Murder At Rudhall Manor (14 page)

After Elizabeth had left, Lucy turned to Lord Adair.
"The theft and the murder are not related."

He stood up and brushed off his breeches.

"You knew," she accused, noticing the lack of
surprise on his face.

"I knew it was a possibility," he conceded.

"Now, what do I do?" she moaned. "I am being
blamed for two thefts and a murder."

"Would you like my help?"

"I don't trust anyone."

Lord Adair shrugged and moved towards the door.

After a moment, Lucy ran after him, "You are supposed
to convince me to trust you. You are meant to play the hero and tell me that
you cannot abandon a damsel in distress no matter how much I object."

"Was I supposed to say that?"

"Yes and that it is against your honour to leave a lady
dangling in the midst of danger."

“Instead, shall I say that I respect your wishes? I am
certain you are capable of getting out of this pickle on your own. I am
learning to have faith in you."

Lucy scowled. "I wish you would have a little less
faith in me."

"Did you say something?"

"Nothing whatsoever."

They cautiously peeked out of the door. Spooner was nowhere
to be seen.

"Shall we?" he asked offering her an arm and
gesturing towards the house.

Lucy dug her nails into his elbow and smiled up sweetly.
"Yes, let’s go back, my lord."

They walked for a few minutes in silence.

The sun was bright, but a cold breeze soon started up. The
wind grew stronger whipping the scarf off Lucy's head.

She shivered and pulled the scarf back up to cover her ears.
He helped her tie it more securely under her chin.

She smiled her thanks and observed, "Some people are
funny."

"Very funny," he agreed and resumed walking.

"I mean odd funny," she corrected, racing up
behind him and once again slipping her fingers around his arm. "I thought
I knew the valet."

"Clearly you didn't."

She continued placidly, "You would think you know
everything about a person and then next moment splat."

"Splat?"

"Yes, splat. The truth slaps you in the face like a
dish of half-baked pie."

"Fruit pie," he agreed. "Sticky."

She nodded and looked far off into the distance. "There
was a girl once at the Brooding Cranesbill. Hannah. She was a small, grubby
little thing. I often found her weeping in the broom closet. She would cower
whenever I tried to speak to her. One day I convinced her to confide in me. I
truly wanted to know what was troubling the poor little thing."

"I truly don't," he remarked.

She ignored him and continued. "She told me how she had
found a little hare in the grounds behind the orphanage. She had started
feeding it, playing with it, made a pet of it. The older girls … they roasted
the hare and ate it."

"Tragic."

"They did the same to the little chick Hannah had found
abandoned in a nest. Twisted its neck. My heart bled. I appealed to Miss Summer
to punish such dreadful cruel creatures."

"And the culprits were boiled and hung out to dry. A
very happy ending. Well done."

"Nothing of the sort. Miss Summer discovered the
culprit, my lord. She found out that a hare had truly been roasted and eaten, a
chick with a twisted neck had been found, but she also found out that none of
the older girls were to blame."

He sighed and patted her hand sympathetically, "No, it
was Hannah herself who did it, was it not?"

"Yes," she brooded. "Such a convincing liar
and so young ... I wonder what makes them so?"

He didn’t reply but quickened his pace. She had to hasten
her steps to keep up.

A chill crept up under her skirts and started sneaking its
way upwards.

"It's getting colder," she grumbled after a few
moments.

"Your senses are in excellent working order. Shall I
applaud?"

"You are cold too," she said, noting his testy
tone. "Or hungry," she added as an afterthought.

"I would appreciate a few minutes of silence."

"You want me to stop talking?"

"Not all. I was requesting the trees and the bushes to
give me a few minutes of peace and quiet. I find they rustle a lot."

"You don't have to be sarcastic—" She stopped
abruptly, her eyes pinned to the ground a few feet in front of her.

"Miss Trotter?" He tugged her hand on his arm.

"A moment," she gasped. "I think I found
it."

"Found what?"

"The jewels," she replied in a hushed voice.

He looked around. “Where?"

"There," she pointed through excited lips.

On the ground before her the bright sun cascaded down on a
few pieces of perfectly round dark stones. The clean, white snow seemed to be
cradling them making them shine even brighter.

Her heart starting beating so loudly that she could hear it.

He made a warning sound.

She ignored him and slowly started walking forward as if
afraid the entire thing was an illusion and any moment it would burst like a
soap bubble and disintegrate.

"Miss Trotter—"

"Hush," she waved him off and crouched on the
ground.

Her eyes sparkled. Had she come upon the jewels? She bent
lower.

"What are you doing, Miss Trotter?"

"Don't they look like jewels?" she asked.

Her gloved fingers reached out towards them … almost
touching … an inch more and …

"They are rabbit droppings, my dear."

Her hand slowly retreated.

She giggled.

His lips quirked. "I didn't think you would have been
able to smile, Miss Trotter. Not after the conversation we overheard between
Elizabeth and the Valet."

"I have something to smile about."

"What's that?"

"The large moody bird didn’t peck us to death."

Lord Adair chuckled reluctantly. "There is that."

"Besides, what's the point of living if you don't like
it?"

He eyed her thoughtfully.

