The Murder at Sissingham Hall (3 page)

Sir Neville and I parted with cheery salutations on both sides; he to return to his Norfolk estate and I to my suite at the Ritz, where I had some letters to write. On my return, I found a telegram waiting for me. It read:

Hope Neville remembered to invite you Sissingham. Do come. Will not be the same without you. Strong silent Colonial simply essential to complete party.

I could not help but smile. However else she might have changed, it appeared that Rosamund was still as impulsive as ever.

Two days later, I happened to wander into a restaurant which was well-known among certain circles for its discretion and caught sight of Bobs dining with a rather striking-looking woman. They seemed to be having a private conference and I was just about to ask tactfully to be seated well away from them, in order to avoid causing embarrassment to all concerned, when Bobs caught my eye and beckoned me over.

‘Hallo, old chap,’ he said. ‘Come and join us. We were just talking about Sissingham. Have you met Mrs. Marchmont? Angela, this is my great friend Charles Knox. Angela is Rosamund’s cousin. She’s been living in America but now she has returned to England and is coming to Sissingham next weekend. Try not to let the fact that she dines with disreputable types such as I put you off, by the way. She is a woman of impeccable reputation and delightful company to boot.’

Mrs. Marchmont took this pleasantry with good humour.

‘How do you do, Mr. Knox,’ she said. ‘As Bobs says, I’m afraid you catch me at a disadvantage. Still, I suppose that is the way society is going these days and you know in the States we take these things much less seriously, which must be my excuse!’

She gave a wide smile and shook my hand as she spoke. I must say I rather took to her immediately. Tall, dark-haired and dressed elegantly but not ostentatiously in shimmering blues and greens, she appeared no more than thirty at first glance but a closer look revealed one or two lines about the eyes and the mouth that told a different tale. She was not precisely beautiful but there was a certain look in her eye that attracted and yet challenged. I had heard about Rosamund’s American cousin of course, and remembered vaguely that they had been close as children but had not seen each other since Mrs. Marchmont left England. The waiter drew up a chair for me and I sat down.

‘How long were you in America?’ I asked politely.

‘Oh, longer than I care to remember! Why, it must be fifteen years, now I think about it,’ she replied. ‘I went out there a year or two before the War. And yet, now I have returned, it seems only yesterday that I left.’

She told me about her delight in meeting Rosamund again, after so many years apart. As children they had been almost like sisters but circumstances had separated them and she was looking forward to getting reacquainted with her cousin, of whom she spoke with great fondness.

Mrs. Marchmont seemed to be on the most friendly terms with Bobs, which did not surprise me, as Bobs knew everyone. She had had many interesting experiences in America and made some intelligent observations about how things had changed in England since she left. In this respect, we had much in common, both of us having spent time away from our native land and seeing it for the first time in many years from the perspective of outsiders.

Mrs. Marchmont did not remain with us for long, as she had an engagement elsewhere. I escorted her to her car.

‘It has been very nice to meet you,’ she said, as the car drew up. ‘I look forward to continuing our conversation at Sissingham.’

I assured her that the feeling was mutual and watched for a moment as the motor pulled away. It struck me that Mrs. Marchmont was very different from her cousin. Then I returned to our table, where Bobs was just lighting up a cigar.

‘A fine woman, that,’ he remarked. I could not help but agree with him.

‘Rather inscrutable, too, perhaps,’ I said. ‘She appeared to me to be quite unlike the average woman who has an interest only in jewellery and fine dresses. You may think it odd but while we were talking, I had the strangest feeling that she held many secrets and could reveal a great many interesting things if she chose.’

‘Yes, she does strike one that way, doesn’t she?’

‘Is there a Mr. Marchmont? She didn’t mention him at all.’

‘Why, I couldn’t say. I believe there is, or was. A financier, or a captain of industry, or something like that, back in America.’

‘From what she said, it sounded as though she and Rosamund were as thick as thieves, once.’

