Murder At Rudhall Manor (11 page)

She quickly stamped out the last thought. She needed to
focus on one thing at a time, and currently her aim was to search all the
servants' rooms.

Peter Sedley was a tangle that could be unravelled at a more
appropriate time.

Lucy paused mid crawl. She was on her way up to the attic to
rummage through the maids belongings, but the sight of Lord Adair in his room
arrested her.

She moved closer to the slight opening in the door and
inched her nose inside.

Lord Adair was resplendent in his dark evening attire. His
eyes were closed, hands folded, and he was standing on his left leg while the
other hovered in mid-air. And as she watched, he slowly switched legs, now
standing on his right leg.

She shook her head. The man was supposed to be
investigating. He was meant to catch the murderer and save her neck from the
noose. Instead, he was doing the most demented things, and come to think of it,
she had never seen him prowl, nose or sweat for clues.

"Hurry before the maids return from dinner," he
drawled without opening his eyes.

She stifled a gasp and stared hard at his eyelashes. They
were thick, casting feathery shadows on his cheeks and definitely resting
against his skin. Could the man see with closed eyes?

"Stop goggling," he urged, his eyeballs shifting
urgently behind tightly shut lids.

Lucy's nose quickly retreated from the room, and taking his
advice she sprinted up the stairs.

Half an hour later she stood glaring at the room in the
attic. She had poked and prodded the bricks in the wall, peeked under the
mattress, explored the insides of the chimney, tried to lift the wooden
floorboards, looked for an opening at the back of the cupboard, checked under
the dust laden rug and even inspected the bottom of the basin.

She had found a few coppers, a pair of Lady Sedley's lost
satin slippers, Elizabeth's missing rouge pot, a broken comb, old ribbons, and
for some odd reason Ian's favourite breeches and shoes.

She huffed in annoyance. Her long brown hair had long
escaped its pins, her face and hands were coated with soot, and in spite of it
being midwinter she was sweating.

Jabbing a tongue between the gap in her teeth she paused to
think.

 Jenny, who had normally dusted and swept Lord Sedley's
room and had deftly avoided his lusty kisses, was Lucy's main suspect. The
young buxom girl could have taken the key out while consenting to a kiss. She
had sharp eyes, quick fingers and was said to be ambitious.

Or it could be Susie who shared the room with Jenny. Though
not as pretty and a good deal more bitter, she too had reason to visit Lord
Sedley's room. She did the laundry and made up the beds.

Lucy squinted at the two neat little beds, the small
cupboard, and the two polished chairs by the low window hoping to scare the
jewels out from their hiding.

The jewels did not leap out in fright, and she gave up and
decided to go back to her room to meditate.

***

As soon as she entered her room, the two pups came rushing
towards her. They were wagging their tails so hard in delight that their entire
body seemed to shake from side to side. One even toppled over in excitement.

She offered them her feet to play with as her hands were
busy holding her head in despair.

The pups started worrying her ankles. She sighed and picked
them up.

"My ankles are mighty worried already," she told
them.

They wriggled in her grip trying to stuff their tongues up
her nose.

"Now listen here you … dogs? Pups? Creatures?"
Lucy cuddled them closer. "Peter should give you names."

The pups gave a short bark of agreement.

"Where was I?" she mused, scratching behind a
pup's ear. "Ah, yes, I was wondering who stole the jewels. Do you know, I
don't think the maids did it or for that matter any of the servants. Why would
a servant stab the old man, steal the jewels and then continue to stagger around
the manor waiting to be caught and hung? If it were me, I would have stolen the
jewels, hopped into Lord Adair's balloon and taken off to a faraway land."

Here Lucy's eyes glazed, her mouth dropped open, and a bit
of drool escaped the corner of her mouth as she daydreamed about holding
sparkling diamonds, rubies and pearls in her hand while she floated away from
Rudhall Manor on a travelling balloon.

The clouds floated by, the wind stroked her hair and her
beautiful crimson gown flowed around her. The handsome face of Lord Adair
appeared in front of her, his long lashes fluttering, his dark eyes inviting.
Behind him rose two giant wings made up of multiple layers of soft white
feathers that shimmered in the sunlight. He beat the wings and smiled at her
before pulling out a four foot needle and piercing the balloon—

"Oof." She snapped back to the present. A pup had
playfully bitten her finger a little too hard.