She tilted her face up to the sun letting the rays soak into
her cold thirsty skin, "Besides, tears do not help. They cloud your
vision."

He smiled. "You are admirable, Miss Trotter."

"Admirable enough to be employed?" she asked him
cheekily.

He just shook his head in amusement and prudently remained
silent for the rest of the walk back to Rudhall.

Miss Summer had often said that if you lose a toe, then be
thankful that you still have a leg, or if you get burnt porridge for dinner,
then be thankful for the water to wash it all down.

Lucy wondered what she should be thankful for in her present
predicament. Should she be pleased that she was not yet dead, or may not be dead
in the near future, or that at least she had lived her life as a human being
and not a fruit fly?

She tucked the blanket under her restless feet. It would be
a while before she became warm enough to fall asleep. She used the time to
analyse all that she had discovered.

The theft and murder were not related. The valet stole the
jewels and gave them to Elizabeth, and thereafter someone stole those jewels
from Elizabeth.

A tiny frown creased her forehead. Who would go looking for
the jewels in Elizabeth's room? Was it one of the servants who discovered it by
accident? But not a single servant had disappeared from the manor. Granted the
scullery maid was a bit dim, but even she would have enough sense to run like
the devil if she had stolen so much as a spoon.

She turned over and buried her cold nose in the warm pillow.

 "What are you thinking?" Aunt Sedley asked.
She was lying next to Lucy. Her eyes were closed, and her head hovered over a
frightened pillow.

"Will you move farther away? The cold is wafting towards
me," Lucy complained, through chattering teeth.

"It is not my fault that I lost all the warmth when I
died," Aunt Sedley replied sulkily.

Lucy gritted her teeth and refrained from comment. She
didn't want the spirit to complain once again of her insensitivity. Besides,
Aunt Sedley had helped her deal with Ian twice now.

Aunt Sedley's transparent lashes lifted and she turned over
to face Lucy. "Is something troubling you, my dear?"

"Who could have stolen the jewels from Elizabeth and
why? It doesn't make sense," Lucy replied.

"Three people could have done it."

"Three?"

Aunt Sedley nodded sagely. "Firstly, it is clear the
valet is not loyal to Elizabeth. He came here to steal the jewels."

"True."

"What if the valet gave Elizabeth the jewels and then
stole them back? He could have done it to keep the jewels and break off an
unwanted engagement."

Lucy sat up and hugged her knees. "And the second
person," she said brightening, "could be Elizabeth herself. She could
have found out about the valet's infidelity. She is no fool. She must have
realised that he was spending almost all his nights with her mother, which is
why—"

"She pretended the jewels were stolen from her. For
sweet, sweet revenge," Aunt Sedley finished rubbing her hands together.

"And lastly," Lucy mused with a shiver, "it
could be the murderer who knew the theft and the killing were not related.
Hence, he or she went looking for the jewels and found them in Elizabeth's
drawer."

Aunt Sedley sighed. "So we are back where we
began."

Lucy moaned and fell back on the pillow. This time she
brought her feet up and caught her frozen toes in her warm hands.

Her head was starting to hurt. Time was running out, the
family was getting impatient, and it was possible that Lord Adair would lose
interest in the case and move on to bigger mysteries. She was the one person
who was expendable. No one would feel too bad if she was tossed into the
sacrificial fire.

She would have to speed things up. Throw caution to the wind
and start searching more aggressively. She decided to become a hound and place
her nose close to the ground and sniff with all her might until she caught the
right scent.

Aunt Sedley snored loudly beside her head.

Lucy burrowed her head under the pillow and closed her eyes.
What she needed was a good night's sleep. She had a long day ahead … but
thinking and doing were two different things.

 Her eyes refused to close, her limbs refused to relax
and plans hopped, skipped and rolled enthusiastically in her mind.

She slept not a wink, and before she knew it the sun had
crawled up the horizon.

***

The next morning while the servants were having breakfast,
Lucy went sniffing in the valet's room.

It was a neat room, bigger than her own and dust free. The
clothes were beautifully folded and arranged in the cupboard, the shoes neatly
lined up at the bottom like an army of disciplined soldiers.

Lucy pulled up her sleeves and settled them well above her
elbows.

She was now an experienced rummager and an explorer. If she
had been given a chance at this point, she was certain she would have found a
way to cut the spice route in half.

She felt so deft, so skilled, and so proficient in all this
spy business that she was sure a hop would have taken her to Africa, a skip to
India and a double twist and a short jump straight to the Americas.

At this point nothing could be hidden from her keen eye and
sharp wolf like hearing. Her expert eyeballs swept around the tidy room and
landed on the bed. The white sheet was pulled taut enough to scare away the
wrinkles.

Her suspicious eyebrows rose and she pounced on the plump
pillows. She discovered a glittering gold watch hidden between tufts of
feathers.

Pocketing the watch she raised her nose and sniffed again.
The room smelled like oiled flowers.

She soon found the source of the putrid stench. A green
bottle of 'Elusive lotion for warty buttocks made from the freshest French
blooms' was emanating powerful fumes from a drawer of the small wooden side
table.

