03 - Murder at Sedgwick Court

MURDER

AT

SEDGWICK
COURT

by
Margaret Addison

A Rose
Simpson Mystery

Copyright

Copyright 2014 Margaret Addison

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or
retrieval system, without prior written permission from Margaret Addison except
for the inclusion of quotations in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or
dead, is coincidental.

Rose Simpson Mysteries (in order)

Murder at Ashgrove House

Murder at Dareswick Hall

Murder at Sedgwick Court

‘So
here it is,’ said Cedric, sixteenth Earl of Belvedere, waving a hand nonchalantly
about him. Notwithstanding the apparent carelessness of his gesture, the young
man’s action managed to encompass everything in sight. ‘This is Sedgwick Court,
as far as the eye can see, don’t you know? Ancestral home of the Sedgwicks and
all that.’

There was
a sharp intake of breath from his companion and then silence as she took in the
view, somewhat overcome by the scale of it all. Of course, she had expected to
be impressed. After all, Lavinia had raved about the house and had gone on and
on about how immense it was. A great mid-eighteenth century, neo-Palladian
mansion of a place that had been in her family for generations.  And Rose was
not disappointed by the reality. The house was all her erstwhile friend had
claimed it to be and more, and had anyone asked, she would have readily
admitted that it quite dwarfed both Ashgrove House and even Dareswick Hall. The
building was indeed a colossal palace of a place with its smooth, plain alabaster-coloured
exterior; its corner towers topped by pyramidal roofs; and its great Corinthian
columns, which flanked the entrance porch, combining to give the overall
impression that Sedgwick Court was a great temple from ancient Greece, risen
from the ruins and transported to 1930s England.

Yes, the
young earl’s companion had expected to be impressed by the dwelling that was
Sedgwick Court. What she had not expected, however, was the great expanse of the
country estate itself, landscaped on an immense scale by a follower of the
great Capability Brown. She marvelled at the park with its sunken ha-ha fences,
confusing the eye by giving the impression that each piece of the parkland, no
matter how differently managed or stocked, was as one for as far as the eye
could see. She admired too the impression given of one single body of water
which, Cedric had just explained to her, was in reality a number of expansive
lakes cut into the ground at different levels. Close up they were seemingly
unconnected, but from afar the impression given was of a river that ran right through
the landscape.   

‘It’s
breathtaking,’ Rose Simpson uttered at last.

These
words of wonderment sounded sadly inadequate even to her own ears, but what
else could one say when greeted by such a view? It was not just that the very
sight was impressive, but also that she was actually here at all with Cedric.
It was quite unbelievable given their reasonably short acquaintance, everything
that had happened and their very different stations in life. She had thought
that she would never set eyes on Sedgwick Court. She had believed that it was
some utopia forbidden her. And yet there she was, a London shop girl, guest of the
landed gentry.

‘I’m
awfully glad you like it, Rose,’ Cedric said, sounding proud and embarrassed at
the same time. ‘Of course, you’re not seeing it at its very best. I really
ought to have waited until spring or summer to show it you. That’s when
Sedgwick looks its most glorious, with the sun reflecting on the water, the
place all green and lush, and the flowers abundant and all that sort of thing.
You wouldn’t believe how many artists have approached us to paint the view. But
I just couldn’t wait for you to see the place. I think it the most wonderful
place in all the world, don’t you? Of course, I know I’m biased and all that,
but it is rather delightful, don’t you think? Even in winter when it looks a
bit forlorn and brown, there’s still something about it, don’t you agree? I
mean –’

‘It’s quite,
quite lovely,’ Rose said, clasping his hands in hers. It was all she could do
not to spin him around and embrace him there and then. ‘I can see why you love
it so. There’s something quite magical about it, as if it’s not quite real. And
I suppose it isn’t really, is it?’

‘No,’
agreed Cedric. ‘It’s all been landscaped within a whisker of its life. And can
you see that, on the top of the hill over there? You can just glimpse it
between the trees if you look carefully.’ Rose followed where he was pointing into
the distance, his arm outstretched.

