02 - Murder at Dareswick Hall (15 page)

‘Well,
well, well, Lane, what do you make of that?’ Deacon moved over to the fireplace
and looked into the fire. It seemed to him that one could never tell what the
weather would do this time of year, it was so changeable. Sometimes it was hot
and sunny almost like a summer’s day as it had been yesterday, and at other
times, like today, it had an almost wintry feel to it, even though it was only
part way through autumn.

‘It
will be jolly nice, sir, seeing Miss Simpson again. A nice young lady she is
and very helpful she was too in helping us solve that case at Ashgrove. I
expect she can tell us a thing or two about what’s been going on here.’

‘I
don’t doubt it, Sergeant,’ agreed Deacon, a smile creeping across his face.
‘But actually I was referring to the Honourable Hallam Atherton. What did you
make of him?’

‘A
nervy type I would say, sir, you know, highly strung. I could well imagine him
lashing out at Lord Sneddon after working himself up into a bit of a fit of
temper and then being racked by remorse afterwards.’

‘I
agree with you, Lane. He’s just the sort of chap who would act first and think
later. He seems pretty close to his sisters; his oldest one, at least. As soon
as he came into the room, he kept going on and on about how Josephine Atherton
couldn’t have killed Sneddon, even before we’d had a chance to say anything to
suggest that we were of the view that she might have done.’

‘Yes,
strange that. I suppose he just wanted to get his pennyworth in first,’ Lane
replied, putting away his notebook and pencil and taking the opportunity to
stretch his legs. ‘He admitted himself that it looked rather suspicious her
vanishing like that in the middle of the night without so much as a by your
leave
.’

‘I was
wondering myself whether “the man doth protest too much” to misquote the great
Bard.’

‘I’m
sorry, sir, I don’t think I quite follow,’ A look of utter confusion had
appeared on Lane’s face.

‘Shakespeare,
Sergeant. The actual line is: “The lady doth protest too much, methinks”. It
comes from the play,
Hamlet
. By vehemently trying to convince us that
Josephine had nothing to do with Sneddon’s murder, I wonder if our Mr Hallam is
in fact afraid that the opposite is true.’

‘You
mean he thinks his sister
did
do it?’

‘I
think the thought has crossed his mind and that he may be trying to convince
himself as much as us that she can’t possibly have done it.’

‘Inspector
Deacon, jolly good to see you again, although I would have preferred for it to
have been under different circumstances,’ Cedric said, coming into the study
and extending his hand to the inspector. Deacon on his part was slightly taken
aback by the gesture, but nevertheless shook the new earl’s hand warmly. ‘Had
rather hoped that murder was not going to cross my path again, I can tell you,’
Cedric continued, seating himself down on the sofa, ‘but jolly glad it’s you
and Sergeant Lane here who’ll be undertaking the investigation. A nasty
business this, what? No love lost between me and Sneddon as you well know, but
I wouldn’t have wished this fate on him, poor blighter.’

‘Yes,
it’s most unfortunate, my lord. As you will appreciate, we’re anxious to clear
up this business as soon as possible. We have the advantage this time of having
met the victim and knowing the sort of man he was.’

‘Yes,
indeed, Inspector. A man who’d have made a number of enemies, I’d imagine.
Can’t say I envy your task in trying to find out who murdered him.’

‘We’re
pretty certain that Lord Sneddon was murdered by someone in this house.’

‘Good
Lord, what makes you think that?’ Cedric almost leapt from his seat. ‘Surely
it’s more likely that someone followed him down from London? No doubt Sneddon
arranged some dubious assignation in the library and let the man in by the
French windows.’

‘Highly
unlikely, my lord. The butler informed us that the French windows in the library
had seized up some time ago and won’t open now. And we didn’t just take his
word for it, of course. My men have tried to open them and failed to do so.’

‘Well,
perhaps the murderer came in by some other door or window. You’ve seen how many
doors and windows this house has. The servants probably forgot to lock a
couple.’