She replaced the glass bottle warily and continued her
search. It wasn’t long before she discovered the loose board under the bed. She
prised it open, breaking a fingernail in the process, and found love letters
from lots of different women, a silver brooch, a set of fine clothes and a pair
of expensive leather shoes.

The explorer in her sighed dejectedly while pocketing the
silver brooch.

She crawled out in disappointment. It had taken her almost
an hour to search the room, and by the end of it she was certain the jewels
were not here.

She slowly walked down the corridor towards her room. Her
head was bent low and her eyes were glazed over in deep thought.

"Oof," she exclaimed as someone ran into her.

The valet brushed past without apologising.

She narrowed her eyes. The back of his neck was scarlet.

Her gaze sharpened as she looked up and down the hallway.
Why had the valet been in this part of the house? The only room down that end
was hers—

Her eyes widened, and she sprinted across the corridor and
flung open her room door.

At first glance everything seemed to be in place, but she
soon discovered a crumpled petticoat pushed right at the back of her cupboard.

Her brows furrowed thoughtfully. She recalled folding the
petticoat and placing it on the top shelf of the cupboard. It had a long tear
in it. She had been meaning to mend it ... She looked down at the bright yellow
scrunched up cloth and shook her head in amusement.

While she had been searching through the valet's room for
the jewels, he had been searching hers.

She closed the cupboard and leaned back against it. So, if the
valet hadn't stolen the jewels from Elizabeth, then who the devil had?

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and let it out
slowly.

The theft and the murder were not related and stealing did
not take half as much courage or brains as murdering someone did. Which meant
that any halfwit could have pinched the jewels. A fat headed simpleton could
have easily crept into Elizabeth's room and—

Her eyes flew open.

"I'll be bound," she said softly, "that
blithering idiot, no good oozing scab, Ian Percival Humphrey Sedley, must have
stolen the blasted jewels."

***

Lucy entered Ian's room an hour before dinner time. She had
carefully chosen that hour for her investigation, knowing that Ian would have
started on his daily consumption of whiskey and it would be a good few hours
before he became tippled enough to roll back into the room to sleep.

Unfortunately, Lucy had failed to take into consideration
the fact that a man like Ian could fall in love.

You see, Ian had been slapped in his empty head that morning
by a vision of a charmingly plump, auburn haired girl with lush pink cheeks. He
knew neither her name nor what she did, but what he did know was that his empty
head was now filled with songs and dances, poetry and paintings, stars and
moonbeams.

Lucy learned all about this beautiful creature while
trembling behind the thick, emerald green curtains. She had concealed herself
as soon as she had heard Ian come strolling down the hallway whistling a merry
tune.

Ian was drunk on love. He had no need for whiskey and
brandy. He said as much to the rose carpet. He also told the cupboards how fine
the curls were atop the round head that he had decided to marry.

He informed the comb, as he carefully parted his oiled hair,
that he imagined his beloved's feet were small and delicate. But even if, he
clarified to the judgemental sofa, the feet turned out to be big, fat lumps, he
would still adore them.

When he fell silent and the silence continued to stretch,
Lucy dared to peek out from behind the curtain.

She found Ian lying on the bed, spinning a yellow flower in
one hand while the other rested under his head. He was staring at the roof
looking a little loopy, his mouth was open and drool glimmered on his cheek in
the firelight. He appeared to be daydreaming.

"Ian," Lady Sedley charged in.

Lucy ducked her head back behind the drapes and resumed
trembling.

"Mother," Ian said.

 Lucy heard his feet hit the floor as he sprang up into
a sitting position.

"Are you feeling all right, my sweet little boy?"

Lucy's eyebrows shot up.

"Yes, I am. And I have told you before not to talk to
me like that," he complained.

"You weren't getting oiled in the library. I was
worried, sweetums."

"Mother," he whined, though not convincingly
enough.

"Oh, look, your hair is wet," Lady Sedley continued.
"You will catch your death. Do you want me to dry your hair, ickle
baby?"

"Aww, no, Ma. I am not a baby," he said, a hint of
enjoyment lacing his voice.

"No one is here. Can't I spoil my favourite little boo
boo?"

Lucy closed her eyes. She felt like laughing and crying at
the same time. Who would have thought the big bad Ian became a small little boy
in private around his mother.

"Mother, don't rub my head so hard," Ian
complained. "The cloth is rough."

"Hush now," Lady Sedley murmured lovingly,
"my delicate child."

"I am not delicate. I am a man, and you will miss your
dinner," Ian said. This time he sounded impatient.

"Are you truly feeling fine?" Lady Sedley asked
again. "Well, then come along now for dinner."

"No," he replied sulkily.

"I asked the cook to make some sweet bread," Lady
Sedley coaxed.

"With raisins?" he asked cheering up.

"Plenty of them," she replied.

Lucy breathed a sigh of relief when mother and son departed
for dinner.

After that she did what she had become used to doing. She
quickly and efficiently searched the room.

She found plenty of empty bottles, snuff boxes and fine
clothes, but no jewels. Biting her lip she replaced everything and departed.

Peter's room was next on her list. And his was the only room
in the house she had yet to search. If the jewels were not there either ….