The Murder at Sissingham Hall (26 page)

She laughed and clapped her hands.

I could not believe my ears. Rosamund had just admitted to murdering her husband, and now she was twisting her own confession round to fit me!

I suddenly remembered something, and shook my head.

‘It won’t work,’ I said. ‘You have already told the police that you heard Sir Neville’s voice through the study door. I told them I heard nothing.’

She waved her hand dismissively.

‘I’ve already thought of that. I shall tell them that I must have been mistaken, and that I was just repeating what you had told me he said. At the time I had no reason not to believe you, of course, but I started to get suspicious when you changed your story later on and said that you hadn’t heard anything at all.’

‘Well then, how am I supposed to have got back into the house after leaving through the French windows?’

‘Oh, I’m sure we’ll think of something. Perhaps you stayed outside all night and then sneaked back in early the next morning, as I had thought of doing. Or perhaps there’s a third key that we don’t know of. I’m sure something can be arranged.’

‘Don’t be absurd, Rosamund. Nothing is going to be arranged. I have no intention of confessing to the murder of Sir Neville. Why, the very idea is ridiculous!’

‘Angela knows, you know,’ she said, as though I had not spoken. ‘She came to me before lunch and said that Hugh was going to be released, and that it was time to put an end to this nonsense once and for all before anybody else got hurt, or arrested. She wanted to persuade me to confess. She said that they’d most likely be lenient with me but I don’t see how they could be, do you?’

‘Had she known it was you all along?’

‘No, I don’t think so. She had had her suspicions but was only convinced of it after I poisoned Gwen. She knew about the Veronal I got from Dr. Carter, you see.’

‘What did you say?’

‘Why, I denied everything, of course, and she had to go away in the end. I wanted time to think about what I should do next. I knew they wouldn’t arrest me even if they suspected I did it. You see, there’s still no
proof
of anything, and until they can find that then they can’t arrest anybody. I went to my room to try and think things out. It seemed to me that the best thing for everyone would be for the police to go away leaving the mystery unsolved. That would be unsatisfactory but at least we should all be free, and that was the most important thing.’

‘But then why did you come here to confess to me, Rosamund? As you say, the mystery would have most likely remained unsolved had you kept the secret to yourself.’

‘Because you wrote me that note,’ she said. ‘As soon as I read it I knew it was the answer to all my prayers. Why, it solves everything.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’

‘Don’t you remember what you wrote? Here, take a look.’

She handed me the note and I glanced at it, uncomprehending.

‘“
I write in the hope that you will forgive me for what I have done, although you could hardly be blamed for thinking it unforgiveable
”,’ she quoted. ‘Don’t you see? You have as good as confessed to killing Neville. At least, that is how the police will see it.’

I laughed incredulously.

‘Don’t be absurd! That’s not what I meant at all,’ I said, but a feeling of dread ran through me. Could it be true? Could my attempt to excuse myself for having made those clumsy advances earlier be interpreted as an admission of something far more serious?

‘It’s not absurd at all.
I
know what you meant, but it’s so beautifully vague that it could equally be taken as a confession by anyone else who read it. Oh, Charles, I can’t tell you how delighted I was when I read it!’

I stared at her, aghast, the memory of the words I had written only that morning still fresh in my mind. She was right. I thought I had been begging her pardon for one thing, but anybody reading the note who knew nothing of the matter could easily interpret it in quite a different fashion—as a confession to murder, in fact.

‘You seem to have forgotten one thing,’ I said. ‘I’m the one who wrote the letter, and can explain exactly what I meant by it.’

Then she smiled at me, and it was a terrible, beautiful smile.

‘Ah, yes,’ she said. ‘But you won’t be here to explain, will you? You must have realized that by now.’

I looked and saw that she had taken something out of her pocket, which she was examining with detached interest. It glinted in the afternoon light and was so small that at first I thought it must be a child’s toy.

‘It’s a beautiful little thing, isn’t it?’ she said, when she saw me looking at it. ‘Neville gave it to me a few years ago. I don’t know why on earth he thought I should need a gun. Still, you never know when these things might come in useful.’

‘Are—are you going to shoot me?’ I managed at last.

‘Of course I’m not going to shoot you!’ she replied, eyes wide. ‘You’re one of my oldest and dearest friends. How could I possibly do such a thing? But—’ she paused, as though searching for the right words. ‘It would make me so very, very happy if you would do me this great favour—the greatest of favours, in fact.’

She walked slowly towards me and gazed into my eyes. The sunlight beamed through the window, turning her red-gold hair to flame and casting light upon her faultless complexion. At that moment, as she stood there in front of me, she was more beautiful than I had ever seen her, and I caught my breath. She took my hand and spoke, and as she did so I seemed to hear a buzzing in my ears as her words wove a spell around me, mesmerizing, captivating me.

How could I live, she said, knowing that the woman I loved was unattainable, was loved and possessed by another? What a glorious thing it would be to lay down my life for her, and for my best friend whom I had loved since childhood! She had never meant to kill her husband—of course she had not. It had been a huge mistake, and one for which she would have to pay with her life one way or another, unless I were brave and generous enough to come to her rescue. In the past eight years I had proved how bold and resourceful I was by going to Africa and attaining success and fortune. But in that country my character was forever stained by the disgrace of my trial for murder—and why should I want to return there anyway? It was a parched, barren place, devoid of life or interest. Nor would it do me any good to settle in England, as I should forever be reminded of the woman I had lost, and be forced to bear the pitying glances of my friends, which would not be lost upon me however much they tried to hide them. No, much better to end it all now, in the knowledge that by doing so I should be leaving great happiness and relief behind me. Better, surely, to die and be remembered for great things than to live forever under a cloud of misery and suspicion?