‘The
butler has assured me that he is always very thorough in ensuring that the
house is secured for the night and that last night was no exception,’ said the
inspector firmly. ‘Baron Atherton is most particular about it, I understand.
Has a bit of a bee in his bonnet about it so the butler told us. He is most
insistent that all the doors and windows are locked by seven thirty sharp and Crabtree
and one of the footman undertake the task together so that they can double
check that it’s done properly.’

‘I
see.’ Cedric had turned pale. ‘But why are you telling me this, Inspector?
Surely it would be better for you to keep such information to yourself, at
least for the time being.’

‘Because
the temptation for everyone in this house is to assume, or try and convince
themselves, that the murderer was someone from outside. Lane and I will be made
to hear no end of stories of how it must have been a burglary gone wrong or the
work of a passing tramp. But the evidence speaks for itself. It must have been
someone in this house. You know the Athertons and the servants in this house
well, my lord. They’ll trust you and believe what you tell them. They need to
be told the truth and made to face up to the facts. They need to be persuaded
to help us with our enquiries, not hinder them. It doesn’t much help that Lord
Sneddon was universally so disliked.’

‘I
see.’ Cedric held his head in his hand for a moment and then looked up. ‘So you
think one of the Athertons killed him?’

‘Either
that or one of their servants, yes,’ confirmed Deacon.

‘What
about me? I could have killed him, you know. I despised the fellow.’

Deacon
chose not to comment directly on this statement. It was obvious that the young earl
was badly affected by what he had just been told. Far better to concentrate on
facts.

‘Did
you know that Isabella Atherton would be bringing Lord Sneddon down with her to
Dareswick this weekend?’

‘No, of
course not. Otherwise Rose and I would never have come. The Athertons are old
friends of my family. My father and the baron went back a long way. Lavinia and
I practically grew up with Josephine, Isabella and Hallam. I’ve always loved
this place, that it’s so remote, in the middle of nowhere. We used to run
almost wild here as children, it was our Utopia, our escape from everything. I
thought it would be the perfect place to come for the weekend. God knows, after
what I’ve been through the last couple of months, I needed some respite.’

‘I’m
sorry you’ve had such a rum old time of it with the pressmen, my lord.’

‘If it
hadn’t been for your efforts, it would have been an awful lot worse,’ Cedric
acknowledged gratefully. ‘Now what was I saying? Yes… I had no idea that
Sneddon would be here this weekend, I don’t think anyone had, apart from
Isabella, of course. It was an awful shock to us all, to tell the truth.
Embarrassingly so, I’m afraid. When he walked into the drawing room with the
baron, we all just stopped talking and stared. You could have heard a pin drop.
You’ve probably already heard all about what happened last time Sneddon
visited?’ The inspector nodded and Cedric continued. ‘Good, I’m glad I don’t have
to go into all the unsavoury details. It was a most tragic business, that’s for
certain, simply awful, and the household is still recovering from the
aftermath, both the Athertons and their servants.’

‘So
Lord Sneddon’s arrival was unwelcome?’

‘You
can say that again,’ Cedric said with conviction. ‘Hallam made rather a scene,
begged his sister not to marry the man.  It was awful.  And one of the servants
dropped boiling hot soup in his lap. Sneddon could have been badly scalded but,
thankfully, he was relatively unharmed….’ Cedric did not finish his sentence
because the vision came unbidden into his mind of Sneddon slumped lifelessly
over the writing table, a gold dagger protruding from his back, as melodramatic
a scene as if it had been performed before him on a stage. Sneddon had escaped
being badly burned, but he had not escaped death.

‘So
Hallam Atherton was upset to see Lord Sneddon?’ Deacon asked carefully.

‘I say
he was, and who could blame him?’ Cedric asked, indignantly. ‘At one point I
thought they might come to blows, that’s to say Hallam might punch him because,
to give Sneddon his due, he didn’t seem to bear any animosity towards Hallam,
even after his outburst. It was jolly awkward for the rest of us, of course. We
didn’t know where to look or what to do.’ Cedric sighed. ‘You have to give it
to Hallam, he only voiced out loud what the rest of us thought in private.’

‘How
serious was this outburst, my lord? Did Hallam Atherton need to be restrained
to avoid harming Lord Sneddon?’

