Murder At Rudhall Manor (12 page)

She quickly walked past the group and overheard Elizabeth
mummer to Lord Adair, "I told you the girl was loony. She has to be the
murderer."

A nomad in a desert would not have moped around and wasted
tears in a land that is parched. No, a true nomad would have continued to
wander in blazing heat with hot sand under blistering feet searching and
occasionally ripping apart cacti for a drink, hopping over poisonous lizards,
snakes and other gruesome stuff.

Lucy was once again that hardened nomad. She wouldn’t give
up. No, sir, she was going to shuffle through the sand, bake in the blazing sun
and continue onward to safety.

Hence, twenty minutes after the chicken fiasco she bounced
back up and snuck into the upstairs study, the same room where the jewels had
been hidden in the priest hole.

She entered the room and swiftly cast a look around. It
looked the same as usual. The large desk sat looking bored in one corner, the
leather covered books lining the tall shelves were busy gathering dust, and the
long green sofa contemplatively peered out of the window.

She wilted. All she could see for miles was never ending
sand and not a drop of water.

The trouble was that she didn't know where to begin. All her
efforts until now had been not just hopeless but also disastrous.

A magazine partially jutting out of the bookshelf caught her
eye.

She walked over and read the black scrawl on the binding. It
was titled
The Anti-Jacobin Review
. She pulled it out and immediately
spotted the priest hole hidden behind it.

She took out a few more books in order to see the priest
hole better. It was a hollowed out space carved inside the stone wall and
concealed behind a number of dull tomes. It would have comfortably hid a three
foot, four inch priest and no more.

The metal safe which should have been in the priest hole was
missing.

She wasn't surprised. Lord Adair must have advised the
family to move the safe to a more secret location.

She stuck her hand inside the priest hole and ran her
sensitive fingers along the sides looking for a missed clue or a hidden catch.

She wondered as she searched if anyone had ever needed to
squish themselves into such a small space, and if they had, then how long had
it taken them to straighten out their limbs after coming back out into the
world.

It wasn't long before she realised that the blasted hole was
empty with nary a clue nor a catch.

Her bottom lip started trembling, and she bit it hard to
make it behave.

She carefully replaced the books making sure that
The
Anti-Jacobin Review
was jutting out in the exact same way as it had done
before. Thereafter, she squared her shoulders like a sergeant major and went
and sat at Lord Sedley's large desk—not the live Lord Sedley but the dead
one—who was probably dining somewhere in hell at the moment.

She frowned as a vision of the late Lord Sedley sitting on
red velvet chair rose up unbidden in her mind's eye. She imagined him bouncing
in his seat, clapping his hands together as he tried to kill mosquitoes and
flies. Surely hell had plenty of insects considering how warm it was ….

She leaned back in her seat and rolled a quill between her
palms. A vague idea was forming at the back of her head. An idea not related to
Lord Sedley chasing after lady demons—if there were such things—but the idea
that she should glue herself to Elizabeth for a while.

If Peter and Lady Sedley were innocent, then her biggest
suspect immediately became Elizabeth.

Ian could have done it, but to finish off the deed with such
finesse was beyond his abilities. Not that she was in any hurry to cross the
blasted man off the list, but for the moment, she wanted to focus on his
sister.

The door creaked as someone pushed it open, and Lucy
immediately slipped under the desk.

It was as if Lucy had used the power of her mind to yank the
person she needed to shadow closer to herself, for right then Elizabeth
sashayed into the room.

Lucy nervously clutched her skirts and peeked from the side
of the solid rosewood desk. The legs of the desk, she noted, were beautifully
carved but dusty. Stifling a sneeze, her pupils tracked Elizabeth around the
room.

Elizabeth's swayed over to the books.

Lucy, who could only see Elizabeth's narrow back draped in
black satin, decided that the hard shoulders were drooping thoughtfully, the
fingertips were tracing the titles too quickly, and her head was tilting at an
angle as if carrying some heavy burden hidden inside the tightly wound up bun.

Elizabeth suddenly slapped the wooden case making Lucy jump
and turned away with a mew of frustration. She looked around distractedly and
froze when she caught sight of the large Venetian mirror hanging over the
fireplace. It seemed as if her reflection had arrested her and she moved closer
to the mirror.

