Murder At Rudhall Manor (7 page)

She stood a few feet away from him watching his back.

And, oh, what a back it was.

A giant golden dragon was woven into the black fabric of his
robe. The shimmering fire emanating from the dragon's mouth seemed to caress
his broad shoulders.

An icy gust of wind sent the velvet cloth rippling like a
dark, disturbed pond. The robe, she noted, was too long for him. It pooled at
his feet, stark against the snow covered ground.

She wondered at her own courage. She was still amazed at the
bold manner in which she had addressed him that day in the morning room. She
felt a bit like a hero in a fairy tale who plunged into danger in spite of
trembling like a leaf inside.

And here she was once again skirting the edges of danger;
daring to speak to Lord William Ellsworth Hartell Adair, the Marquis of
Lockwood, beloved of the king, the regent and the mistresses. Feared by all of
France and England, whose exploits—

"It is ghastly."

Lucy jumped in shock.

He had turned towards her, his dark pupils flashing below
sleepy lids.

 Her eyes unglazed and she hastily curtsied.

"Do you agree?" he prompted.

"Agree?" she asked befuddled.

"This," he gestured towards his robe.

Lucy eyed the red fur lovingly sewn onto the collar of the
robe hanging like two long fox tails down his front. He looked, she thought
dreamily, like a powerful wizard from some magical land. Even the air around
him felt charged with suppressed energy.

"Well?" he asked impatiently.

Lucy detached her tongue from the roof of her mouth.
"It looks … You look bang up, my lord."

"It sheds," he said sourly shaking the furry
tails.

Lucy nodded sympathetically. "And it’s a robe again. I
understand, my lord."

"You do?"

"I do. A robe with an opening down the centre. Awfully
inconvenient when all sorts of feet want to creep in." Her eyes widened in
shock as she replayed that sentence in her head.

"Miss Trotter!"

"I am sorry," Lucy gasped. "I thought you
might be tired of wearing robes and wanting breeches once again. Blast it! I
mean to say or rather I didn't mean to say breeches." Here she clutched
her throat and hacked a few times in an attempt to strangle her throat and
arrest the words in her tonsil, but it didn't work. "Surely," the
words wheezed out of her, "it is better to talk of breeches than robes
with openings for feet to slip in." She finished by slapping a horrified
hand to her mouth.

"Miss—"

"I know, I know," she babbled in dismay, "I am
sorry. So, so sorry. I apologise profusely, my lord. You see, I was trying to
explain what I meant, but I happened to repeat the fact that I said robes
with—"

He placed a finger on her lips immediately silencing her.

She gulped and pressed her lips together.

"Miss Trotter," he said sternly, "you are
supposed to be an educated young lady. Kindly behave like one."

She hurriedly bobbed her head.

"And your bonnet is frightful." He adjusted the
offending thing so that it tilted at a more flattering angle. "If you have
to wear it, wear it thus."

"But I can no longer see from one eye," she
protested. "The brim is covering it."

"Suffer, my dear, for the sake of fashion," he
ordered.

Lucy reluctantly nodded again and pinned her eye on the
frozen stream next to his foot.

"It belongs to Miss Sedley's uncle," he remarked,
once again gesturing towards the robe. "He must have been a giant,"
he went on, pulling up the sleeves that kept sliding forward to engulf his
whole hand.

She made an indistinct noise in her throat.

His lips quirked in amusement. "I suppose I shouldn’t
be complaining about a perfectly warm robe when you are rapidly turning into an
ice sculpture." He stopped abruptly and turned back to stare out into the
distance, the smile still lingering on his lips.

Lucy pulled the coat tighter across her shoulders and
followed Lord Adair's gaze.

She stilled.

Lord Adair slanted a look at her. His voice was wary when he
asked, “What, pray tell, is that, Miss Trotter?"

Lucy ever so slowly moved a few steps behind Lord Adair.
"She is called Spooner, my lord."

"I see, and what manner of creature is it?"

"It is a bird,” she replied from the corner of her
mouth.

"What sort?"

"It is, I believe, an Egyptian crane."

"Why is it in England?"

"Peter brought her over from Africa."

"I like birds, Miss Trotter. In fact, I could be
considered a bird lover, but that creature has a nasty glint in her eye."

"I have never trusted Spooner, my lord. And I would
advise you not to either."

They stood shivering in the cold watching the bird from the
corner of their eyes.

"Someone should explain the process of migration to
Spooner. Warmer climates may improve her temperament," Lucy said through
cold lips.

"Miss Trotter," Lord Adair said turning to face
her, "what do you want?"

Her eyes widened. "How do you know I want
anything?"