‘Yes, that’s true—despite the age difference,’ Bobs said. ‘Angela is rather older than Rosamund, you know. I believe she has always been fiercely protective of Rosamund—especially after the trouble happened with old Hamilton. But Angela’s family weren’t exactly well-to-do either and she had to make her own way in the world, so they parted. She was a secretary to some Duke or other and then took a post with Bernstein, the financier. That’s how she ended up in America. Rosamund was still a child at that time and she stayed in England with her mother and grew up with very little money—but of course you know about all that.’

I did indeed. When my own father had been ruined, throughout all the misery and difficulties that ensued I had at least felt, for a short time, that Rosamund and I had something in common. But it soon became clear to me that I could not expect her to live in poverty with me. Despite her penniless childhood, Rosamund was not a person whom one associated with saving and scrimping. One could not imagine her cheerfully ordering the cheapest cuts from the butcher, or darning socks, or washing the plates on the maid’s day off. When one pictured Rosamund, it was in a grand, elegant, warm setting, surrounded by brightly burning lights and dressed in glittering array. No, the rough-and-ready life of South Africa, the struggle for existence, the uncertainty of the future—they were not for her.

‘Tell me about Sissingham,’ I said. Bobs waved his cigar vaguely.

‘Oh, it’s comfortable enough, I suppose. A bit on the small side but it has some jolly good shooting. Miles from anywhere, of course.’

I took the comment about the house’s size with a grain of salt, knowing well that Bobs judged all buildings against the standards of Bucklands.

‘Sylvia spends quite a bit of time there, doesn’t she?’ I asked.

‘Yes, she and Rosamund are great pals these days. In fact, we both go to Sissingham quite often. The Stricklands are fond of entertaining—at least, Rosamund is. Neville less so.’

‘What do you mean, less so?’

Bobs grinned.

‘Oh, he’d much prefer to sit by his fireside or work alone in his study every evening. He puts a brave face on it but Rosamund has the upper hand of him there. I mean, dash it, you can’t marry a good-looking woman like that and keep her all to yourself, can you?’

‘Do they spend a lot of time in town?’

‘Not as much as Rosamund would like. That’s why they have so many house parties, to keep her from getting bored.’

‘Do you know who is coming next weekend?’

‘I believe it is to be a smallish party. Apart from us and Angela, the only other guests will be the MacMurrays. I don’t think you know them. Hugh MacMurray is a cousin of Sir Neville.’

‘MacMurray…MacMurray. I don’t recall the name.’ I frowned, trying to remember.

‘No? Well, you’ll meet them soon. He’s a nice enough chap but I wouldn’t trust him with anything important. His wife is a rather interesting woman.’

‘In what way?’

Bobs smirked knowingly and lowered his voice to a confidential whisper.

‘She has come up in the world these days but I knew her slightly when I was going around with Lili. Just be sure not to believe anything she tells you about herself. I shan’t say any more.’ He gave an exaggerated wink.

I sat back in my seat.

‘Bobs, you really are the most frightful old gossip!’ I chided. ‘You are quite an old woman. I’m half-ashamed of myself for listening to such rot!’

Bobs disclaimed my epithet with a grin.

‘No harm in a little idle chatter. I’m sure you will find her a fascinating woman. She has a certain charm about her, in her own way. In fact, what with the MacMurrays and your seeing Rosamund for the first time since you left England, it promises to be a most interesting weekend.’

I thought this a rather malicious attitude and told him so with dignity. Deep down, however, I felt that he could be right.

THREE

It was a chill, crisp autumn afternoon when I stepped down from the slow train at the tiny station of Tivenham St. Mary and squinted into the fast-sinking sun. Sir Neville had said that somebody would be there to meet me but the place seemed deserted. I picked up my bags, waving away the porter, and came out of the station. Nobody was about but as I drank in the clear evening air after the choking fumes of London, I heard an engine in the distance and, turning, saw a motor-car approaching down the road. It pulled up alongside me and an inquiring face in horn-rimmed spectacles peered out.

