The Murder at Sissingham Hall Page 3

  ‘No, never,’ I replied. ‘But I understand it is a beautiful place.’

  ‘Yes, it is—a delightful old house. It is surrounded by very fine countryside, too.’

  ‘Have you been there long?’

  ‘About a year and a half. I count myself very fortunate to have found this post. Sir Neville has been very kind to me. Of course, he has his humours, like anyone but—’ he stopped abruptly and reddened, perhaps fearing that he had said too much, ‘but I have never been happier than since I took up this post at Sissingham.’

  ‘A glowing testimony indeed!’ I said, wondering what he meant by ‘humours’.

  We trundled along the country road, with Gale pointing out noteworthy landmarks here and there. It certainly seemed a remote enough district: there was hardly a building to be seen for miles around. If one wanted to cut oneself off thoroughly from the rest of the world, then this was surely the place to do it.

  As I sat there, half in a day-dream, I was jolted awake by the sudden roar of an engine. I looked round and saw a familiar, dark-green motor-car looming up behind. Although the road was too narrow by far, it moved out to pass us.

  ‘Good God! What’s that?’ cried Gale, as he swerved violently to the left to avoid a nasty scrape. As luck would have it, the road widened slightly at that point and we narrowly avoided ending up in the ditch. The green Lagonda shot off into the distance with a roar.

  ‘If I am not mistaken, that is Mr. Buckley and his sister,’ I said breathlessly, resolving to give Bobs a piece of my mind later.

  ‘Oh, dear me! Oh, dear me!’ said Gale. He was slumped over the wheel and looked quite white and shaken.

  ‘Come now, man, it’s only Bobs,’ I said, in an attempt to cheer him up. ‘You ought to count yourself lucky that you are in this car, not that one. If you were in Bobs’s car, you would really have reason to worry. He is a menace to the countryside.’ I meant it jokingly but Gale was shaking his head, trembling.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Knox but I have not been well, not been well at all,’ he repeated wanly. ‘My nerves, you know. I’m afraid sudden loud noises quite startle me.’

  This seemed to me something of an understatement but I could understand now why a post in such a quiet, faraway spot should have appealed to him.

  ‘Well, they’ve passed now,’ I said. ‘Let’s get on. Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, yes thank you. I feel much better now,’ he replied and indeed the colour was slowly starting to return to his cheeks. ‘I’m sorry I reacted so badly but I’m afraid that since my illness I am quite unable to stand any degree of noise and much prefer peace and quiet.’

  ‘Oh quite, quite,’ I said breezily, in an attempt to gloss over the uncomfortable moment. ‘And you have picked a perfect spot for it.’

  We set off again and reached the gates of the park without further mishap. Sissingham Hall was set in the very centre of the park, with views in all directions. The building itself was a mish-mash of styles. The original building dated back to Elizabethan times, Gale told me, but very little of it was left, as successive owners had knocked down some parts and added others. Overall, the result was not unpleasing and the house seemed to blend in harmoniously with the landscape.

  We drew sedately up to the front entrance and got out. My heart was beginning to beat in my mouth and I steeled myself against the imminent first encounter with Rosamund. Instead, however, we were greeted at the door by a lumpish, sulky-looking girl I didn’t recognize, who was attempting to keep two skittish terriers under control.

  ‘You must be Mr. Knox,’ she said abruptly, holding out her hand. ‘Rosamund is resting in her room, but Bobs and Sylvia are in the drawing-room. I don’t know where Neville is—he was in a foul mood earlier. I’m Joan Havelock, by the way. Mind the dogs, or they’ll trip you up.’

  Startled at this blunt greeting, I followed her into the grand entrance hall, managing with difficulty to avoid the terriers, who were barking delightedly and indeed seemed to want nothing more in life than to send me flying headlong. Joan Havelock led me to a large, well-appointed drawing-room, where a few people were already gathered. Bobs was standing in the window, talking to a woman I didn’t know. He turned and greeted me with a sheepish grin.