"You are standing here in inch deep snow, your
inadequate boots soaking wet, your lips turning blue, glaring at an Egyptian
bird instead of sitting indoors with a warm cup of tea."

"Ah, yes," she said and with another nervous
glance at Spooner quickly came to the point. "How did Lord Sedley
die?"

"He was stabbed three times with small knife in the
middle of his chest," he replied promptly.

"I would like to know all the facts please."

"The murder occurred at around five in the evening and
was discovered at six by the valet. You were last person to see him at around
four thirty in the garden when you had an argument with him."

"Did he fight the killer?"

"He had a habit of taking a drug in the afternoon for
gout which made him drowsy. Thereafter, he would take a short nap and wake up
at six, get ready and come down for dinner. Whoever killed him waited until the
medicine had its effect and he was in a deep sleep."

"Hmm," Lucy said sticking her tongue between the
gap in her front teeth. "The key to the safe was always on a chain around
his neck. Someone killed him, took the key and the stole the jewels."

Lord Adair remained silent.

"Where was the key found?" she asked.

His dark eyes blazed briefly. "It was still around Lord
Sedley's neck when the valet found him."

Lucy stamped her foot partly to warm them and partly in
frustration. "Why would he or she murder Lord Sedley for the key, steal
the jewels and then take the risk of hanging the key back around his
neck?"

"We should return indoors," Lord Adair said
instead of answering her question.

He offered her his arm.

"Unless the thief did not want anyone to know he is the
thief. I mean, he did not want anyone to connect the theft with the
murder," Lucy mused ignoring his arm.

"I will find the person responsible, Miss Trotter. Have
faith."

"In what?"

"If you are innocent, you will not be punished."

"I lost my family and spent most of my life in an
orphanage. I was punished for no fault of mine. Why would things change
now?"

"That was an unfortunate incident. This is a murder
which is being investigated. We are actively searching for the truth."

"You will protect your own kind, my lord. I am the
outsider," Lucy said, entering the house and yanking off her drenched
woollen gloves. "I don't blame you. I would protect my friends too."

"Miss Trotter," Lord Adair said gently, "You
are wrong. I will stand by the truth, even if it means sending my closest
friend to the gallows."

"Lofty words," Lucy muttered under her breath.
Aloud, she said, "No harm in me nosing about as well. After all, it is my
neck that is dangling near the noose. Desperation may help me solve the case
quicker than you, my lord."

"Or blind you," he replied amused. "My advice
to you is to stay in your room until the culprit is found … but I have a
feeling you are going to be contrary. People are predictable, Miss
Trotter."

Lucy dropped her parasol on his foot. Her eyes flared in
satisfactions seeing the knowing smile wiped off his face. "Not so
predictable am I, my lord, or you would have saved you poor toe just now."

He grinned in appreciation. "It is a wager, Miss
Trotter. Let us see who finds the culprit first."

He held out his hand, and after eyeing his masculine fingers
encased in expensive leather gloves for a moment, she grasped it firmly and
shook it. "It is a wager, Lord Adair."

She unpeeled her coat. "What does the winner get?"

"Anything you fancy," he murmured with a glint in
his eye.

"Agreed," she said promptly. "What I want, my
lord, is employment. If I win, then you will have to hire me to work as your
assistant."

Lord Adair paled. "Well, now, I don't need an
assistant."

"A housekeeper?"

"No, now see here—"

"If you have any illegitimate children, then their
governess—"

"Miss Trotter," he scolded, "anything you
fancy was the wrong thing to say … I meant—"

"Scullery maid?" she asked in a small voice.
"Surely you need a scullery maid. You must have so many rooms."

"I have no rooms. I live under the stars," Lord
Adair snapped.

"Ground sweeper?"

"Eh?"

"Surely you need someone to sweep the ground before you
lie down on it to sleep."

Lord Adair opened his mouth and closed it again. He shook
his head and without another word walked away.

A mischievous smile spread over Lucy's face. He was
delightfully easy to tease.

He stopped before turning the corner and looked back at her.

Lucy's heart started racing and her palms turned sweaty.

His departing expression was confusing, complicated and
intensely beautiful.

She gulped.

He sent her a parting grin before vanishing from her sight.

She gasped and clutched the nearby hat stand for support and
held on for dear life, since her knees had decided to follow Lord Adair leaving
the rest of her wobbling and unbalanced.

She sighed.

It was awfully hard to argue with handsome men, and Lord
Adair happened to be the handsomest of the lot.

Someone had let it slip that Lord Sedley was dead. The fact
was no longer a secret, and the funeral was in a few hours.

