Snobbery With Violence (17 page)

“Lord Hedley is saying that it is nothing but a theries of accidents. You were playing on the woof and fell off, Colette twipped and fell in, and Mary took too much arthenic,” lisped Maisie.

“Are the police here?”

Yes,” said Sarah, “asking questions and questions.”

“I thought they would have been to interview me,” said Rose.

“That local inspector from Creinton, he wanted to,” said Sarah, “but Hedley told him you weren’t fit.”

“I am not a child!” said Rose. “What is all this nonsense about me playing on the roof?”

“Well, you do do such odd things,” said Maisie. “Some of us think you are thweet on Captain Cathcart and you fell in so that he could wescue you.”

“What balderdash! Please leave me. My head is beginning to ache.”

When they had gone, Rose said, “No more visitors, Daisy, unless it is the police.”

Superintendent Kerridge arrived from London that evening and asked to see Harry after he had endured Lord Hedley’s tales of how innocent eveiything was.

This time, the detective superintendent had commandeered the marquess’s study.

Kerridge had received a report from Posh Cyril about Harry’s skill in solving the problems of the aristocracy.

“Sit down, Mr. Fix-It,” he said grimly. “Begin at the beginning and go on to the end.”

Harry talked steadily for half an hour, leaving nothing out. When he had finished, Kerridge said, “So you aren’t trying to help Lord Hedley hush this up?”

“I can’t,” said Harry. “There is a dangerous murderer loose in this castle. If he is not caught soon, there will be another murder.”

The door burst open and Lord Hedley strode in. “This is disgraceful!” he spluttered. “There’s a reporter and photographer
from the
Daily Mail
trying to gain access. Who told them?”

“Not anyone in Scotland Yard, I can assure you.”

“You can’t keep anything like this hushed up,” said Harry. “You’d better give them a statement.”

“Damned if I will.”

“They’ll talk to the villagers.”

“Anyone who speaks to the press will find himself without a roof over his head.”

“And that would make a good story,” said Harry wearily. “ ‘ Wicked Aristocrat in Castle of Death Punishes Innocent Villagers.’ “

“I am not talking to the gutter press, and that’s that!”

The marquess stormed out.

“To get back to business,” said Kerridge. “I have men dragging the moat.”

“For the maid’s suitcase?”

“Yes, I tliink it was probably thrown in after her. The preliminary examination seems to indicate she did not die from drowning but from a severe blow to the head. To speed things up this time, I have a squad of detectives interviewing the guests and the staff.”

“I think a policeman should be put on guard outside Lady Rose’s door. I don’t think our murderer will try anything with all of you in the castle, but I would like to be sure.”

Kerridge turned to Inspector Judd. “See to that, Judd.” He turned back to Harry. “I am told Lady Rose is too ill to be questioned.”

“I think you will find, on the contrary, that she is anxious to see you. There is a rumour circulating that she was so enamoured of me that she threw herself in the moat so that I would rescue her.”

“Only a cloth-head would believe that!”

“Oh, you’ll find plenty of those.”

Kerridge got to his feet. “I’ll see Lady Rose now.”

In Rose’s bedroom, Kerridge pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down. “I must say, you look remarkably well, considering your ordeal,” said Kerridge. Harry, who had insisted on accompanying him, sat on the other side of the bed.

Rose told her story and ended by saying, “I know you must think I am stupid not to have told anyone. I thought it might turn out to be one of the servants.”

“Have you any impression of the person who pushed you?” asked the superintendent. “Height?”

“No, it all happened so quickly. I was lucky. If I hadn’t been pushed so violently, I might not have dropped clear of the castle walls, and if Captain Cathcart hadn’t arrived to rescue me, I would have drowned.” She held up her small white hands. “Useless,” she said bitterly. “Utterly useless. I can’t swim. I can’t do anything. I am weary of dressing and undressing. That is all I am expected to do. Spend hours at the dressing-table preparing for the next lavish meal.”

“Now, my lady,” said Kerridge. “You have been very brave. It must be difficult for you.”

“I always feel as if I am outside of them all, surveying some elaborate play and I do not know my lines,” said Rose.

“I think Lady Rose really needs more rest,” said Harry anxiously. “I think she is suffering from delayed shock.”

“Sounded to me like a burst of intelligence,” said Kerridge. “men I think...”