  ‘It’s no use you shouting at me, Charles,’ he said, before I could speak. ‘I’ve already been firmly taken to task by Sylvia.’

  I tried to assume a disapproving demeanour but as ever, it was impossible to remain cross with Bobs, so I gave it up as a bad job.

  ‘No lasting harm done. We were just a little shaken up,’ I replied. ‘Only to be expected when one careers into a ditch.’ I decided to remain quiet about Simon Gale’s attack of nerves, as I had no wish to embarrass him further.

  ‘Well, a cocktail will soon put you right,’ said Bobs, as a tray approached, laden with drinks. He turned to the woman. ‘Gwen, I don’t believe you’ve met Charles Knox. Charles, this is Gwendolen MacMurray.’

  ‘Delighted to meet you,’ said Mrs. MacMurray. She drained her glass, took another cocktail, held out her hand to me and gave me an appraising look from head to foot, all in one fluid movement. ‘I understand you’re a gold-miner, Mr. Knox. Tell me, what was Africa really like? Is it really as dangerous as they say? My husband wanted to go into mining some time ago but one hears such stories about the heat and the animals and the natives, that really I couldn’t bear to think about it! I simply couldn’t have put up with it and of course Hugh wouldn’t hear of going without me, so in the end it came to nothing. But sometimes I wonder whether it mightn’t have been better if we had gone. One hears of simply enormous fortunes being made out there in the gold fields.’ She sighed. ‘Why does making money have to be such hard work? It seems terribly unfair to me.’

  Bobs gave a shout of laughter.

  ‘Isn’t she precious, Charles? Gwen would like to spend her days surrounded by rich furs and jewels and be waited on hand and foot by a phalanx of devoted admirers. She makes no secret of the fact.’

  Mrs. MacMurray pouted a little.

  ‘I don’t see any harm in wanting nice things. Lots of people have nice things and I want to be one of those people, that’s all. I should hate to have to live in a small house, with nothing to eat and no servants.’

  As I looked at her, it struck me that there was little likelihood of that. Gwendolen MacMurray was plainly a woman who knew what she wanted. She was exquisitely turned out in what, even to my untrained eye, was undoubtedly the height of expensive Parisian fashion and was almost festooned with strings of jewels. Her face held a sort of doll-like beauty and I suspected that both it and her immaculate blonde hair owed not a little to the art of the salon. She was leaning towards me confidentially and swaying slightly and it was quite evident that she had already had several cocktails. Bobs, meanwhile, had wandered off to talk to Miss Havelock.

  ‘Is this your first visit to Sissingham?’ she asked. ‘Hugh and I come several times a year. Hugh’s mother was Sir Neville’s cousin, you know and Hugh is his closest living relative. In fact,’ she continued, lowering her voice, ‘Sissingham Hall will pass to Hugh if the Stricklands have no children.’ She paused and gazed glassily over my shoulder for a moment. ‘Of course, Sissingham is a beautiful old place but I don’t think I should like to live here all the time, so far from London. Perhaps we could sell it. Then we could have a house in London and spend the rest of the year in Monte Carlo, or perhaps Juan les Pins—no, I think Monte would be nicer. One sees more interesting people there.’

  I was conscious of a faint feeling of distaste. I wanted to extricate myself from the conversation but I was pinned into the corner next to the window. Worse was yet to come, as a new idea dawned, tearing Mrs. MacMurray away from her visions of future riches.

  ‘Of course! I remember your name now!’ she exclaimed loudly. ‘Weren’t you engaged to Rosamund at one time? Somebody—who was it now?—told me that it all ended between you and you went off to Africa with a broken heart. You poor dear boy! You
know, I think that’s simply too romantic. It’s very brave of you to return here, isn’t it? I should love to have two strong men fighting over me. In fact,’ she continued confidentially, in a lower tone, ‘there was a time when I could have had my choice of men to marry, but then I met Hugh and that was that.’