She nudged the animals off her lap and stood up and
stretched. Once again she turned to the pups and asked, "Why would any of
the servants stay after stealing the jewels? Unless they were to gain something
further by staying here … For instance, the ingratiating butler. Hodgson knew
Lord Sedley's habits well. He has been at Rudhall the longest, and if any secret
passages lead in and out of Lord Sedley's room, then he would know it."
She thoughtfully tapped a cheek with her finger. "What if Hodgson has
stolen the jewels and is waiting to take the money left to him in the will
before he bolts?"

The pups wagged their tails encouragingly.

Lucy started pacing the room, her mind leapfrogging from one
thought to another. The cook Mary and her helper Rose rarely ventured out of
the kitchen, while Sam came in the morning for odd jobs and left by evening.
The cook had mentioned that Sam had spent the day of the murder chopping wood
and had only come in for a cup of tea in the afternoon.

She sucked on her bottom lip and imagined all the servants
standing in a line dressed like pirates. They all had a wooden leg, an eye patch
and wore nasty sneers.

Which one, she wondered, looked the most evil?

She growled low in her throat. They all looked like blasted
crooks. Each one of them looked like a high class, professional criminal. Every
one of them was capable of offing not only Lord Sedley but a whole bunch of
rich old men.

She gasped.

What if they were all in it together? It could be a plot
masterminded over the years to do away with the lusty old aristocrat. The valet
would marry Lady Sedley and after that it was only a matter of time before the
rest of the family was killed. First, Elizabeth would be pushed off a cliff.
Then, Ian shot in his empty head. And as for poor dear Peter…

Oh, Peter, Lucy silently wailed, the worst would be planned
for you. One day, the evil servants would casually mention the circus—the
circus that had recently staggered into Blackwell village.

The very same circus that had a beautiful performing lion.

They would tell you tales off how unhappy this poor lion
was. They would convince you of its miserable, starved plight and then you
would cave in and buy the creature.

You would buy the lion, Peter, and then the lion would eat
you up. It would eat you, Peter, bones and all. It would polish you off for
breakfast, and since you are so slight … it wouldn’t even belch. Oh, no, it
wouldn’t even belch ….

The pups whined as if reading her violent thoughts.

Lucy started and blinked back to the present.

She frowned. She was wasting time by aimlessly pacing around
and concocting impossible theories. Besides, the musty closed room was dulling
her senses.

With a sound of frustration, she flung open her room door.

Nothing would be gained by aimless thinking she muttered to
herself as she charged down the hallway.

She had to act she grumbled to the painting of a sheep wearing
a white wig. The sheep, it seemed, gave an almost imperceptible nod in
response.

She gasped and peered at the painting a little harder. After
a moment of staring at the sheep's eyelashes to see if they moved, she gave up
and decided to head towards the butler's room.

If the man had stolen the jewels, then she would find them.
She would inspect every little hole, every crack and every single aberration ….

She found the butler's room empty of human and ghostly
presence. Pleased, she plunged straight into the task at hand. She started
inspecting all the holes and the cracks and the aberrations, and it all seemed
to be going rather well until the butler decided to stroll in sooner than
expected.

He caught her sitting on top of his cupboard scratching at
the chipped moulding on the wall with a knitting needle.

He silently pointed to her and then the floor.

Lucy dropped the knitting needle and climbed down from the
cupboard with the help of chair that she had balanced on top of a table.

"I saw a spider," she said, her eyes wide and
innocent. "I was trying to squish him for you."

He crossed his arms and eyed her grimly.

"Truly," she tried again, this time adding a few
helpless blinks.

He glanced at the open cupboard, the upturned vase lying on
the bed and the letters scattered on the floor. His lips curled into a
disbelieving snarl.

"It was a big spider," she offered half-heartedly.
"Massive, in fact. Lots of legs. Ran all over the room."

He jerked his head towards the door, and she meekly
departed.

Once outside, her shoulders drooped and she miserably
shuffled down the corridor towards her room. This was a terrible turn of
events. She had angered her only living ally.

As she passed by the kitchen, her slipper dislodged from her
foot scattering her thoughts and bringing her to an abrupt halt. She turned to
find Lord Adair holding it out for her.

