The Murder at Sissingham Hall (7 page)

‘I thought girls didn’t care about that sort of thing nowadays.’

‘Of course we do! Why does one buy a new dress if not to be noticed?’

‘I’m afraid I have always been rather tongue-tied when it comes to saying the right things to women. Bobs was always better at it than I.’

‘Nonsense! Don’t tell me that all those years abroad have made you forget how to behave in the company of women. I have been watching you this evening and I simply don’t believe it.’

‘Oh, you have been watching me, have you? For what purpose?’

She blushed slightly.

‘I don’t mean watching you, exactly. Keeping an eye out, perhaps. I am a little concerned about you.’

‘What on earth for?’ I asked, surprised.

‘Well, you have been away for so long and things have changed in that time, in ways of which you might not be aware.’

‘I don’t think I quite understand you.’

‘It’s difficult to explain. How can I put it? I meant that while you have been away, the people you left behind have carried on with their lives and have done things and said things and thought things in your absence. And everything that a person does, or says, or thinks, causes that person to change—even if it’s just a little bit at a time. And then after many years, all those little changes can add up to a big change. So you see, now that you have returned, you could find that you are talking to someone, thinking that they are the same person as they were eight years ago, whereas in fact they are someone quite different.’

‘You mean you are worried that I will go blundering about and saying the wrong things to the wrong people?’ I was a little offended at the suggestion.

‘No, of course I didn’t mean anything like that. It’s just that you are terribly upright and honest and I should hate for you to return to England only to be disillusioned and leave again.’

‘What has my uprightness and honesty to do with anything?’

‘There! Now you are cross,’ said Sylvia. ‘I told you I should never make a diplomat’s wife. I try to say nice things to people but they always come out wrong.’

‘Don’t be silly. Of course I’m not cross,’ I said. ‘It is kind of you to be concerned about me but I can I assure you it’s quite unnecessary.’

‘What are you two talking about so confidentially behind the curtain there?’ demanded Rosamund from across the room. ‘Sylvia, would you be a darling and help make up a four?’

I held the curtain aside to let Sylvia pass into the room and join Rosamund, Hugh MacMurray and Simon Gale, who were preparing to play.

‘Come and shake a leg, Gwen,’ said Bobs, busy at the gramophone. ‘Just to show there are no hard feelings.’

‘What an extraordinary expression,’ said Gwen but stood up without apparent reluctance. As always, I felt a sense of wonder, tinged with a certain amount of envy, at Bobs’s ability to charm everyone he met. He had involved himself in some fairly outrageous escapades over the years—I, who had known him from childhood, knew that only too well and had often been called upon to extricate him from some scrape or other—but he never seemed to get into serious trouble over them. Instead, he would disarm the offended party with a rueful apology and a schoolboyish wrinkle of the nose and once forgiven, would often go on immediately to do something even more dreadful. Thinking back to some of his adventures in particular, I was certain that had I done some of the things Bobs had been guilty of, I would have been ostracized by everyone I knew.

Angela Marchmont was sitting alone, watching Bobs and Gwen indulgently. I moved over to join her.

‘I do hope you haven’t come to ask me to dance,’ she said. ‘I have already danced once with Bobs and he whirled me round so vigorously I feared bones would be broken—my own in particular!’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I think I should make a poor showing against Bobs anyhow. He is well-known around London for his energetic dancing. I understand he regularly receives bills from night-clubs for broken furniture.’

‘I can well believe it!’ she replied.

I was curious to know more about her relationship with Rosamund.

‘It must seem strange, having to become acquainted with your cousin all over again after all these years,’ I said.

‘It was at first, certainly. I am about ten years older than she is, you know and she was still quite a child when I left England, so when we met again in August it was rather odd, seeing her for the first time as an adult. However, we had written to each other often over the years, so it was not quite as difficult as one might expect.’

‘Did you find that she had changed at all? Her personality, I mean?’