Lucy watched Elizabeth's reflection as it squinted its dark
eyes and tilted its head. She thought Elizabeth looked beautiful, like a
perfectly carved ice sculpture clad in black silk and with a head full of
thick, dark golden hair.

 But Elizabeth, it seemed, did not like what she saw
reflected in the mirror, for she further narrowed her eyes and the corner of
her mouth turned down. A finger went up to rub an obnoxious freckle that had
dared to appear on her cheek. The freckle stayed put and after a moment she
gave up and let her hand fall. Next, she straightened her shoulders, smoothed
back her hair and smiled at herself.

Lucy's lips quirked along with the reflection.

Elizabeth's nose was now the point of interest. It seemed
she thought it was too large, for she sucked in a deep breath forcing her nose
to pinch in response. Keeping her nostrils squeezed together, she moved her
head from side to side inspecting her profile. Finally, she thrust her lips out
and pouted.

Apparently satisfied with what she saw she relaxed her face
and departed with quick, efficient steps.

Lucy emerged from behind the desk and walked over to the
door. She stuck her head out and looked up and down the corridor.

No one was around.

Pleased, she stuck her head back in and walked over to the
oval mirror.

The girl who looked back at her was nothing like Elizabeth.
Her hair was not smooth but pulled up in a messy bun. Long wavy tresses floated
about her heart shaped face, the large brown eyes were frightened and the lips
too full and rebellious.

Lucy took a deep breath and sucked in her nostrils just as
she had seen Elizabeth do. But her nostrils didn’t seem to stick together like
Elizabeth's had.

She tried harder, attempting to make her nose look slimmer.
She sucked, pouted and moved her head to see her profile.

It didn't work. Her nose remained tilted up and considerably
bigger than Elizabeth's delicate one.

She exhaled sharply annoyed at the foolishness that had
distracted her. A bit of snot escaped her nostrils and dangled dangerously near
her upper lip.

"Handkerchief?"

She squealed and whirled around in shock.

A hand was waving a white handkerchief at her from one end
of the olive green sofa that sat facing the window.

Mortified, Lucy quickly wiped her nose on her own grey
handkerchief and walked up to the couch.

An amused Lord Adair was lying full length on it. He held a
twinkling crystal glass filled with an amber liquid in one relaxed grip and an
open book lay upside down on his chest.

His position had hidden him from her view, but the room was
clearly reflected in the window pane making it clear that he had watched her
every move.

Lucy bobbed a curtsy. "I didn't see you, my lord."

He smiled and went back to reading his book.

She hesitated, her eyes on his splendid form decorating the
sofa. She hadn't spoken to a human being in hours and hours….

"What are you reading?" she asked tentatively.

"Poems by a misunderstood poet called Philbert
Woodbead," he said turning a page.

"I didn’t think you were the sort to enjoy
poetry."

"And I, Miss Trotter, thought that by now you would be
bobbing along in the river of self-pity," he said, his eyes not leaving
the book.

"Well, I am not," she replied forcefully. "In
fact, I am cheerful enough. Bright as a singing grasshopper."

"Remarkable," he said, letting the book fall back
on his muscular chest. "I have unravelled all the mysteries that this
manor could possibly hold, and yet I am confounded as to why you are not
beating your head on the cushion repeatedly and wailing like a banshee. You
don't appear to be loony …." He trailed off.

He had asked her this before, but today he was eyeing her
differently, not in a condescending or indulgent way but curiously as if he
truly wanted to know.

And since she had nothing better to do, she decided to tell
him.

"Close your eyes," she said as she moved around
the couch to face him.

He promptly did as he was told.

The sun was setting, and the red glow filtered through the
gap in the curtain to fall on his peaceful face. His hands were folded together
on his stomach and his ankles crossed.

"Imagine the world is dark and stars are glittering in
the sky," she said softly. A part of her wondered at his calm obedience.

He nodded slightly, his eyes still tightly shut.

"In the night sky," her voice trembled, "are
three stars standing together in a row. Those stars are the reason I don't cry,
my lord."

His eyes flew open and understanding laced his expression.