‘I’m
not sure, that’s to say, when I say Hallam was hell bent on hitting Sneddon, I
may have been a bit hasty,’ Cedric said, looking uncomfortable. ‘In the heat of
the moment he might have done it, it’s true. But he wouldn’t have come down in
the middle of the night and stabbed Sneddon in the back, if that’s what you’re
thinking. I don’t think Hallam’s the type of chap to do that. That wouldn’t
have been sporting at all, Inspector, definitely not cricket. If he was going
to fight Sneddon he would have let him know about it. He wouldn’t have sneaked
up behind him and killed him. Besides,’ continued Cedric, warming to his
subject, ‘on recollection I think all he wanted to do was to let off steam a
bit. He wanted to tell him what he thought of his conduct and perhaps give him
a bloody nose, nothing more.’

‘You
don’t think he might have set about planning how to kill Lord Sneddon and get
away with it?’ Deacon asked, quietly.

‘Of
course not, Inspector, the idea’s preposterous. Whoever killed Sneddon did it
in a cowardly, underhand manner. Hallam’s not your man.’ Cedric glared at
Deacon.

‘Very
well, what about the Honourable Josephine Atherton?’

‘No,
certainly not. She’s a respectable, properly brought up young lady, Inspector,
not the sort to get herself mixed up in murder. And she has a sensible head on
her shoulders. Not one to give way to hysteria or doing something on impulse. And
I don’t believe that she’s eloped with that chauffeur fellow either, whatever
anyone says. I’m sure there’s some logical explanation for her disappearance, you
see if I’m not right, Inspector.’

‘It’s
Deacon,’ Cedric said quietly to Rose on his return to the garden room. He had
taken her by the arm and led her to the far end of the room where it was
unlikely their conversation would be overheard by Hallam or Isabella. ‘He and
Sergeant Lane are carrying out the investigation into Sneddon’s murder.’

‘That’s
good, isn’t it?’ said Rose, looking relieved. ‘They won’t jump to any silly
conclusions or try and build a case against someone when there isn’t any
evidence.’

‘I
don’t know,’ replied Cedric, thoughtfully. ‘Deacon’s a clever chap, but I think
he’s got it into his head that either Hallam or Josephine are involved somehow
in Sneddon’s death. It didn’t help me telling him about Hallam’s outburst on
Friday night. I wish I’d kept quiet about that now. It doesn’t put the boy in a
good light. Deacon probably thinks Hallam’s a loose cannon. He’s suspicious of
Josephine too, which is hardly surprising. Goodness knows what she was thinking
of just disappearing like that. Oh, if only he knew her like we do, he’d
realise how ludicrous it is to suspect her of anything underhand, let alone
murder.’

It was
on the tip of Rose’s tongue to say that she hardly knew Josephine herself, and that
she wasn’t sure how the girl usually acted, but thought it best to remain
quiet. Instead she said: ‘Doesn’t he think that it’s far more likely that the
murderer broke into the house or was just let in by Sneddon himself?’

‘No,
the place is thoroughly locked at night and apparently the French windows in
the library don’t open, although I find that hard to believe. So unless Sneddon
trotted along to another room to let someone into the house, the police think
his murderer must be someone from within.’

‘Sneddon
looked pretty engrossed in the library when I left him,’ mused Rose, thinking
back to her last sight of him, a broken and distraught man. She shivered. She
should have stayed with him. If she had, then perhaps he would not be dead now.
At the very least she should have shown pity or given encouragement. He had
told her that he wished to make amends and now she would never know whether he
would have followed through on his words. He had reached out to her for help
and she had turned her back on him. It was that, she realised when she looked
back over the events that followed, that made her feel that his death could not
go unpunished and, if nothing else, she owed it to him to find his murderer and
bring him to justice.

‘Miss
Simpson? Come with me please, the Inspector wants to interview you next.’ The
constable had already turned on his heel and set off up the corridor before
Rose had caught up with him. Before she could stop herself, she found herself
tugging at his sleeve in an attempt to make him stop. He turned around
impatiently, clearly unamused by such seemingly childish tactics.