‘I think
I can see something,’ she replied, screwing up her eyes in concentration as she
studied the horizon. ‘Why, it looks like a miniature castle, or at least a
castle ruin,’ she exclaimed in surprise.

‘Yes,’
agreed Cedric, ‘but it isn’t real. That’s to say it isn’t really a castle ruin
or even the remains of one. It isn’t the remnants of some Norman castle allowed
to fall into disrepair or destroyed by a fire.’

‘Isn’t
it?’

‘No. It
was just built to look exactly like that. A castle relic. It’s nothing more
than what is termed an eye-catcher. A folly if you will, that is specifically
designed to draw one’s eye into the wider landscape. It was built on a whim to
satisfy some young countess at the time who thought it would be rather nice to
catch a glimpse of a distant castle from the window of her boudoir. A lot of
old rot, of course, and rather a waste of good stone as it has no purpose, but
Lavinia and I found it rather a hoot to play in when we were children. You can
just imagine it, can’t you? Lavinia was the fair damsel in distress and I was
the gallant knight come to rescue her from the clutches of some villainous
baron, although I’m afraid that I always fell rather short.’

Rose
laughed. She could picture the scene well. For she could imagine the young Lavinia
dressed in all her finery trying to look gracious and demure while all the time
fighting the desire to shout out orders and instructions to her younger
brother. Try as he might, she thought it unlikely that Cedric would have lived
up to her expectations of how a noble knight should behave when faced with danger
and adversity.

 ‘You
might well laugh,’ grinned Cedric. ‘Lavinia was awfully bossy. Sometimes I
wondered whether it wouldn’t have been better if the roles had been reversed
and I had been one of the princes in the tower and she had been the one come to
rescue me from wicked old King Richard. But this place is simply littered with
them. Eye-catchers and follies, I mean.’

‘How
marvellous.’

‘There’s
one that looks all the world like a temple, and another one is a bridge which
serves absolutely no purpose as it’s over nothing at all. Not even a stream or
a ditch. My father and his father before him let some of them fall into
disrepair, but I’m determined to restore most of them to their former glory. They’re
wonderful places to have picnics and whatnot.’

Rose
smiled. His enthusiasm was contagious and yet this mention of Lavinia had stirred
up bitter-sweet emotions within her. She had once counted Cedric’s sister, Lady
Lavinia Sedgwick, as one of her closest friends. And it had been through Lavinia
that she had first made the acquaintance of the Earl of Belvedere, or Viscount
Sedgwick, as he had been then. Lavinia had taken up a bet with her brother that
she could earn her own living for six months. She had decided to fulfil the bet
by working in a dress shop and it was there that she and Rose had met and
formed their friendship. Working side by side, they had buoyed each other on to
cope with the mundane and tiring work, although Lavinia had been excused from dealing
with the most difficult of the customers. The proprietor, Madame Renard, had not
wished to lose the most attractive addition to her shop. Lavinia’s presence had
been good for business. Being attended to by a member of the British
aristocracy had gone down well with the most snobbish and class conscious of
her clientele. So, although Lavinia had been spared the most tedious aspects of
the job, and had not been expected to sweep the floor or wrap up garments in
brown paper in preparation for being sent to customers on approval, she had
experienced some aspects of what the role of being a shop girl entailed, and she
had found a friend in Rose.

Despite
their very different positions in society, Rose had considered their friendship
to be a strong one, albeit acknowledging at the same time that in all
likelihood it would be temporary in duration. She had been fully prepared for
the friendship to run its course and fizzle out once Lavinia had finished her time
at the shop and returned to her privileged life. What Rose had been less prepared
for was Lavinia’s open disapproval and opposition to the obvious mutual
attraction between Rose and Lavinia’s brother. She had met him by chance at a weekend
house-party hosted by Lavinia’s aunt, to which Cedric had not been invited. The
party had not been a success, culminating in death as it had done, and such an occurrence
had done nothing to endear Rose to Lavinia, who believed that her friend had in
some way been partly responsible for the tragic events that had unfolded. As a
consequence, communication between the two had faltered and Lavinia had fled to
the Continent, leaving her brother to pick up the pieces of their shattered
lives and manage as best he could to deal with the aftermath.