"What are you doing in this part of the house, my
lord?" she asked as she hopped on one foot trying to shove the slipper
back in the other.

"I think it's time I learned how to cook."

"Cook? You should be finding the culprit," she
exclaimed.

He leaned against the wall watching her in amusement.
"Miss Trotter, you seem to be digging a very large hole for yourself. It
is impressive really."

She gave up on the shoe and shoved it in her pocket.
"What do you mean?"

"You have convinced the family that you are guilty, and
now it seems even downstairs your reputation has dropped off a cliff."

She threw a surly look at him and turned to leave.

His hand shot out and caught her arm. He flipped her back
around to face him. His voice was low and earnest when he said, "Stop this
foolishness, Miss Trotter—"

"I have no reason to trust you," she said
breathlessly. "You are Ian's friend, and you admitted you owe him your
life. What if he killed his father? Would you save his neck or mine?"

She did not wait for him to reply but wrenching free from
his grip hobbled away as fast as her singularly clad foot could take her.

Lord Adair had been correct in his assumption that Lucy's
reputation downstairs had dropped off a cliff, and a very high cliff at that.

Immediately upon her entry into the kitchen eyes narrowed,
lips twisted, cheeks flushed, and yet not a single servant looked at her
directly. They either examined the roof or the floor or focused their entire
concentration on the objects closest at hand.

She had never seen the cook so engrossed in an empty stew
pot before, and as for the butler, why, he was glaring at the spoon as if it
was his arch enemy.

The servants had decided to give her the cut sublime and the
cut infernal all at the same time, and it came as no surprise to her that her
request for breakfast was ignored.

But Lucy had grown up in an orphanage and growing up in an
orphanage was as good as growing up in the middle of a desert. You learned to
see the brighter side of life, to turn a bad thing on its head, and no matter
how sparse the basic necessities you learned to make the best of it.

Therefore, like a desert nomad, she hardened herself against
the arid looks, sharp frowns and the pooh-poohs and went where the oasis lay.

The servants were ignoring her and the family continued to
look through her. Hence, it only stood to reason that when Lucy piled her plate
with a generous slice of juicy ham, hot rolls and a slab of pound cake they
would continue to ignore her presence.

The moist cake on Lucy's plate made the cook's face perform
acrobatics, Rose looked like a kettle about to whistle, and as for poor Susie,
why, the dear girl seemed about to weep at the sight of the large slice of ham
bobbing by her hungry nose.

Lucy halted near the door, turned back around and inspected
the faces in the kitchen.

The servants appeared to be out of sorts.

Lucy beamed at the sullen faces, held the plate close to her
chest and rocked back and forth on her feet. "I almost forgot the
tea," she remarked just as the cook placed a freshly brewed pot on a tray
meant for Lady Sedley.

Lucy placed her plate next to the teapot on the tray and
lifted the whole thing up.

The cook almost spluttered, and Susie's vexed fingers
twitched.

Lucy sent them all another sunny smile and with a merry tune
on her lips strolled out of the kitchen.

No one stopped her, though they did seem to be rethinking
their strategy as to how to handle the pesky governess in future.

Once alone, Lucy's shoulders slumped and the tray felt heavy
in her grip. She gloomily made her way towards the breakfast room.

At the door she paused. The family was eating breakfast
inside. She heard the ebb and flow of conversation, the clinking of glasses and
cutlery and unhappily turned around and made her way towards the library
instead.

She nudged the door open with her dejected hip.

No welcoming fire burned today.

She picked at her food sitting on the writing table placed
near the window. She stared out at the leafless trees and dried grass that
shimmered like a never ending golden carpet in the sunlight. She had never felt
so alone before, not even at the orphanage. At least there she had a few
friends and Miss Summer, but here—

A loud bang as someone slammed the door shut in the house
made her jump. Her moping temporarily put on hold she gulped down her fourth
and final cup of tea and stood up.

What she needed was to get away from the house, to gain a
fresh perspective, to see the problem from all angles and to rethink what she
had already thought of for the seventy-fifth time.

***

Lucy meandered towards the wooden bench that faced the
animal house and perched her bottom upon it.

She gloomily inspected the dark, turbulent sky. The grey
clouds seemed to be hurrying along as if late for an important engagement. The
sun was taking an afternoon nap somewhere out of sight.