“Yes, yes,” said Harry impatiently. “Long live the revolution. But Lady Rose really needs to recover.”

“You come with me,” said Kerridge to Daisy. “Won’t,” said Daisy. “I’m not leaving her!” “There’s a policeman on duty outside the door,” said Harry. “It’s all right, Daisy. The superintendent won’t keep you long.”

Kerridge led Daisy into the study. He began to ask questions but then just sat back and listened, enthralled, as Daisy told him everything that had happened since she had arrived at the castle with Rose—the hauntings, the ouija board, Margaret’s affair with Lord Hedley, her belief that Colette knew something, the journey to see Quinn—all the little bits and pieces neither Rose nor Harry had told the superintendent.

When she had finished, he said, “What amazes me, Miss Levine, is that there is no atmosphere of fear in the castle. No one, apart from yourself, Lady Rose, and Captain Cathcart, seems in the least concerned.”

“You’re right,” said Daisy. “Lady Sarah will faint given the opportunity, but it’s all an act.”

“But
why
aren’t they frightened?”

“Because they really think it will turn out to be a series of accidents. Because violent things only happen to the lower orders. The murderer must be feeling uneasy.”

“I hope so. Take good care of your mistress. She’s a brave girl.”

The Earl and Countess of Hadshire arrived the following day. Maisie Chatterton’s mother came, then the Petersons’ aunt, and so the arrivals continued. A harassed Lady Hedley was glad that it was only the girls who had summoned parents and relatives.

Servants were run ragged trying to find accommodation for the new guests and for their servants.

“We should never have let you come here,” said Rose’s mother, Lady Polly. “Most weird. I learn there has been no proper protocol with regard to the seating at the dining-table. And when that poor gel was found dead, not even a bit of half mourning.”

“Did you pay Hedley to invite me?” asked Rose.

“Pay? Why should we do that?”

“I learned that he had charged the girls’ parents—the ones that were failures at the last season—-for the invitation, promising to find them husbands. The men were charged for a chance at getting their hands on the Americans’ dowries.”

“We must leave at once!”

“We can’t,” said Rose. “The police are not letting anyone leave until everyone has been thoroughly questioned.”

“My maid tells me a story about the deaths is in the
Daily Mail
and that the village is crawling with reporters from other papers. The castle servants must be very disloyal. The
Mail
has printed the names of all the people here.”

“I am sure some of the castle servants have relatives in that run-down village,” Rose said, “and one of the villagers saw a way to make some much-needed money.”

“Shocking! And why didn’t Hedley do something about the housing of his tenants? There is republicanism afoot, not to mention Bolshevism, and bad landlords just play into their hands. Your father has had strong words with Hedley about it.”

“I am glad you are here, Ma, but I am not an invalid. I cannot stay in bed the whole time. I am going to rise and go down for luncheon.”

Lady Polly listened in horror as Rose gave instructions to
Daisy to find one of her divided skirts and a plain white blouse. “You must
dressl
“ wailed Lady Polly. “These are trying times. And what on earth is that disgraceful garment?”

“It’s a corselet.”

“Where is your long corset? A woman should be properly
boned”

Rose decided to he. “The doctor said my clothes should be as loose as possible.”

“Oh, in that case ... but not a blouse and skirt for luncheon. The tea-gown, Daisy. The pink one. No padding, Rose? You will look most odd. Still, I am sure they will excuse your appearance. Perhaps a little rouge, Daisy.”

“No rouge,” said Rose. “And Daisy, just brush my hair and tie it back with a ribbon. I am, just for once, not going to have the weight of those pads on my head.”

Luncheon was a fairly silent affair. The Petersons’ aunt, a Miss Fairfax, had been overheard to say loudly and forcefully that her nieces should never have been allowed to visit such a monstrous place and the men were hopeless and dilettante. She was a large, raw-boned woman with square hunting shoulders, a prominent nose and sharp grey eyes. Her voice had an American twang, which might have been pleasing to the ear had she not used her voice to condemn everything in sight. Hers was practically the only voice raised at the table, where everyone was now seated in correct order of precedence.

Rose was seated on the marquess’s left: and her mother on his right. At the other end of the table, her father was on the marchioness’s right and Lady Sarah Trenton’s father, Viscount Summertown, on her left. Harry was with the least-distinguished in the middle of the table. He had Maisie Chatterton on one side
and Mrs. Jerry Trumpington on his other.