She continued speaking, perhaps because it was easier to
share the deepest part of your soul with a stranger. "They are my parents
and the sibling I never had. The stars, I mean. Miss Summer had told me when I
was young that my parent's died and became stars. She said that I was lucky …
because from now on they would cast their brilliant light on me. A light that
would keep me safe from demons and monsters, chase away my nightmares and let
nothing too harmful happen to me."

"You believed her?"

"I didn't at first, but over the years girls in the
orphanage dropped off like flies because of disease, want or despair. The
darkness evaded me. I remained sane and healthy and I learned to have faith.
Faith in those stars and that they were protecting me and will continue to
protect me forever."

He masked his expression, his lids falling to shield his
dark eyes.

"Everything will be all right," she said in a
small voice.

"I will make sure it is," he replied gently.

She looked at him then and for the first time in her life a
tiny, tiny seed of trust for a man wormed its way into her heart and buried in
deep.

He ignored her after that and picking up the book started
reading once again.

"I will make sure it is," Lucy mimicked Lord
Adair's words with a grimace. In the light of the day, they sounded hollow.

Mere platitudes.

And besides, how in the world was he supposed to help her if
he spent his time reading poetry, standing on one leg— and she had even caught
him dancing with the cook. What in the world was he doing romancing the kitchen
staff she couldn’t say.

What she could say was that the man was an utter loon and
undependable.

Which was why she had once again taken charge of her destiny
and decided to slither across the floor and enter Elizabeth's rooms to look for
the jewels.

The slithering went well. She entered the room without being
caught.

It was a largish room.

The walls were papered blue, patterned with pretty little white
flowers, the pillows and cushions were sapphire hued, while the carpet was a
sort of dull grey blue.

 It was a becoming colour for a carpet. A more
brilliantly coloured carpet like the cushions wouldn’t have looked right and,
in turn, cushions the colour of the carpet would have been too dull.

As for the ceiling, it was a light azure mimicking a
cloudless sky.

Even the vase on the side table and the giant mirror above
the dressing table were copper tinged with blue.

 In short, it was all very blue.

And it all flowed along very nicely with Lucy's blue
thoughts. Pleased, she slipped into the room like a freshly oiled latch.

The room was devoid of any living occupants.

She moved further into the room.

Her heart gave a sudden hop of fear.

The room was devoid of living occupants, but was it, she
wondered, empty of the dead?

Her reason for being suspicious was the tall wooden door on
her right. This tall wooden door had a gap at the bottom and through that gap a
haze of mist was seeping out.

Was this mist Aunt Sedley?

Lucy opened her mouth to ask and then closed it again. What
if it wasn’t aunt Sedley? What if it was some other ghost?

At that moment, she realised something critical …

Ghosts were like dogs.

She expanded on that thought. If you knew the dog, then you
wouldn’t be frightened, but if you didn’t know the dog, then it was best to be
wary. Which was why she decided to be wary of this new ghostly mist.

Another frightening thought slammed into her ribs as the
scent of charred paper meandered over to her nose.

What if it wasn't a ghost at all—her heart started beating
rapidly—but smoke bellowing out of from below the closet door?

"Fire!" Lucy let out a war cry.

In the midst of a life threatening situation, great men have
been known to balk, but not Lucy. No, she was proud of how steady her fingers
were and how clearly her mind was functioning.

Swiftly she scanned the contents in the room and spotted the
ewer by the window filled with icy water.

She tilted her body at a sixty degree angle and launched
herself across the room.

She landed safely and grabbed the ewer with firm, brave
hands.

A deep breath later, she flew back towards the closet,
wrenched open the door and flung the water inside.

When the frightened haze disappeared from her vision, she
spotted an even more terrifying sight…

A dripping Elizabeth was sitting on a red velvet stool near
a dressing table with a drenched book in one hand and a drooping cigar in the
other.

"You were smoking," Lucy stammered in horror.
"I thought … fire … Goodbye."

***

That last incident had admittedly shaken Lucy. Every single
strand of hair on her head quivered whenever she thought of the red eyed,
soaking Elizabeth.

It was bound to happen. The hope in her heart had to at some
point duck its head back into its shell like a frightened turtle. Hence, she
crept around the manor for the rest of the day avoiding all human contact.

Night time, however, was a different story. The house was
asleep, her three favourite courage inducing stars were shinning and the fat
moon was dangling in the sky.

