark eyes shimmered in the dim light. "Can I ask
you a question?"

Lucy nodded and pulled out the rag and attacked the
cupboard.

"How can you smile, Miss Trotter?"

Tears suddenly rose up and choked her throat. Her hand
faltered in the act of dusting.

She cast around for a change of topic.

 A sharp intake of breath later she spoke in a voice
that only slightly wobbled. "Mr Sedley … I mean, the younger Mr Sedley is
an empty headed fool."

He smiled. "Trying to change the topic, annoy the other
person or baffle them until they forget their original question. It's a special
little trick of yours, is it not, Miss Trotter?"

Her eyes widened.

He said kindly, "You don't have to answer my
question."

"But will you answer mine?" she asked.

He frowned and gestured for her to continue.

She straightened her back. "Ian is a dimwit."

"No doubt—"

"Then how could he have helped you, my lord, with
anything? You said he did you a great service once."

"It is a long story."

Lucy flung the rag into the cupboard and sat down on the
bed. "I have time."

A tiny smile teased the corner of his mouth. “Very well,
then. Three years ago, on a cold wintry day, I was unclad and hiding in a bush
when Mr Sedley's carriage happened to pass by. I waved the carriage down and Mr
Sedley stopped and offered me a cloak and a ride back to my house. He saved me
from freezing to death."

"Why were you naked in a bush?" Lucy asked
fascinated.

"I had a friend whose services were no longer needed,
and she got wind of the fact before I had confessed it."

"You mean a mistress," Lucy corrected.

He continued on as if she had not spoken. "Next thing I
knew my clothes were stolen, my carriage sent away and I was shivering without
a stitch outside my friend's home. I made my way over to the road, and
thankfully Mr Sedley's carriage happened to come along. He understood my plight
considering he had been at the receiving end of a similar plot."

"You were lucky," Lucy mused. "A man with wit
would have never halted a carriage for an unclothed man running around
bushes."

He inclined his head. "True. Which is why I am indebted
to Mr Sedley and would like to repay him. He did all he could to help me."

"I don't like Mr Sedley," Lucy said recalling the
previous night’s incident.

A faint frown creased his forehead.

She turned back towards the cupboard and picked up the rag.
"Thank you once again for the candles and the quilt, my lord."

A soft sigh escaped him. "Miss Trotter, things would be
much simpler if you have a little faith in my honesty and ability. I will not
let you hang if you are innocent."

Lucy squeezed her eyes shut. His dark voice lured her to
believe him. Also, it was steadily becoming more and more difficult sharing
such a small space with him. He seemed to be engulfing her from all sides … She
gripped her skirts, threw back her head and belted out a song.

Yoodle yoodle yoo,

Deedle deedle den.

I am a happy angel,

Who fell from sweet heaven,

My belly full of beer,

Too heavy for wispy clouds to bear,

My fingers too chubby to pluck the delicate harp,

I fell and I fell and I fell.

Yoodle yoodle yoo,

Deedle deedle den.

I am the happy angel—

Lord Adair took a step back. "Miss Trotter, what the
devil are you doing?"

Lucy paused. "I am singing, my lord."

"But why?"

“I have been told I have a lovely voice. I can sit nearby
when you eat your dinner every evening and sing like an angel. It will sooth
your tortured soul."

"My soul is not tortured," he said taking another
cautious step back.

"I can play the harpsichord, speak a little bit of
French, dance and sing. According to Miss Summer, I make a pleasant and
humorous companion. I can pop out now and then to entertain you all for the
price of twenty pounds a year. I confess I am offering my services rather cheap
but considering the circumstances … My lord?"

Lord Adair had disappeared.

All at once the room seemed to grow bigger and lighter.

Lucy hugged herself, pleased that she still had the power to
baffle, frighten or confound people and that Lord Adair was no exception.
Considerably cheered she turned towards the bed.

Her eyes widened in shock.

The travel bag which she had been struggling with for the
last hour lay open. How in the blooming daisies she wondered in amazement had
Lord Adair managed it without her seeing him move so much as an inch towards
the bed?

***

The servant's room was not bad, Lucy mused, chewing the back
of a pencil. True, she had no window, but the bed was a good size and in the
corner she even had a chair.

She pulled out what was left of the pencil with a loud pop
and began scribbling on the sheet of paper. Anyone could have stolen the
jewels. The thief had a whole day and night to do it. The question was how?

She absently scratched over Peter and Lady Sedley's name
with the pencil until the names were blackened out. The theft had to have
occurred after the murder, since Lord Sedley had worn the key even while
bathing.

 So, she pursed her lips thoughtfully, he had been
murdered, the key taken off from around his neck, the jewels stolen and the key
replaced—all within one hour and without anyone seeing the culprit.

Therefore, it stood to reason that the person who killed
Lord Sedley currently had the jewels in his or her possession. All she had to
do was find the jewels and she would find the murderer.

It was a pity she hadn't been able to search Lord Sedley's
room for clues after his death. The valet and the butler had taken turns making
sure no one entered the room.

A sharp rap on the door made her jump.

Peter stood near the partially open door.

She shoved the list under the pillow and stood up.
"Come in, my lord." A hint of irritation laced her voice. She
wondered why everyone now assumed that they could come calling to her bedroom
whenever they pleased.

"I am sorry," Peter mumbled at once. "I
shouldn't have come."

She waited for him to leave. He didn’t.

After a minute of turning his hat round and round in his
hand, he said, "I wanted to ask if you needed help."

Her eyebrow rose. "I am fine. Thank you for your
concern, my lord."

His forehead creased. "My lord … it sounds odd. I am
still not used to being Lord Sedley … I wish …" He trailed off.

"Is there anything else?"

"No." He turned to go but seemed to change his
mind. He jerked back around and asked in a feverish voice, "Did you take
the jewels?"

"I did not," she replied slowly.

"I see." He did not look like he believed her. The
hat slipped from his hand and he bent to pick it up. A slight flush stained his
cheeks. His fingertips touched the brim, and he spoke without looking up.
"If you ever need help, Miss Trotter, I am here for you."

Lucy blushed in response. She noted once again how
attractive he was.

He looked up and caught her eye. "If you need to run …
I can help."

The blush melted into confusion. She shook her head.

He waited for her to speak, and when she didn’t, he bowed
and departed.

Lucy walked over to the door and closed it. She pressed her
forehead against the dark wood in confusion.

Why did Peter want to help her? Why would he want his
father's murderer to escape?

And if he did want to help her, then all he had to do was to
send Lord Adair away and stop the investigations … or could he?

Was Peter Sedley in love with her? Is that why—?