At last, over the pudding, Margaret Bryce-Cuddlestone raised her voice. “Is there no end to
this?”

Everyone looked at her. Her voice was high and strained. “Questions, questions, questions,” she raged. ‘Tin sick of policemen. Lord Hedley, can’t you use your influence and get rid of them?”

“Fve tried,” he said heavily. “But now the press are baying for blood, there’s no way of removing Kerridge. I phoned the Prime Minister several times but his secretary keeps telling me he’s busy.”

Rose found her voice. “Don’t you think it would be better to help the police all we can? I mean, it looks as if the maid was killed and we don’t know about Mary Gore-Desmond.”

Inspector Judd appeared in the doorway. He whispered something to the butler, Curzon, who approached Lord Hedley and inclined his head, murmuring in a low voice.

“Tell Kerridge I’ll be with him shortly,” said the marquess. “This is all I needed.”

“What’s happened?” asked Lady Polly.

“The maid’s suitcase has been dredged up from the moat. Her belongings were all in it and it had been weighted down with bricks.”

Looking down the table, Rose saw that the enormity of the situation they were in had struck all the guests at once.

And Mrs. Fairfax made matters worse. “So someone here’s a murderer,” she said.

NINE

You may attempt the upper classes With your villainous demitasses, But Heaven will protect the working girl.

-EDGAR SMITH

Bertram-Brookes was the first to find his voice. “You cannot mean one of us, surely.”

“Who else?” demanded Mrs. Fairfax.

“My dear lady,” drawled Bertram, screwing his monocle into one eye and glaring at her through it, “it appears to have escaped your attention that we are surrounded by servants. The lower orders, Mrs. Fairfax. All prone to violence and nastiness.”

“Hear, I say,” mumbled Harry Trenton, rolling an anguished eye in the direction of the wooden-faced butler.

“Seems obvious to me,” said Mrs. Fairfax. “Servants seem regular enough. You lot don’t.”

“The weather really has turned cold,” said Lady Hedley, “but the autumn colours are quite beautiful.”

“Quite,” several voices agreed.

“It’s no use changing the subject,” said Mrs. Fairfax. “Someone kills Mary Gore-Desmond. Her maid knows who it is and ends up in the moat.”

“It wasn’t
her
maid,” said Frederica Sutherland, “it was Miss Bryce-Cuddlestone’s maid.”

“Oh, really? How interesting.” Mrs. Fairfax glared at Margaret. “Well, if you ask me, who else would want a maid hushed up but her mistress?”

There was a shocked silence. Margaret, her face white, fled the table.

Sir Gerald Burke, his eyes alight with malice, smiled at Mrs. Fairfax and said, “Amazing. Quite amazing.”

“What is?” she demanded.

“Americans are always being damned as vulgar and coarse. I never believed it before. After all, your nieces, ma’am, are a delight. But now, here you are, a prime example of everything that is coarse and unrefined.”

“Take that back, you whipper-snapper!”

Lady Hedley rose to her feet as a signal for the ladies to join her, seemingly ignoring the fact that the dessert had not yet been served.

To everyone’s relief, Mrs. Fairfax announced loudly that she was going to He down.

Once the ladies were gathered in the drawing-room, Mrs. Jerry Trumpington said, “Wouldn’t it be too marvellous to be like that? I mean, to say exactly what one is thinking?”

“Might start a lot of wars,” said Rose.

“May I remind you all,” said Lady Hedley, “that you are in a civilized household? No more ugly talk of murders, please.”

Mrs. Trumpington and Lady Polly went over to speak to her. The Peterson sisters approached Rose. “When do you think we can get out of this place?” asked Harriet.

“Soon, I hope,” said Rose. “But, oh, I wish we could find out what actually happened. Is your aunt usually so blunt?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” said Deborah. “She’s supposed to be
chaperoning us at our first season next year, but we’d better tell our parents that shell frighten off anyone who comes near us.”

“Do you think she was right about Margaret Bryce-Cuddlestone?” asked Harriet.

Rose said slowly, “I cannot imagine her doing anything so awful.”

“Maybe it
is
one of the servants,” said Deborah. “I mean, Mary Gore-Desmond’s death could have been accidental, Colette could have broken the heart of one of the servants who got mad and hit her on the head and then dumped her in the moat.”