01 - Murder at Ashgrove House (14 page)

Edith, talk sense,’ said a man’s voice that Rose could not immediately
recognise. ‘Think what you’re suggesting. If you do what you’re proposing,
you’ll hurt a number of people, is that really what you want?’

‘It’s no good, my mind is quite made up. Do you think I have done
anything but think and think since I arrived and saw who was here? This is my
one chance to reveal the truth and hold that woman to account. She has destroyed
our lives and now I am going to make her pay.’

‘Edith, I know you want justice –‘

‘Justice? Why, if there was any justice in this world, she’d be dead! I
want to make her pay for what she did and I’m going to make her, even if it
means killing her myself!’

‘Edith! Don’t say such a thing, even in jest.’

‘Who says I’m jesting? I mean it. I’ll do whatever it takes and to hell
with the consequences. For all these years I have done exactly what everyone
has told me to, to make amends for my great wrongdoing. And God knows I have
suffered for it. I have lost my only child in a war that was supposed to end
all wars, but what a sacrifice!’

‘I know, Edith, you’ve been through much and it’s not fair. But think
what you’d be giving up. You have a husband who loves you –‘

‘Harold, dear Harold, he deserves so much better than me. But I’ve got to
do it; this might be my only opportunity.’

‘Is there nothing I can say that will stop you?’

‘No. If I don’t do it now, I shall die.’

‘Then there’s nothing more to say. On your head be it, Edith.’ These
words were said so decisively, that Rose knew instinctively that the gentleman
was on the verge of leaving. This placed her in a dilemma for she had little
doubt that the conversation that she had unwittingly overhead was intensely
private and she did not want to be taken for an eavesdropper. She retreated
further back from the entrance and, spotting some densely planted shrubs, she
crouched down behind them hoping that she would be hidden.

As it happened, though she was not to know, the gentlemen in question was
so engrossed in his thoughts that he did not look about him once, but instead
strode across the grass back in the direction of the house. Rose waited a
couple of minutes before she stood up cautiously. Edith evidently had decided
to remain where she was on the croquet lawn a little longer, no doubt to avoid
a casual observer from witnessing them returning to the house together.
Confident now that she would not be seen by Edith, Rose looked back towards the
house and to the man striding towards it. He was quite some way away from her
by now, but even so she could tell at once who it was. She thought back to the
night before and the look of anguish that had crossed Lady Withers’ face. It
seemed to Rose now that her look of distress had been justified, for the man
who had arranged what must surely have been a secret assignation with Edith,
was none other than Sir William.

Rose made her way back to the house in a daze, hardly able to believe
what she had just overheard. Had it not been for the fact that she had seen Sir
William with her own eyes, she would not have believed him complicit in such
deception. He had seemed to her genuinely fond of his eccentric, absent-minded
wife, but it appeared that this was not the case and that Lady Withers herself
had her own suspicions.

Rose thought back to dinner the previous night and remembered how Sir
William had bent forward to make sure that Edith was alright, a gesture Lady
Withers had correctly identified as one of affection. She deduced from what she
had heard that Edith intended to confront Lady Withers with the truth and now
presumably it would be up to Sir William to decide whether he should tell his
wife about his relationship with her old school friend or wait for Edith to do
so. Either way did not bode well, but while it was a tragic situation, Rose
told herself that she must remember that it was not her tragedy. Even so, she
could not help wondering what would happen when the truth was out, whether the
marriage would survive or end in divorce, and her thoughts turned to Lavinia
and Cedric and the effect that it would have on them, given that they regarded
Sir William and his wife as parent figures, making up for the deficiencies of
their own.     

Whatever happened in the future, at this moment in time she did not want
to run the risk of bumping into Sir William as they both made their way back to
the house. To ensure that this did not happen, she decided to veer off into the
kitchen garden and stay there a few minutes; she could always count the
different types of herbs. She strode on with renewed purpose, turned a corner
and ran straight into a servant who was weeping bitterly.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, miss,’ sniffed Edna, mopping ineffectually at her eyes
with the back of her hand to try and disguise the fact that she had been
crying. ‘I didn’t see you there. I didn’t think anyone would be about at this
hour, certainly not one of the guests, like.’

Rose studied her curiously. Edna made a pitiful sight with her tear
stained face and strands of black hair escaping untidily from under her mop
cap. She was probably fourteen, Rose guessed, although she looked little for
her age and her uniform was a couple of sizes too big as if she was still
expected to grow into her dress. There were smudges on her apron too of what
looked like black-lead.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Rose, kindly.