The trouble was that it was dark and, unfortunately, she was
not an owl or a firefly or a fruit eating bat. She needed a candle if she
wanted to continue hunting for the jewels.

She nervously sucked on a dry tongue. She didn’t mind
lighting a candle and letting it sit on a table far from her ignitable self,
but to actually hold one for an extended period?

Her hand started trembling. What if she tripped and the
candle slipped from her fingers, rolled across the floor and reached the
curtains, all before she had picked herself up.

She could potentially set the house ablaze.

She didn't want Lord Adair to go up in flames simply because
she had tripped. He was too handsome. It would be sheer injustice if a man like
him departed this world without first producing beautiful children.

But she couldn’t very well flounder around in the dark
either, hoping her small paws would miraculously land on a bag of jewels.

The pugs barked for attention. In spite of the trouble they
had got her into with Lady Sedley, she had once again sneaked them up the
stairs for a cuddle. They were irresistible.

"Do you think I can hold on to a candle for one night?
Or perhaps two?" she asked the animals.

They licked her face.

She grimaced. "Comforting to see you have complete
confidence in me."

Another lick had her giggling.

"Ugh, you smell rotten. Fine, I shall take the plunge.
Dip my toes in frigid waters, charge towards the fight and slay the enemy. I
shall survive the holding of the candle," she promised them.

"Scared of a candle?" Aunt Sedley asked sailing
into the room.

The room immediately turned cold. The pillows started
inflating and deflating, while the quilt raced about all over the bed.

The pups hid under Lucy's skirts. She stroked their heads
comfortingly. "You have left your hair undone," she commented.

"Mr Brown prefers it this way," Aunt Sedley
replied shyly.

"Ah."

"I glow in the dark," Aunt Sedley said after a
moment. She was floating on her back, her hands moving as if she was swimming
in mid-air.

"Hmm," Lucy replied. She detached herself from the
pugs who had latched onto her skirts with their teeth and went to look for the
tinder box.

"I could light your path. You wouldn't need a
candle."

Lucy jerked her head in the spirit's direction almost
hurting the muscles in her neck. "Would you truly do that for me?"

"I would, but I can't. I am going with Mr Brown for a
celebration."

Lucy went back to hunting for the box. "What are you
celebrating?"

"His sister just died. It is her funeral."

"Oh, I am so sorry."

"Don't be. It is a happy occasion. He is very fond of
his sister and now he will have her back in his … dead."

"In his dead?"

"I was going to say life, but changed it to dead
because …." Aunt Sedley trailed off.

Lucy cleared her throat, "Yes, well … Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"And the hairdo looks lovely on you."

The ghost simpered.

Lucy continued, "I have nothing important to
report."

"Eh?"

"About the murder."

"Oh, yes … Well, I will be back and you can tell me all
about it," Aunt Sedley said distractedly. Her limbs were already fading.

"Goodbye," Lucy curtseyed.

Aunt Sedley waggled her fingers in response. Her voice
echoed around the room, "I will be back. I promise next time I will try
and help you, Miss Trotter. I will be your firefly… firefly … firefly…."

"No, she won’t," Lucy muttered to the pups.
"Lazy lump of—"

"I heard that," Aunt Sedley's faraway voice
growled.

"I am sorry," Lucy yelled back.

The ding dong of a grandfather clock was all she got in
reply.

***

Around two in the morning, Lucy's part frightened part
hopeful ear emerged from her room and weaved its way around the manor. The
candle periodically trembled in her grasp, and the hot wax dripped onto the
back of her hand making her jump and stifle a squeal.

The ear attached itself to various doors on its way to
Elizabeth's room, straining to hear a single sound. The ear was disappointed
until it plastered itself against Lady Sedley's gleaming oak door.

A hint of sound, a shuffle … Was someone speaking?

Lucy moved her nervous toes closer to the door, her ear now
completely flattened against the wood.

Someone was speaking. If only she could hear the words …
Shifting even closer, she brought her palms up to cup her ear.

Did someone say governess?

Her body tilted leaning heavily against the door; the door
that belonged to Lady Sedley's room, the door that had not been locked, the
door that could not, even it wanted to, hold an entire human body resting
against itself.