The wind suddenly sharpened and attacked her hair and the
black pins holding up her bun slipped out in protest. She absently caught the
pins in her hand and pocketed them.

The wind continued to whizz about racing in and out of her
long hair. A strand of dark hair became so excited that it whipped her in the
eye.

She wiped her watering eyes and sniffed dolefully. Her own
dark locks wanted to beat her up.

After a few moments of splashing around in a pool of
self-pity, she had that feeling—that strange feeling that one gets when one is
being watched.

She rubbed the back of her prickling neck and ever so
slightly moved her head around.

She found Spooner, the blasted Egyptian bird, eyeing her
evilly.

She slowly turned her head back around. Surely things
couldn’t get worse than this?

Snowflakes settled on her nose mockingly.

It was one of those days where fate decided that you were a
baby bird that needed to be thrown out of the nest again and again to test how
long it took for the wings to work right.

Lucy knew how to handle such situations having experienced
plenty of them. She decided to chirp and move location. Accordingly, she
carefully stood up, well aware of the evil bird and with slow, cautious steps
walked towards the animal house.

She paused wondering where to go next. The snow had started
falling in earnest, and the bird had begun to hop from one foot to the other in
an increasingly spirited fashion.

She eyed the animal house debating what was worse—being
eaten alive by a Bengal tiger which may be living inside or freezing in the
snow and then being pecked to death by a large moody bird.

She decided to take her chances with the tiger. It somehow
seemed a less painful way of departing the earthly realm.

Tigers were large with sharp teeth and big jaws. A tiger
would take a moment to gulp her down. It wouldn't hurt for long before she was
blissfully dead, whereas if she lingered outside any longer, her limbs would
become numb with cold.

She would freeze like an icicle unable to move and the cruel
Egyptian bird would gleefully approach her and slowly start pecking at her
toes.

The bird would peck at her poor, tiny toes using its sharp
beak, and inch by inch it would move upwards leaving behind a trail of burning,
painful, bloody flesh …

With a quick shake of her head to dispel the image, Lucy
stepped into the animal house.

Her senses were immediately overwhelmed. She felt as if she
had left winter behind, skipped spring and walked straight into summer.

Coos, choos, chee chees and chirps filled the air.

It took her a few moments to adjust to the cacophony.
Thereafter, she was pulled towards a few giant cages filled with greenery.

She curiously peered at the strange plants inside the cage
and spotted a number of exotic birds with brilliantly coloured feathers darting
to and fro among leaves and branches.

She grasped the bars and watched the birds for a while. One
particular shiny blue bird with a sleepy looking head warmed her heart.

Delighted with her discovery, she quickly moved deeper into
the old orangery wondering what else she would find.

She could hear a fountain tinkling somewhere in the room.
She started making her way towards the source of the tinkling water stopping
now and then to inspect her immediate surroundings.

She spied mysterious baskets placed on top of high shelves
and gaped at carved statues of Roman and Greek gods that stood frozen amongst
unfamiliar plants.

Further down some pigs snorted a greeting at her, and her
nose wrinkled at the heavy animal scent lacing the air.

She soon found herself pulling at the edges of her collar.
It was warm inside. It was also wonderful. She regretted not visiting it
before.

She strolled from cage to cage, at times stopping to mimic
the animal sounds. She chirruped back at the birds, croaked at the toads and
chittered along with the squirrels.

The animals pranced, sang and whooped as if greeting an
esteemed guest. She felt special, like a jungle queen being welcomed home by
her relatives. Every furry face that she passed seemed to be smiling and
nodding at her. Even the birds seemed to be watching her with a happy twinkle
in their eyes.

She sighed with contentment and a feeling of tranquil peace
invaded her agitated soul.

The worries of the last few days melted away and a few
primitive emotions started awakening within her. It was as if her soul
remembered that she was no different from the animals.

In fact, her soul insisted that she was a wild creature.

Animals drank and slept and played and sang. They dined on
leaves, fruits and other creatures smaller than themselves … and so did she.
Had she not enjoyed chewing on a juicy chicken, the head of an artichoke or a
sprig of mint?

 And it wasn't long before she could no longer recall
what separated her from the birds, squirrels and toads.

She had become one with the animals.