‘Oh, it’s nothing, miss, really, but it’s awful kind of you to ask. It’s
just Mrs Palmer, she’s the cook-housekeeper here, well she’s always down on me
like a ton of bricks, she is. Nothing I do is ever right. It’s bad enough when
it’s a normal day what with her going on about me not polishing the grate
enough, or the legs of the kitchen table not gleaming even after I’ve scrubbed
them down with soap and soda for all I’m worth. Me hands are that red and raw
miss, what with scrubbing the steps and the kitchen dresser and kitchen
cupboards and the floors. .And I’ve got all the washing up to do, including the
pots and pans, and what with this house party, Mrs Palmer’s got me preparing
all the vegetables too and working all hours to help her get the meals ready.
She’s said that everything’s got to be just right on account of the countess
and Lord Sneddon being here. Lady Belvedere’s awful fussy about her food, miss
and Mrs Palmer says how we aren’t to let her ladyship down, that Lady Withers,
miss. But I’ve got so much to do, I just don’t know where to start and I’m that
tired miss, I really am.’

Edna gulped and her eyes filled with tears again. Visibly moved by her
plight, Rose felt compelled to put her arm around her shoulders. ‘There, there,
I wish I could help in some way, but I’m not sure what I can do. What’s your
name?’

‘Edna, miss. There’s nothing you can do miss; I expect I’m just being
silly. My mother says that if I buckle down and work hard I can be a cook
myself someday, that’s my dream, like. Oh no, is that the time?’ Edna
exclaimed, suddenly catching sight of the time on Rose’s wristwatch. ‘I must go
or Mrs Palmer will have my guts for garters, she will. Thanks awfully, miss,
for putting up with all my moaning. I feel a whole lot better now, truly I do.
You won’t tell anyone, will you? I know I’m awful lucky to have this job
really, what with all those people out of work.’ And before Rose had even had a
chance to say goodbye, Edna had hitched up her skirt and was running full pelt
back to the kitchen and to Mrs Palmer’s sharp tongue.

Rose was dreading breakfast and having to see Lord Sneddon again.
However, it soon became apparent that the gentleman in question either had no
recollection of his conduct of the night before, or wished to act as if nothing
untoward had occurred. This suited Rose’s purpose, for she had now resolved to
say nothing of the incident to Lavinia and wanted instead to focus on enjoying
the weekend. So she helped herself with relish to bacon, eggs and devilled
kidneys from the silver chafing dishes on the sideboard, supplemented by coffee
and hot toast served by the footman.

Besides herself and Lord Sneddon, Lavinia, Cedric and Sir William were
the only other members of the household and guests present. Lady Withers, Lady
Belvedere and Edith, as married women, were enjoying the privilege of
breakfasting in bed. Once or twice Rose sneaked a glance at Sir William, but
although he seemed a little preoccupied, he did not appear unduly anxious or
worried. It was only when she was halfway through breakfast that Rose realised
Lord Belvedere was not there.

‘Father breakfasted earlier this morning,’ explained Cedric. ‘He was keen
to continue with his cataloguing of Uncle’s books. You’d think he’d get bored
of it, wouldn’t you. It’s a pity to be cooped up indoors on a day like this.
Speaking of which, Hugh and I were just discussing whether or not to play
croquet this morning. Do you play at all? It’s much more fun with four than two
and you’re always up for a game, aren’t you, Sis?’

Rose admitted rather sheepishly that she had never played croquet before
and wouldn’t know where to start.

‘Not to worry,’ said Cedric, reassuringly. ‘The rules are very straightforward.
You have a ball and a mallet and the aim of the game is to be the first to hit
the post having gone through a series of hoops. Of course you do try to croquet
your opponents to advance your progress around the course and send them back, but
I’ll explain all that once we get out there, as well as telling you what it is
to roquet someone.’       

It transpired that Sir William had some affairs of business to attend to
in his study and Lady Belvedere, Lady Withers and Edith all had letters to
write, so only the four young people made their way to the croquet lawn, which
Rose was relieved to find quite deserted. A wooden croquet set was produced
made by Jacques, which Cedric informed her was reputedly the oldest sports and
games manufacturer in the world, with a long-established reputation for
producing high quality croquet equipment and it was hardly surprising given
that they had invented the game, unveiling it to the world in 1851 at the Great
Exhibition, for which they had received a gold medal.  