‘In some respects, perhaps. We all change to a certain extent as we grow older—it is to be hoped for the better. In other respects, though, she was exactly the little girl I had left behind.’

‘The same wilfulness?’

‘That, certainly,’ laughed Angela.

‘What are you two laughing about over there?’ demanded Rosamund, looking up from her cards.

‘We were talking about you, darling,’ said Angela.

‘How lovely! I like people to talk about me—as long as they say nice things, of course. I hope you were telling each other how delightful I am.’

‘But of course,’ I said.

Rosamund turned back to the game and Angela and I resumed our conversation. After a few minutes, Joan Havelock, who had been reading alone in a far corner, yawned, closed her book with a snap and wandered over to join us.

‘How terribly tired I am!’ she said. ‘Mr. Knox, you will think I am dreadful for saying this but I find company exhausting, much as I enjoy it. I’m sure one uses up more energy in smiling than in frowning and one has to smile all the time when one has guests!’

‘That may be the case but it is certainly worth the effort,’ said Angela. ‘Firstly, it keeps your guests happy and secondly, you look so much prettier when you smile!’

‘You always know the right thing to say,’ said Joan affectionately. ‘I wish I did. I’m afraid I shall never be a grand society hostess like Rosamund, however.’

My mind went back to my earlier conversation with Rosamund. The uncomfortable truth was that Rosamund was not, after all, a grand society hostess. Here she was, buried in deepest Norfolk with an elderly husband and with only local dignitaries—and such of her friends who were prepared to make the journey—to entertain. She had said she was happy but could that really be true?

SIX

On going downstairs the next morning I found the other members of the house party sitting around the breakfast table in listless mood after the gaiety of the night before, a mood which I attributed partly to the rain pattering against the window. It seemed as though it had settled in solidly for the rest of the day and we spent the morning scattered about in various rooms of the house, each engaged in our own business. Sir Neville and Simon Gale went off to the study, while Mrs. Marchmont disappeared to write some letters and make a telephone-call. I soon recollected that I had one or two letters to write myself and returned to my room as soon as the maids had finished.

By lunch-time, however, the weather appeared to have cleared. It had stopped raining at least and there were signs that the clouds were thinning, and when I joined the others at the table I found that the mood had lifted somewhat. At luncheon, we learned that we were expecting a visitor in the shape of Sir Neville’s solicitor, Mr. Pomfrey. He was coming to look over some papers with Sir Neville but would be a guest that evening for dinner.

‘Changing the old last will and testament, Neville, is that it?’ said Bobs. ‘I say, the rest of you had better look out and be especially polite to him today, or you might find yourselves disinherited. Have any of you offended him lately?’

I glanced around but only one or two people laughed in response to this pleasantry. Gwen MacMurray in particular looked as though she did not find it at all amusing. Evidently the shaft had hit rather closer to home than Bobs had intended. Sir Neville coughed.

‘Mr. Pomfrey is an old family friend and often visits us here,’ he said. ‘In fact, I believe you have met him before, Bobs.’

‘Yes,’ said Rosamund. ‘He was here only a month or two ago. You must remember that weekend, Bobs.’

‘Oh yes, I remember him all right,’ said Bobs. ‘About five feet tall and one hundred and six years old. He looked as though he would blow away at the first gust of wind but when he shook my hand he nearly crushed all the bones in it. Gave me quite a shock, I can tell you.’

‘He is a bit of a dry old stick,’ agreed Joan. ‘But he’s all right. He has always been very kind to me. He knows an awful lot about gardening. I wanted to ask him about his roses.’

‘Well, he will be here at four, so you can ask him then,’ said Rosamund. The talk moved on to other subjects and it was only later that I realized that Sir Neville had not actually denied the accusation that he was planning to change his will. I supposed, however, that he had seen no need to reply to what was just another one of Bobs’s rather tasteless jokes.

By two o’clock, the weather had cleared completely and I took a turn in the garden with Joan Havelock and the two dogs, who raced off excitedly. Joan was in talkative mood.