Lucy sat at the small desk in her room watching the visitors
come and go. The snow outside had been churned by numerous feet belonging to
the villagers and relatives, and the beautiful sparkling white ground of the
morning had turned into a slush of brown and grey.

She was surprised that so many people had managed to make
their way to the house considering the dark, roiling sky. A storm was
threatening to arrive any moment. The leaves had stilled, the wind had fallen
silent, and the sun cowered somewhere behind dense clouds.

"Boo!"

"Pat," Lucy squeaked, her hand on her thundering
heart, "you frightened me."

"I meant to," he said strolling into the room. He
peeked out of the window and made a face as he watched a woman with peacock
feathers in a large brimmed hat alight from a carriage. "That one,"
he said grimly, "tried to detach my cheeks from my face."

An old man shuffled after the woman, his back almost bent
double, and a walking stick clutched in his shaking hand.

"And him," He shook his head in disgust, "he
coos."

Lucy bit back a smile. "You shouldn't be here."

He nodded. "We know."

Hepsy came and stood on the other side of Lucy's chair.
"We were told to stay away from you or we wouldn't be given any
pudding."

Pat thumped Lucy's back in a brotherly fashion. "But we
wanted to come and see you."

"Your pudding," Lucy tried weakly.

"We stole some already and hid it," Hepsy soothed.

Lucy turned back to the window, her chin coming to rest on
her hands.

"What is a wig-eel?" Hepsy asked, copying Lucy's
stance.

"Not wig-eel," Pat chortled. "Vigil. Lord
Adair's valet arrived last night. Hepsy asked him to tea in the nursery with
the dolls, and he said he couldn't on account of his having to keep a
vigil."

Lucy's brow cleared. "He must have kept a vigil along
with another person in Lord Sedley's room last night."

"To keep away the thieves," Pat remarked with a
superior sniff.

Lucy shook her head. "Let me tell you a true story. It
will explain why one needs to keep a vigil over a dead body."

Pat and Hepsy nodded eagerly.

Lucy's lips quirked. "A few years ago a very old cook
in the orphanage died and up until the funeral two people were constantly in
the room with the body keeping vigil."

"Why?" Hepsy asked.

"That is exactly what I wondered too, Miss Gardiner.
Why did they sit with a corpse? Were they not frightened of ghosts and things?
Or were they simply a morbid lot?"

"And then?" Hepsy prompted.

"Well, on the day of the funeral—"

"Yes, yes." Hepsy straightened up.

"Let her finish," Pat growled impatiently.

Hepsy subsided.

"And then," Lucy continued, "on the day of
the funeral the dead cook's cheerful husband went to close the coffin so that
he could carry it to the burial site, when suddenly—" Here Lucy paused.

"What? Oh, do tell, Miss Trotter," Hepsy begged,
and this time even Pat leaned forward.

"When suddenly the old dead cook sprang into sitting
position and demanded a bottle of gin, two pieces of fish and a cup of
flour."

"But she was dead," gasped Pat.

"Ooh," Hepsy exclaimed at the same time.

"Physicians are known to make mistakes. She was still
alive when I left the orphanage."

"So a vigil is kept," Pat said, his eyes wide in
understanding, "in case the dead are not really dead."

Lucy nodded broodingly. She hoped that this time, too, Lord
Sedley would bounce out of the coffin and ask to pinch a maid's bottom. All her
worries would melt away, and she would even kiss the lusty old man in relief.

But nothing of the sort occurred. Lucy watched the coffin
leave the house, and when the family came back, there was no Lord Sedley
walking up the steps towards the main door swinging his walking stick in roaring
fury.

Lucy and the children watched the rest of the guests return
wearing all black and heads bent low. It was as if a string had been attached
to their chins and someone invisible on the ground held the other end yanking
it with all their might.

Pat sighed loudly. "I wonder how long it will take the
worms to eat him up until only the bones are left."

"You should return to the nursery," Lucy said
pushing away from the desk. She stood up and stretched. After a moment, she
looked down to find the children eyeing her queerly. "What is it?"

"We are going to uncle Dolton's house for a few
weeks," Pat said staring at his boots.

"We may not see you again," Hepsy added.

"I am here for a month at least," Lucy lied.
"You will see me when you return."

The faces brightened.

"Now, hurry back to the nursery, you must have a lot to
pack," she continued in a high, cheerful voice.

The children nodded, and before they knew what was
happening, Lucy had ushered them outside, given them two sound kisses, a tight
hug and sent them on their way in a much improved temperament.

Lucy watched them leave with mixed feelings. A part of her
was sad. She had become fond of them, but mostly she was pleased that the
monsters would be out of her way and leave her to investigate in peace.