  She clasped her hand to her bosom and tottered slightly. I cast my eyes wildly around the room, hoping for a means of escape and saw Bobs standing very near, smirking. He was clearly enjoying my discomfiture enormously and made no attempt to rescue me. My salvation came at last with the entrance of Sir Neville and a man I took to be Mrs. MacMurray’s husband, Hugh. If Sir Neville had indeed been in a foul mood, as Miss Havelock had said, he seemed to have got over it, as he was smiling broadly.

  ‘I’m so glad you could come,’ he said as he joined us. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you but some urgent business cropped up—you better than anyone know how these things happen. But I see Gwen has been entertaining you. Gwen, my dear, are you feeling quite well? You look a little peaky.’

  Gwen made a visible effort to pull herself together.

  ‘Thank you, Neville, I’m quite well apart from a slight headache. I think it must have been the long journey. I’ll lie down for a little when we go to dress but I’m sure I’ll be quite all right.’

  Given her interest in Sissingham, Gwen MacMurray obviously had no wish to disgrace herself in front of Sir Neville and the change in her manner was striking. After our conversation only a few minutes before, I was astounded to see her cast down her eyes so modestly and reply to our host in such a graceful fashion. She seemed almost a different person. My mind went back to Bobs’s hints about her past and it occurred to me that perhaps she had once been on the stage. She was certainly an impressive actress.

  I took advantage of Sir Neville’s arrival to edge away from Gwen and found myself being introduced to Hugh MacMurray, her husband. I supposed that women would consider him a good-looking man, although there seemed to me a touch of weakness about his mouth, which his moustache could not quite hide. He asked the usual questions about Africa and about how I was settling into life back in England.

  ‘Must be quite a change, what? Shooting pheasant in the rain instead of lions on the plain.’ He roared at his own wit. ‘As a matter of fact, we nearly went out to Africa ourselves a couple of years ago but Gwen funked it at the last minute. Didn’t want to move so far away from her friends. Or from the Paris fashion-houses.’ He roared again. ‘When I meet fellows like you, who have made their fortunes out there, I sometimes wonder if I oughtn’t to have insisted. Still, can’t complain. It’s a good life, all in all and I wouldn’t swap Gwen for all the gold in the world.’

  I noticed that he looked continually towards his wife as he spoke and wondered if he could possibly mean what he said. Gwen caught his eye and moved across to join us.

  ‘Now, Boopsie,’ she said. ‘I hope you have been playing nicely with Mr. Knox and haven’t been boring him too much. He is such a naughty boy, you know,’ she said, turning to me. ‘Sometimes he is really quite impossible, aren’t you my sweet?’ She reached up and tweaked his moustache.

  MacMurray’s countenance had assumed the aspect of a hypnotized sheep.

  ‘Just as you say, dear,’ he said, gazing fondly upon his prize.

  Mercifully, Gwen was just then claimed by Sylvia and Joan, who wanted to talk about frocks or some such nonsense and she moved away. To my great relief, MacMurray’s expression returned to normal and he resumed the conversation as though nothing had happened.

  ‘Your wife seems a very—remarkable woman,’ I said, for want of a better adjective.

  ‘Oh she is, she is,’ he replied. ‘I don’t mind admitting that I was a bit of an old rogue before I met her but I am quite the reformed character now. In fact, there’s no greater champion of the married state than I. Gwen is quite wonderful. You have seen for yourself how charming she is. She is one of those rare women who is a great favourite with the men without attracting the jealousy of other women. I probably shouldn’t say this,’ he continued confidentially, ‘but I get rather a kick out of seeing her flirt with other men and be admired by them. Some chaps wouldn’t allow that kind of thing but I’m not the jealous type myself.’

  I was quite at a loss as how to reply to this but just then we were joined by Sylvia, so I was spared the necessity. She dispatched MacMurray to fetch her a cocktail.

  ‘Thank goodness it’s you!’ I exclaimed in a low voice. ‘I was beginning to feel as though I were caught up in a scene from Alice in Wonderland, or something of the sort.’

