The Murder at Sissingham Hall (6 page)

‘So I see!’ I exclaimed. ‘I shall have to be very careful then. I should hate to break any bones.’

Sir Neville gave a short guffaw.

‘Come into my study,’ he said. ‘There’s just time for a quick one before dinner.’ He turned and led me back down the passage and into his study, which was comfortably furnished in a masculine style. I noticed that some of the furniture was rather worn. Some odd-looking wooden artefacts lay about on various shelves. I had seen many things of the sort while I was in Africa and felt a sudden pang of homesickness, which surprised me.

‘I see you’re admiring my native works of art,’ said Sir Neville. ‘I picked them up years ago on my travels. Most people think they’re ugly but I like them. They remind me of my carefree youth.’ He poured out two glasses of whisky from a decanter. ‘As you can see, this is my place of refuge. Rosamund is dying to get in here and refurbish the place but I won’t let her. I’m comfortable as I am, I tell her.’ He handed me a glass. ‘What do you think of this, then? I discovered it a couple of years ago. I get it from a chap I know in London—dreadful little oily-haired Cockney but he knows his stuff all right. I can give you his name if you like. Unless you’re one of these modern young types who prefers cocktails.’

I duly expressed my appreciation of the whisky, which was indeed excellent and we sat in silence for a moment or two, as I gazed at one of the rough wooden figures and thought of the faraway land from whence it had come. Just then, a small noise attracted my attention and I looked up to find that Sir Neville was shifting about uncomfortably in his chair and clearing his throat. He obviously had something to say to me.

‘Charles,’ he began, then stopped and tugged his moustache. He coughed and tried again. ‘So, what do you think of our little set-up here?’

I was almost certain that this was not the question he had intended to ask but I replied warmly, in praise of his house, his grounds, his wife and his comfortable domestic arrangements. He smiled but I sensed he was distracted and had not actually heard what I said. There was a pause.

‘You know, you are the very image of your father,’ he said.

‘So I have been told,’ I replied.

‘Terrible thing, the way it all ended,’ he said gruffly. ‘Terrible—terrible.’

I was silent. It was a period of my life which I preferred to forget.

‘But you are not your father, of course. Your life has followed a very different pattern. You have been toughened up by hard work and the hot climate. Those are the things that really test the mettle and honesty of a man.’

I frowned. In spite of the views of the world at large, I still believed my father to have been a man of honour and any implication that he had been otherwise was still very painful to me, even though I had endured years of whispers and remarks on the subject.

‘It is difficult,’ continued Sir Neville, almost as though talking to himself. ‘These things all seem to come at once. I have been most upset lately, most upset. Believe me, Charles, when I say there is nothing worse than finding out that you have been deceived in someone. But lately I have begun to feel that I am surrounded by liars and schemers.’

Was he talking about me? We were hardly close friends, so it seemed unlikely. My mind leapt involuntarily to the MacMurrays, who appeared, even on my short acquaintance, potentially to fit the description. Was he referring to them? In that case, why speak to me about it?

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

At the sound of my words, he seemed to emerge from his reverie.

‘I beg your pardon, Charles. Do forgive my ramblings. I am old-fashioned and have never been able to accustom myself to the modern ways and manners. Rosamund is always telling me that I am stuck in the past and I dare say she’s right. Now, about these prospecting rights.’ Sir Neville began rummaging through some papers in his desk drawer. ‘I have something to show you that may surprise you. Indeed it surprised me very much, and I should like to know what you have to say about it as I hardly know whether to believe it.’

We moved on to other topics.

A few minutes afterwards the bell rang, summoning us to dinner, for which I was rather thankful. As I followed Sir Neville along the passage towards the hall, I thought back to our conversation. As far as I had been able to judge in the short time I had been in the house, everybody seemed to be on perfectly amicable and easy terms and yet Sir Neville had spoken of liars and schemers. Whom could he have been referring to?

FIVE

The dining-room was a rather grand affair, with panelled walls and rich damask curtains. I was seated between Rosamund and Gwen MacMurray—a ticklish prospect that required all my powers of concentration, especially since it became evident as early as the soup course that Gwen was determined that I should devote all my attention to her rather than Rosamund and Rosamund was equally determined that I should devote all my attention to
her
. Bobs, meanwhile, sat opposite, with a perfectly straight face, belied by a wicked gleam in his eye and did his best to stir things up as much as possible. By the time the fish arrived, the two ladies were becoming quite heated and Bobs was struggling to maintain his composure, but fortunately we were all rescued by Angela Marchmont, who addressed a question about something or other to Gwen from the other end of the table which demanded a long reply. Disaster was averted and Rosamund stood triumphant.

I complimented her on the dinner and the smooth running of her household.

‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘But it is a permanent struggle to keep things in order. ‘Sissingham is so remote that it is difficult to keep hold of good servants. These days all the girls want to work in the towns and I have to pay a simply enormous wage to the cook and the housekeeper, who were originally at the London house. But I can’t do without either of them, so I stump up willingly.’

‘And so you should,’ said Bobs. ‘It must be terribly dull for a girl stuck here miles from anywhere, especially on her day off, when she would rather be out dancing with her young man.’

‘Yes,’ said Rosamund.

‘Still, perhaps one day you will move back to London, then you will be able to find as many good servants as your little heart desires and all your maids will be able to go out dancing as often as they want.’

‘And when will that be?’ asked Rosamund slowly. There was an odd expression on her face that I did not quite understand.

‘As soon as you like,’ said Bobs. ‘You better than anyone know how to square things with Neville. All you have to do is say the word and you can be back where you belong in less than no time!’

‘If only it were that easy.’

‘But of course it is! A wife always knows the best way to get round her husband whenever she wants something. And I’m quite sure you are no exception.’