‘I think
we should take a tour of all the follies this afternoon,’ continued Cedric. ‘Some
of them really are rather impressive, even if one or two are in a dilapidated
and dejected state. I know it’s the middle of December and all, but it’s dry
and sunny. If you wrap up warm in all your furs and whatnot I daresay you won’t
feel the cold. Nothing better than a brisk walk on a day like this and … oh, I
say, I wonder what’s up …?’

Cedric
broke off abruptly as his attention was drawn to the strange and unexpected spectacle
of two of his upper servants hurrying, one could almost say running, towards him,
while all the time trying rather unsuccessfully to maintain a dignified
appearance. This was not helped by their attire of black trousers, waistcoats
and tailcoats giving them the appearance of waddling penguins.

‘What can
Manning want, I wonder? And by Jove if that isn’t old Torridge scuttling after
him! I had no idea that the old chap still had it in him, not by the way he
usually totters around. More than once I’ve thought of offering him a chair,
and I would have done too if I didn’t think he’d be offended.’

Rose
looked on fascinated. Manning, the under-butler, appeared to have gathered pace
even as they watched. Although, in another moment, catching sight of them
studying him, he slowed to a more sedate step and Rose thought how he must wish
that they were still studying the horizon so that he might break into a run
unobserved by his master and his master’s guest. Even though there was some
distance still between them, Rose caught the flicker of a look of annoyance
cross his face, quickly replaced by a dignified expression. She was reminded
that, according to Cedric, the young man was still being trained up to replace Torridge
in due course when the old man saw fit to be pensioned off to live out his days
in a cottage on the estate. Apparently he was clinging to his occupation,
reluctant to give into retirement and old age. Rose secretly thought that he did
not want to leave his new master when he had so newly come into his title. No
doubt the old man thought he had a responsibility to his old master to support
his son the best he could.  

Or perhaps
secretly Torridge did not think that Manning was yet quite up to the job. She
pitied the younger man having to endure the old butler looking over his
shoulder, observing his every move as he tried to impart his years of wisdom on
the art of being a butler in a great house such as Sedgwick Court. Notwithstanding
Manning still being under a form of apprenticeship, the fact that Torridge was
not far behind him, indeed was gaining pace and himself looked as if he wished
to break out into a run, made Rose feel anxious. Something obviously was afoot
as Cedric had speculated. Was something dreadfully wrong? Surely it must be.
This feeling was reinforced as she caught the concerned look on Torridge’s face.
Something had happened.

Rose
looked across at Cedric and saw that he too was as apprehensive as she was. His
face looked clearly worried, his mouth set in a straight line and she saw that
he clenched his fists as if preparing himself for the worst. She caught his eye
and realised that the same thought had suddenly crossed both their minds,
preposterous though it was. On the two previous occasions that they had been at
house-parties together, murder had occurred. It was nonsensical to think it was
a pattern, not when she thought how often they had met up in London since the
unfortunate events that had occurred at Dareswick Hall. But even so she
realised that in that moment they both feared the worst. Surely death had not
come to Sedgwick Court. Oh, how very unfair if it had, considering everything
that Cedric had been through …

‘My
lord,’

Manning’s
words recalled Rose to the present, banishing her daydreams. And, as the under-butler
addressed his master, she was relieved to see that he was not trying to keep a
stiff upper lip in the face of adversity. The news he had to impart was not
catastrophic in nature after all. He was just excited and trying to keep his
emotions in check as any good butler would. And, as if to dispel any lingering
doubts about whether or not they were about to hear some appalling news, he
blurted out: ‘She’s back, my lord, she’s returned.’

Torridge,
who had all the while been making his way laboriously towards them, had by this
time caught up Manning and, after stopping for a moment to catch his breath, wheezing
in rather an alarming fashion, all but pushed aside the younger man who
retreated with a somewhat sheepish look.

‘What
Manning is trying to say, my lord,’ said Torridge, addressing his master, and then
breaking off for a moment to cast the unfortunate under-butler a look which
would have turned milk sour, ‘is that her ladyship has returned from her
travels. Lady Lavinia has just arrived back home, my lord.’