‘Hallo. You must be Mr. Knox,’ it said.

I assented. The inquiring face alighted from the car. It was attached to a slightly-built young man with a self-effacing manner.

‘I am Simon Gale, Sir Neville’s secretary. He has sent me to collect you. I do hope you haven’t been waiting long, only I was running a little late, I’m afraid.’

‘Not at all. The train arrived only a few minutes ago,’ I said. ‘I have been enjoying the fresh air.’

‘Oh good,’ he said, relieved. ‘Are those your bags? Here, let me take them for you.’

He stowed them safely.

‘Hop in. It’s not too far, although it’s quicker if you walk over the fields,’ he said and moved off with a crashing of gears. ‘Have you been to Sissingham before?’

‘No, never,’ I replied. ‘But I understand it is a beautiful place.’

‘Yes, it is—a delightful old house. It is surrounded by very fine countryside, too.’

‘Have you been there long?’

‘About a year and a half. I count myself very fortunate to have found this post. Sir Neville has been very kind to me. Of course, he has his humours, like anyone but—’ he stopped abruptly and reddened, perhaps fearing that he had said too much, ‘but I have never been happier than since I took up this post at Sissingham.’

‘A glowing testimony indeed!’ I said, wondering what he meant by ‘humours’.

We trundled along the country road, with Gale pointing out noteworthy landmarks here and there. It certainly seemed a remote enough district: there was hardly a building to be seen for miles around. If one wanted to cut oneself off thoroughly from the rest of the world, then this was surely the place to do it.

As I sat there, half in a day-dream, I was jolted awake by the sudden roar of an engine. I looked round and saw a familiar, dark-green motor-car looming up behind. Although the road was too narrow by far, it moved out to pass us.

‘Good God! What’s that?’ cried Gale, as he swerved violently to the left to avoid a nasty scrape. As luck would have it, the road widened slightly at that point and we narrowly avoided ending up in the ditch. The green Lagonda shot off into the distance with a roar.

‘If I am not mistaken,
that
is Mr. Buckley and his sister,’ I said breathlessly, resolving to give Bobs a piece of my mind later.

‘Oh, dear me! Oh, dear me!’ said Gale. He was slumped over the wheel and looked quite white and shaken.

‘Come now, man, it’s only Bobs,’ I said, in an attempt to cheer him up. ‘You ought to count yourself lucky that you are in this car, not that one. If you were in Bobs’s car, you would really have reason to worry. He is a menace to the countryside.’ I meant it jokingly but Gale was shaking his head, trembling.

‘I’m sorry, Mr. Knox but I have not been well, not been well at all,’ he repeated wanly. ‘My nerves, you know. I’m afraid sudden loud noises quite startle me.’

This seemed to me something of an understatement but I could understand now why a post in such a quiet, faraway spot should have appealed to him.

‘Well, they’ve passed now,’ I said. ‘Let’s get on. Are you all right?’

‘Yes, yes thank you. I feel much better now,’ he replied and indeed the colour was slowly starting to return to his cheeks. ‘I’m sorry I reacted so badly but I’m afraid that since my illness I am quite unable to stand any degree of noise and much prefer peace and quiet.’

‘Oh quite, quite,’ I said breezily, in an attempt to gloss over the uncomfortable moment. ‘And you have picked a perfect spot for it.’

We set off again and reached the gates of the park without further mishap. Sissingham Hall was set in the very centre of the park, with views in all directions. The building itself was a mish-mash of styles. The original building dated back to Elizabethan times, Gale told me, but very little of it was left, as successive owners had knocked down some parts and added others. Overall, the result was not unpleasing and the house seemed to blend in harmoniously with the landscape.

We drew sedately up to the front entrance and got out. My heart was beginning to beat in my mouth and I steeled myself against the imminent first encounter with Rosamund. Instead, however, we were greeted at the door by a lumpish, sulky-looking girl I didn’t recognize, who was attempting to keep two skittish terriers under control.