The children may have become sentimental thinking she was
going to die, but Lucy had not forgotten the horrifying antics they were
capable of.

She recalled the time they had slathered a sticky paste of
flour and water all over her hair while she slept. It had taken her three whole
hours to clean the muck out of her hair. Her arms had been aching dreadfully by
the time she had finished.

Shuddering at the memory, she banged the door closed in
relief.

***

Lucy surveyed the contents of her cupboard. Three morning
dresses, which were meant to be white but were now grey with age, lay folded
neatly on a shelf.

Two faded evening dresses, one of which had tiny eyelets all
over and often frightened her half to death, sat next to the morning ones.

Finally, right at the bottom under her chemises, she found a
well patched, thick woollen dress in a wonderful colour of dirt. She pulled it
out and laid it on the bed.

She cocked her head to the side and fingered the rough
material.

It would do.

Next, she pulled open the drawers in the small desk in her
room, her mind busy while her hands worked.

She had been the last person to see Lord Sedley alive, she
thought, as she searched through the drawer's contents. And not only had she
seen the hideous blob, but she had gone on to have a full blown argument with
him in front of witnesses.

She paused to inspect the yellow yarn she found in the
bottom drawer. She flung it back with an impatient shake and continued her
search as well as line of thought. She had arrived a mere three months ago, and
in such a short time it was impossible to expect she had formed an everlasting
bond with anyone in the manor. Her position as a governess ensured that she
belonged neither with the servants nor the family.

She stood up clutching a pair of scissors and some green
thread. She placed it next to the dress.

It suited everyone in Rudhall to have her proclaimed the
culprit. She dragged a shawl out of the cupboard and flung it about her
shoulders.

A thrill went through her small, slim form.

She was not going to let them win. She, Miss Lucy Anne
Trotter, was going to unmask the criminal.

Her chin jerked up and her eyes flashed.

She strode out of the door and down the stairs. She was no
longer going to sit and think and muse and mull.

It was time for action. She had a plan.

An excellent plan.

Rose sauntered by carrying an armload of laundry. She paused
long enough to send Lucy a superior look.

Lucy smiled philosophically. Ah, the silly maid would learn
the truth soon enough. She chose to forgive the poor mortal creature, for the
maid knew not what she was doing. She was blowing raspberries at Lucy—the great
Lucy Anne Trotter—who would go down in history as the greatest investigator
ever known to mankind.

The very same Lucy Anne Trotter who would soon unmask the
killer and present him or her on a gilded platter to Lord Adair. Oh, the
foolish maid would be sorry then. So, so sorry.

Rose narrowed her eyes.

Lucy sniffed smugly, raised her nose in the air and then
promptly tripped over her feet.

She lay face down like an egg dropped from a height spread
out all over the floor.

A giggle somewhere behind her made her scramble back up. Her
face was bright red as she scuttled towards the door.

Her ego was bruised, but her heart was no less determined.

***

An hour later, Lucy peeped into the morning room from the
corner of the French windows.

No one was around.

She clutched the bundle she was holding close to her chest
with one hand and opened the window with the other.

Once again, moving her eyeballs from side to side to ensure
that she was alone, she stepped into the morning room and quickly closed the
window behind her.

Thereafter, she tiptoed her way across the room and attached
an ear to the door. Hearing nothing she bravely pulled open the door. This was
more difficult considering the bundle she was carrying, but by twisting and
turning her fingers in the most painful and awkward manner, she managed to
touch the handle with the tip of her thumbs and pushed.

The door swung open easily and she almost somersaulted into
the hallway in surprise.

 After calming her jogging heart, she took a deep
breath and scurried towards the wooden staircase, turned the corner and finally
sprinted towards her room.

It was remarkable. She had managed the entire thing without
anyone seeing her, or more importantly, seeing the bundle she was carrying.

She tipped the contents on the floor in her room, a pleased
smile on her lips.

She was ready for the next part of the plan.

As she worked, she couldn't help feeling slightly smug. Lady
Sedley and Peter had been sitting in the morning room, and they had claimed
seeing no one go up the stairs towards Lord Sedley's room at the time he was
murdered.

Lucy chuckled. If they admitted that they had not seen
anyone go up the stairs, then it was clear who the murderer was… or rather, who
the murderers were.

Lady Sedley and Peter had killed Lord Sedley.

Lucy added the finishing touches and surveyed herself in the
mirror.

Her smile broadened. All she had to do now was to follow
Lady Sedley around. The woman was bound to let something slip or try and talk
to Peter about it.

And for that Lucy's attire was perfect. She could shadow
Lady Sedley with no fear of being seen. She was as good as invisible.

For Lucy had disguised herself as a tree.