Her oneness was so complete that when a large yellow snake
hissed at her through a hole in a wooden box, she hissed back.

It was truly a spiritual moment. She felt almost enlightened
at that point in her young life.

Soon she arrived at a cage where a beautiful peacock stood
with his wings spread. She dared to inch closer and closer to the cage, her
eyes locked on the brilliant colours in his wings that sparkled like a thousand
colourful jewels. Her nose inched through the bars.

The peacock charged.

She reeled back swiftly and hopped a good few feet away from
the cage, her hand grasping her brave little nose.

After that, her love for nature dimmed a little. She decided
to appreciate it from afar and not become a part of it.

With such philosophical thoughts plodding along in her mind,
she walked towards the pond and found tiny colourful fish whizzing about.

Further down, she found white mice, and still further balls
of pearly wool and old cloth stuffed in brown paper bags. She had almost walked
away from it when a soft mewing alerted her. The wool turned out to be adorable
little kittens, the sort she had only ever seen in watercolours before.

As her senses adjusted to the chaos she started noticing
signs of repair. The glass in the windows had been replaced in a few places
with planks of wood—perhaps to save tax— a beam was broken, statues chipped and
faded, and the shelves and the green leaves were covered with a layer of dirt
and dust.

She discovered a chicken coup right at the back. She smiled
at the sight of a few fat hens sitting in a neat little row.

The hens eyed her warily.

She wondered if they had laid any eggs. She made clucking
sounds hoping one of the birds would stand up and let her inspect.

The hens continued to sit tight and their wariness
increased.

She clucked at a higher pitch. The stubborn birds, she
thought annoyed, might as well be guarding precious stones the way they were
attached to the ground refusing to budge.

A cluck froze in her throat as her mind leaped from dot to
dot.

What if the thief had kept the jewels under the hens? The
hens were right at the back and concealed from view. No one came to the animal
house, and Peter was so absent minded that if he saw the jewels he would forget
about them the next moment.

She eyed the hens speculatively. Were the jewels under their
bellies? Were they warming their eggs along with gold nuggets and diamond
necklaces?

There was only one way to find out.

"Up, up, up," she coaxed them.

They cocked their heads to the left.

"Hurr-hurr, gack-gack, BOO!" she tried to scare
them.

They cocked their heads to the right.

"Phooey- phooey, cluck-cluck, chick- chick," she
said, trying to speak what she hoped was chicken language.

They squawked threateningly.

She scurried back a foot and scratched her head. She was
afraid of getting too close to the birds, let alone lift them off the eggs …
How did Peter teach his pets to behave?

At his one command she had seen the animals behave in the
most amazing ways. The pups knew how to roll over and sit quietly. Palmer ate
with a spoon and was almost human in his understanding whenever Peter spoke to
him. Even Spinoza left her bonnet alone if ordered by him.

She recalled Palmer mimicking Peter in the morning room
once. Peter would open a book and close it and the baboon would do the same.
Peter had clapped his hands and Palmer had copied him, though a touch more
enthusiastically.

What if she, too, showed the hens what she wanted them to
do? Would they understand?

Might as well take a stab at it, she thought, and fetched a
few smooth stones and placed them on the ground. She lifted her dress, squatted
over the stones and peered at the hens wondering if they were watching.

They were.

Lucy suddenly sprang up and leaped to the side triumphantly
revealing the stones.

The hens kept sitting, and if anything they now looked
sulky.

Lucy frowned and squatted over the stones again. "Now
look here, hens. I am sitting on my eggs. Cluck, cluck, cluck, and I am warming
them now. Mmm, nice and warm. Now I pull up my skirts, jump to the side and
voila! Here are the eggs … Come, now, your turn. Down we go, cluck cluck cluck
… Now, we are warming the eggs, warming the eggs," Here she whistled an
encouraging tune, "and then you spring aside and the eggs are
revealed!"

A gasp behind her made her freeze mid squat. She slowly
turned around to find Elizabeth, Peer, Lady Sedley, Ian and Lord Adair gaping
at her.

She let her skirts drop.

"We came to see the kittens," Peter mumbled.
"Did we … err … disturb you in your … err …." He closed his mouth
uncertain as to how to complete that sentence.

Lucy looked around wide eyed and then decided to scoot.
Nothing could explain what she had been trying to do.