‘I have asked him. You know I have. Lots of times. He always says “not yet”.’

‘You dreadful old plotter, Bobs,’ I said. ‘I really do believe you enjoy causing strife wherever you go.’

‘Oh, he does! Isn’t he awful?’ cried Rosamund. ‘And after all the effort I went to earlier to convince you that I would quite happily stay at Sissingham for the rest of my days! Charles, what I said before was absolutely true but you know Bobs as well as I do—he is a dreadful tempter into mischief. Sometimes I think he is actually in league with the devil. Get thee behind me, Bobs!’ she commanded, mockingly.

‘Nonsense,’ said Bobs. ‘I am simply saying that if you want something, then you must do everything in your power to get it.’

‘But what if somebody else doesn’t want me to have it?’

‘There are ways,’ replied Bobs, mysteriously.

‘I agree with Bobs,’ said Gwen, who had caught the last part of our conversation. ‘When I know what I want, I never let anyone stop me from getting it.’

‘Careful, that’s dangerous talk,’ said Bobs.

‘But it’s true,’ she insisted. ‘I’m very good at getting my own way. When I met Hugh, for example, he was all but engaged to someone else but I got him to break it off.’

‘Oh indeed? I should be most interested to hear exactly how you did that,’ said Bobs. The words in themselves were innocent enough but there was meaning in his tone.

Gwen opened her mouth to continue, then went slightly pink.

‘You horrid thing!’ she exclaimed, tossing her head. ‘I shan’t tell you anything about it now.’

She turned away and Bobs smirked.

‘Bobs, I will not have you being disrespectful to my guests,’ murmured Rosamund but without a great deal of conviction.

‘You’re right,’ said Bobs. ‘Gwen, please forgive me. I am an incorrigible tease and deserve to be roasted over hot coals for eternity.’

‘Oh, very well then,’ said Gwen, slightly mollified.

‘But I warn you now, I shall continue to tease you whenever the opportunity presents itself.’

‘That goes without saying,’ I said.

More serious subjects were under discussion at the other end of the table, where everyone was talking about the latest details of a sensational trial that had been the biggest story in the newspapers in recent weeks. The accused was a woman who was supposed to have killed her elderly mother with a poker in a sudden fit of rage. It was a sordid story, which had for some reason captured the imagination of the public.

‘I don’t care how ghastly the old woman was,’ Hugh MacMurray said. ‘I don’t believe any woman would brain her mother with a fire-iron. It’s unnatural. I could believe it if she had poisoned her but physical violence is not a woman’s crime.’

‘You can never tell, though. Some people are very good at repressing their real characters, sometimes even for years,’ said Joan. ‘It’s all to do with psychology, or something. There was a girl at school like that. She seemed perfectly normal, except that you never knew what she was thinking. Then one day she found that her bicycle had a puncture when she needed it in a hurry and flew into a terrible rage. She started kicking it and shouting at it. She kicked it and kicked it until she bent the wheel out of shape, while the girls all stared at her in astonishment. Then she ran upstairs and came into the common-room an hour later as though nothing had happened. Nobody knew what to say to her after that but we all took care not to do anything to offend her!’

Everyone laughed but I noticed that Simon Gale was looking rather white. With his delicate constitution, perhaps he found all this talk of violence upsetting.

We did not sit long at the table after the ladies had retired and when we returned to the drawing-room we found them laughing and congregated around the gramophone. We were all feeling rather gay and one or two couples soon started dancing. Sir Neville stood it as long as he could but then excused himself, saying that he had some urgent papers to work on. He appeared to have lapsed into gloom once again.

‘Do you require my assistance, Sir Neville?’ asked Simon Gale.

‘No, no, Gale, that’s quite all right. The ladies need your services here, for the dancing.’ He nodded round at everyone and left the room.

‘I say, what’s the matter with old Neville?’ said Bobs but nobody replied.

‘Come and dance with me,’ said Sylvia to me, as another song began.

‘As you wish, my lady,’ I replied with a bow and she pulled me towards the gramophone. She moved gracefully and as we danced I thought how pretty she looked in the evening glow.

‘I know one shouldn’t ask—’ she said, then paused uncertainly. I smiled. I had no doubt what was on her mind.

‘What shouldn’t one ask?’

‘Well, I just was just wondering—about earlier this evening and you and Rosamund.’

‘What about me and Rosamund?’

‘Drat you, Charles, you know exactly what I mean!’

‘I think you are a very curious young lady,’ I remarked.

‘Oh, I am!’ she exclaimed. ‘Isn’t it awful? I was simply dying to hear what you and Rosamund were talking about but Hugh got hold of me and started telling me some interminable story and I was forced to listen. But now you must tell me—what was it like, meeting her again after all this time? Don’t say you felt nothing, because I shan’t believe you.’

I looked at her eager, anxious face, then threw back my head and laughed.

‘You little minx! I’ve a good mind to take you to task for your impertinence. But, to reply to your question, yes, of course I felt something. I felt delighted to meet Rosamund again as an old friend. There! Does that satisfy you?’

‘Not exactly but I suppose it’s too much to expect you to be indiscreet. Drat Hugh and his stories!’

‘There’s nothing to be indiscreet about. We chatted about what we had both been doing for the past eight years, that is all,’ I said.

‘I see,’ she said. The music ended and we moved over to the recessed window. Sylvia peered out into the gloom and then turned to me. I lit cigarettes for us both.

‘How do you like my frock?’ she asked abruptly. ‘I bought it especially for this weekend but you have never mentioned it.’

‘It’s very pretty,’ I replied, in some amusement at her bluntness. She gave a wide smile.

‘But of course, you have to say that, now that I’ve asked you. You know, Charles, you are not exactly a gentleman. A woman should not have to elicit compliments from a man.’