It had to happen and nothing in the world could have stopped
it. No physics, no magical light from the stars, no quick thinking acrobatics
could have stopped Lucy from tumbling into the room at that point.

From beneath naughty sheets the valet and Lady Sedley eyed
her sprawled form in disgust.

Lucy scrambled up and dusted her skirt. "Where am
I?" she asked after a tense moment.

Lady Sedley growled in warning.

"Egad." Lucy fluttered her lashes at the couple on
the bed. "I am in your room … How? … I don’t know what happened. I was
asleep on my bed … Did you bring me here?"

The valet raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

Lucy widened her eyes. "If you didn’t bring me here,
then … Oh, I must have walked in my sleep. I often do this sort of thing …
stroll around at night. It comes on like a fit, particularly on moonless
nights."

"If what you say is true, then I," Lady Sedley
snorted, "am a molting duck."

"Quack, quack?" Lucy queried.

Lady Sedley narrowed her eyes. "If I catch you lurking
upstairs, prowling in the night or eavesdropping ever again, then you, Miss
Lucy Anne Trotter, will be sleeping in the stables."

Lucy quietly slinked away after that.

***

One would think that after so many violent disruptions and
tragic ends of complex plans, Lucy would give up. Anyone would have and anyone
should have for the sake of other people's health and safety, but consider
Lucy's position.

She was a suspect in a murder case. She was alone with not a
single soul to call her own. She had limited time within which she had to prove
her innocence and save her slim, pretty neck and admirable earlobes.

Those earlobes deserved to live.

And was being caught snooping, drenching a fellow human with
icy water or playing with the chickens worse than murder and theft? She had
already been charged with the worst, and these small hiccups where she tumbled
into other peoples' rooms were not important.

What was important was to keep her heart beating, her lungs
functioning and the livers and kidneys continuing to do what they were supposed
to be doing. She couldn't stop hunting for clues.

That would be foolish.

She would keep trying until she found the jewels and the
murderer or she was packed off to Bedlam.

Feeling better after this short discussion in her head, Lucy
meandered towards the upstairs study. She wanted to recreate how a thief could
have stolen the jewels.

Perhaps he had left some clues that had been missed by
others near the crime scene.

It is said that when faced with bad luck once, become a
hedgehog. Retreat into your spiny shell and do not emerge until misfortune
hobbles away with the moon.

And if it is not a saying, then it should be because if it
had been said, then Lucy would have heard it, and if she had heard it, then she
wouldn’t have tested her luck.

Lucy pushed open the door of the library and bad luck eyed
her like a fly rubbing its hands together in glee sitting atop a basket of
overripe fruit.

Ian was sitting at the desk trying his best to finish off
his late father's bottles of wine and whiskey.

He leered at her. "Come to keep me company, eh?"

"Mr Sedley. I am sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb
you," Lucy said inching back towards the door.

For a sozzled creature, Ian moved mighty quickly. He was
beside her in a flash. "Not at all. It is a delight to see you staggering
in here on such a cold night. An ant that has come sniffing for bits of
leftover dinner … me being the dinner."

"I am not hungry," Lucy protested, her feet ever
so slowly moving backwards.

"Have a nibble. You will find that you are
starving," he said catching her around the waist.

Lucy eyed his hairy chin, yellow teeth and sharp nose in
horror.

She inhaled sharply and was treated to a blast of sour
whisky fumes emanating from his mouth. She cursed and twisted in his grip.

He smirked.

She gripped his hair and tried to yank it with all her
might. His hair was oilier than usual. The greasy strands slipped right through
her fingers.

Lucy had a frightening thought. She was about to be ruined
forever.

"I told you I will back to help you," the ghost of
Aunt Sedley remarked irritably.

The temperature immediately plummeted and the room chilled
at the spirits arrival. The cushions gave a nervous twitch and the drapes
shivered.

Aunt Sedley crossed her arms and scowled at Lucy. "You
need to learn how to trust people. You hurt my feelings, and don't you dare
mention my lack of heart or the fact that I said people and not spirits or
spiritoo … I see, we are short on time. Ian getting frisky, is he? Watch his
finger! Now, this is what you must do …."

Sometime later, Elizabeth, Lord Adair and a sleepy Peter
raced into the library.

"What happened? I heard a scream," Elizabeth
asked, staring at Lucy.