Cedric explained to her that croquet was a game that encompassed the need
for tactics, strategy and skill in equal measure, although he himself, he
assured her, was rather lacking in all three categories.

‘You’ll have to watch out for Lavinia,’ he warned her, ‘she’s utterly
ruthless and totally devious, aren’t you, Sis? She’ll think nothing of
croqueting you, even though it’s your first time playing.’

‘Absolutely,’ agreed his sister, ‘it’s the only way to play if you want
to win. So I’m afraid I won’t be giving you any slack, Rose. What about you,
Hugh, how’s your game?’

‘Oh, I think I can give you a run for your money,’ Lord Sneddon replied,
confidently. ‘I’m quite a dab hand at this game, actually. I warn you, I’m
particularly good at croqueting, I can send a ball for miles.’

‘I’d like to see you try,’ giggled Lavinia and there ensued a hectic game
of croquet in which Lavinia and Hugh seemed to gallop up the course leaving
Cedric and Rose behind. Once she had mastered holding the mallet correctly and
getting a feel for how to strike the ball, Rose discovered that she was
actually quite good at getting the ball through the hoops and keeping to a
straight line. Cedric, she was sure, was deliberately not playing well in order
not to leave her trailing behind. Both Lavinia and Lord Sneddon, she noticed,
were quite reckless in the way they played the game, taking risks and trying to
croquet each other at every opportunity, sending the other’s ball charging down
to the other end of the course and off the lawn into the yew hedge. It was all
done very good-naturedly however, and for a couple of hours or so, all that
could be heard was the satisfying strike of wooden mallets on croquet balls and
the sounds of laughter.

In due course, Stafford appeared and advised them that the others
intended to join them on the lawn for an al fresco lunch. Rose assumed that
this meant that they would be eating a simple lunch of sandwiches, but various
servants appeared carrying out tables, chairs, hampers and wine coolers,
followed by Sir William, Lady Withers, the earl and the countess and Edith, the
latter looking pale and agitated. Every so often, Rose noticed, Sir William
turned his gaze on Edith and a worried look crossed his face, although it did
not seem to her the look of a man on tenter hooks waiting for his world to come
crashing down around him.  The earl and countess also appeared preoccupied
and, in the case of Lord Belvedere, fidgety; he got up several times and wandered
across the lawn idly picking up a croquet mallet and swinging it, or stopping
to engage in conversation with his children. Lady Withers was prattling away to
Edith, something along the lines that many people, including herself,
considered that putting the milk in first produced a better cup of tea, but
that Stafford was really too tiresome about it, and kept insisting that it
wasn’t done, which meant then, of course, that she as hostess was expected to
hand the milk-jug to each guest, which really did create such a lot of
additional, unnecessary work.

‘I wonder what on earth’s the matter with Aunt Connie,’ whispered Lavinia
to Rose, ’she really is talking a lot of old nonsense to Edith. Did you notice
that she did the same thing last night after dinner in the drawing room, before
the men joined us? Poor Edith, she must be bored witless. I wonder whether one
of us should go and rescue her.’

‘I’ll go,’ offered Rose, although she did not think that it was Edith who
needed rescuing. Lady Withers is just scared, she thought, of having her worst
fears realised. She thinks that if she keeps on talking, Edith won’t be able to
get a word in edgeways to tell her what’s been going on between her and Sir
William. There was definitely a tension in the air, now that they were all
present, which had not been there during their game of croquet. But was Edith
really the cause of it? Rose certainly did not find her the most frightening
woman there; that was Lady Belvedere, who sat a little apart from everyone
else, as ever watching, her eyes flicking between them all, resting for a few
moments on each by turn. Rose guessed that she was pleased to see the
relationship developing between her daughter and Lord Sneddon, less so Rose’s
developing friendship with her son. The countess’s eyes rested every now and
then on Edith, who on one occasion looked up and caught her eye. Rose found
herself recoiling in alarm, for the look that Edith gave Lady Belvedere was one
of pure hatred. A lesser woman would have paled and left the assembled group
feigning a headache. But Lady Belvedere stood firm. She answered the look with
one of her own. If Rose was not mistaken, the countess was issuing Edith with a
challenge; she was throwing down the gauntlet and calling her bluff.