‘I hope things aren’t too deadly dull for you here,’ she said. ‘It’s rather a small party, I’m afraid. Rosamund did invite some other friends of hers but they couldn’t come. And Neville is not himself. He has been more or less down in the dumps all week, I don’t know why. Of course, Bobs and Sylvia are always great fun. They come here very often, you know.’

I hastened to assure her that I was by no means bored.

‘Good. I am pleased,’ she said. ‘I know Rosamund was anxious that you should not find us too stuck in the mud out here. To tell the truth, she was rather cross that she couldn’t muster a larger party. I think she wanted to impress you.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course. It’s only natural, given what has passed between you. Didn’t you want to impress
her
?’

I thought shame-facedly of the smart new clothes I had carefully packed and the neat hair-cut I had had before setting off for Norfolk and was silent. I found some of Joan’s observations a little too uncomfortably accurate.

‘What do you think of the MacMurrays?’ was her next question.

I had no intention of telling her what I thought of the MacMurrays.

‘They seem very pleasant people,’ I replied.

Joan laughed.

‘Oh, you needn’t be tactful with me,’ she said. ‘I saw your face yesterday when Gwen got her hooks into you. You were a picture! But I quite agree with you,’ she went on, answering my unspoken rather than my spoken comment, ‘they are ghastly. Well, she is at any rate.’ She then told me a scandalous rumour about Mrs. MacMurray which I shall not reproduce here. I was shocked and was about to reply stiffly, when we were joined by Angela Marchmont, who appeared just then around the corner of the house.

‘Why, Mr. Knox,’ she said. ‘You look as though you had just had a fright!’

‘Oh, I was telling him that old story about Gwen. I think I must have shocked him.’

‘If it is the one I think you mean, Joan darling, I don’t think you are being quite fair to Gwen to be repeating such a tale, which is not very nice and is probably not true. Nor is it fair to Mr. Knox, who is entitled to judge people on their own merits and not on what you tell him.’

It was all said very calmly and pleasantly. Joan looked a little sheepish.

‘I suppose it isn’t really the thing to go around telling stories that might not be true but it was Bobs who told me and he swore it was,’ she said. ‘And really, she is so exasperating. I don’t know why we have to have them here so often. She always makes catty remarks about my figure and my clothes, all the while pretending to be as sweet as sugar. You know the kind of thing I mean: “You’d look simply marvellous in this dress, darling, if you just got rid of that little bit of extra weight on your hips and had better skin. It’s exactly your colour”.’

Despite my disapproval, I smiled at her accurate mimicking of Gwen MacMurray.

Mrs. Marchmont laughed and excused herself, as she had only been passing that way in order to fetch a scarf from the house. We watched her as she moved off.

‘I suppose I ought to be cross with Angela for giving me a ticking-off but I can’t. She’s such a dear,’ said Joan.

In spite of myself, I was curious to know more about the MacMurrays and could not help saying so.

‘I gather you are not fond of them,’ I said.

Joan wrinkled her nose.

‘Not particularly. Hugh is Neville’s cousin, so they have a standing invitation to visit, pretty much. They’re here practically all the time and seem to stay forever. Of course, it’s only because they’ve got no money. But Hugh also wants to butter Neville up so as to make sure he gets pots of cash when Neville dies.’

‘So he is mentioned in Sir Neville’s will, then?’

‘Oh yes. I think he comes into quite a lot of money. Didn’t you see their faces at lunch, when Bobs made that joke about Neville’s changing his will? They both looked like thunder. It would hit them hard if they had nothing to look forward to. Hugh was never very rich but now he has married Gwen he is even less so. You must have seen how expensively she dresses. They live a very fast life in town, too and mix with a rather disreputable crowd. Gwen in particular would simply tear her hair out if she hadn’t Neville’s money to look forward to. She maintains a decent pretence most of the time but when she has had too many cocktails she talks about it quite openly.’