I cannot describe fully the effect her words had upon me, or why I should have been influenced in such a manner, but in some mysterious way she had bewitched and befuddled me into accepting her words as true. At that moment I really believed her when she said that my life had no value except as a currency to be exchanged for her own. How could I have thought otherwise? How could I have thought that she would ever be mine? She was too far above me and destined for much greater things which only I could make possible. I drew myself up a little. My purpose was clear. I had been called to Sissingham to make the ultimate sacrifice and save the woman I loved from an awful fate.

I felt her press something into my hand with a caress and looked down to see that it was the little pistol. I stared at it as her words went on, casting their hypnotic spell. I could no longer hear what she was saying, but it did not matter as I was no longer my own master and I felt myself nod in assent. Immediately, I began to experience the oddest floating sensation; it was almost as though my mind had detached itself from my body and was observing the whole scene from above. From my new vantage point I saw Rosamund indicate that I should sit down at the desk. My corporeal self obeyed, a dazed expression on its face. She gestured encouragingly. Was I imagining things, or was there a glint of cruel triumph in her eye? My mind, freed from its shackles, wanted to cry out a warning to my body down below, but no sound emerged. I watched helplessly as my earthly self slowly lifted the gun to its temple and prepared to squeeze the trigger. For one eternal second there was a terrible silence and time seemed to stand still, then all was noise and confusion as someone knocked my wrist upwards and firmly removed the gun from my hand. There was a shriek and the room was suddenly full of people and voices shouting and I was myself once more, sitting rooted to the spot and unable to act as Rosamund, screaming loudly, struggled with Inspector Jameson and a constable while Angela Marchmont vainly tried to persuade her to remain calm.

I don’t remember what happened immediately after that, because all went dark.

TWENTY-ONE

I awoke to find myself in bed, with Dr. Carter standing by my bedside.

‘Ah, there you are!’ he said jovially. ‘That’s quite a turn you had.’ He grasped my wrist and took my pulse. ‘Yes, yes, you’ll do. A nip of brandy and some bed rest and you’ll be as right as rain.’

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘I couldn’t tell you,’ he replied, ‘but there’s been some kind of a to-do with the police, that I do know. Angela Marchmont sent for me and said somebody had been taken ill, so here I am. Here, take this.’

I took the glass he offered me but did not drink.

‘Where is everyone? Did you see Lady Strickland? Or Inspector Jameson?’

‘No, there was only Mrs. Marchmont here when I arrived. Have they made an arrest, then? Who was it? You won’t tell me, I see. No doubt I shall find out in due course. Well, I’d better be off. Bed until tomorrow. I shall know if you’ve disobeyed me.’

He went off with a cheery goodbye and I was left to stare at the ceiling, dark thoughts my only companions, as the afternoon waned gradually into night. After a while I fell asleep.

I woke up the next morning feeling slightly better and half-wondering whether I had imagined the events of the day before. I got up and dressed, then descended the stairs warily, as I had no wish to be met by a crowd of people clamouring for information. The only person in the drawing-room was Angela, however. One look at her face was enough to tell me that I had not been imagining things.

‘Oh, Mr. Knox,’ she said. ‘I hope you are feeling better.’

Her eyes were pink-rimmed but her demeanour was otherwise as calm and self-possessed as ever.

‘I am, thank you. Where are the others?’

‘Joan thought it might be best if they all went out again. They will be back later.’

‘And Rosamund?’ I asked.

‘The police took her away,’ she replied quietly.

‘How—how was she?’

‘Oh, she was quite resigned once she had accepted that there was no way out of it. Still, I don’t suppose she will find prison very comfortable. I shall have to visit her as soon as they will let me.’

She might have been talking about a sick aunt who had been taken to hospital. She must have realized this herself, as she suddenly cried out uncharacteristically:

‘Oh, Mr. Knox—Charles, what on earth have I done? I feel entirely to blame for all this. I am the one who stirred this whole thing up. Had I left well alone, none of it would have happened!’

All at once, I finally saw, in all its enormity, what Rosamund had done and how she had made fools of us all in pursuit of her own selfish gratification. I felt a rush of anger, which quickly receded as I saw Angela’s anguished face.

‘Of course you are not to blame. You were not the only person to suspect that Sir Neville’s death was not an accident. Dr. Carter would have raised the alarm even if you had remained silent. If anyone should be blamed, it is I for my foolishness in believing every word Rosamund said and thus throwing obstacles in the way of the investigation. Throughout this whole thing one person after another has tried to tell me quite politely that I am an idiot, and now I find that they were right,’ I finished bitterly.

Angela gave a small smile at that.

‘Perhaps we should admit that we have both been idiots in one way or another,’ she said.

But I could not smile.

‘If I had only seen through Rosamund earlier, then perhaps at least one life could have been saved,’ I said.

‘Whose do you mean?’

‘Why, Mrs. MacMurray.’

‘Oh, Gwen, of course. Well, I suppose it can all come out now. You needn’t worry about her, Charles. She is going to be quite all right. She woke up yesterday and is rather unwell but out of danger. Hugh is with her.’

‘But I thought she had only a matter of hours to live.’

Angela looked apologetic.

‘That was not entirely true. As soon as I realized that it was probably attempted murder rather than suicide, I told the doctor and we agreed to pretend that she was much sicker than she actually was. We didn’t want the murderer making another attempt on her life, so we told everyone she was unconscious and that there was no hope of her waking again. But just to be on the safe side the doctor and Gwen’s maid took turns to watch over her.’

‘Of course! When she was found Rosamund wanted to stay with her while you went down to breakfast, but you refused to let her. Did you know then?’