  Sylvia smiled.

  ‘Are the MacMurrays too much for you?’ she said. ‘I’ll admit that they are an acquired taste.’

  ‘That is certainly one way of looking at it,’ I replied. ‘But how exactly does one acquire the taste without getting sick? I have only just arrived and yet I already feel as though I have had a surfeit!’

  She laughed and I noticed how her eyes gleamed in the dimming light.

  ‘Come now, you’re just tired and grumpy after the long journey. You are showing all the signs of a man who wants his dinner—I know them well. You will feel much better after you’ve eaten, you’ll see!’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I conceded. ‘Tell me, who is the Havelock girl?’

  ‘Oh, didn’t she introduce herself? She is Neville’s ward.’

  ‘She didn’t seem very friendly.’

  ‘Yes, she can be rather shy and awkward in company but she is very nice when you get to know her. I think she feels a little overshadowed by Rosamund, to tell the truth. She is quite witty though and much cleverer than I am.’

  ‘Impossible!’ I returned, mockingly and she threw me a reproving look.

  Simon Gale silently entered the room and drifted over to where Sir Neville was standing with Joan. Mrs. MacMurray was exerting her considerable charm on Bobs by the French windows.

  Hugh MacMurray returned with Sylvia’s drink and began talking of the latest theatre productions. I left them to it and moved over to the group in the corner. I felt I ought to pay my duty to my host.

  ‘Look, here’s Mr. Knox, come to entertain us,’ said Joan. In Sir Neville’s presence, she seemed to be making more of an effort to be polite to the guests.

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ I said, in mock alarm. ‘In fact, I was feeling frightfully dull myself and was rather hoping that you would entertain me.’

  She laughed and her face was transformed.

  ‘Actually, we were talking about the weather! This is what happens when one sees the same people every day, you know. One has to resort to chewing over the same old subjects.’

  ‘But, my dear, since we have guests here and may wish to take them around the grounds tomorrow, the weather is of the first importance,’ said Sir Neville, not unreasonably.

  ‘I suppose so, although you know that you would happily go tramping about the countryside every day, come rain, shine, hail or snow, especially if there was any shooting to be had.’

  ‘I might, certainly but I can hardly insist my guests do the same.’

  ‘Do you shoot?’ I asked Simon Gale and was not surprised when he shook his head in reply.

  ‘It is not a sport that appeals to me,’ he said. ‘I am not very dexterous with a gun.’

  ‘I wish you would take a day off once in a while and come shooting,’ said Sir Neville. I never knew such a fellow for working day after day at all hours.’

  ‘I enjoy my work,’ replied Gale mildly.

  ‘Neville can’t understand why anybody wouldn’t want to go out shooting every day,’ said Joan. ‘He’s a positive fiend with a shotgun.’

  ‘You exaggerate, my dear but I confess that I like to get out as much as possible. There is something about being out in the fresh air that causes one to forget one’s troubles, if only for a short while.’

  Joan snorted.

  ‘Troubles, indeed! Really, Neville, what troubles can you possibly have?’

&nbs
p; ‘There speaks the voice of youth and irresponsibility,’ I interjected lightly, as I saw that Sir Neville’s face had darkened. Joan ploughed on, laughing.

  ‘Why, nobody has less right to claim a troubled life than Neville! He’s rich, with a lovely house and a beautiful wife. He can do whatever he wants.’

  ‘I only wish that were so, my dear,’ said Sir Neville, recovering himself. ‘But when you are a little older you will come to realize that even the most fortunate of us can have our problems.’

  Whether because of the tone of his voice, or for some other reason, Joan made no reply and a short, uncomfortable silence descended. It was broken by Sylvia, from the other side of the room.

  ‘Whatever can have happened to Rosamund?’ she exclaimed. ‘She only went to speak to the cook about dinner but she’s been simply ages.’

  For a short while, in the flurry of new acquaintances, I had completely forgotten about Rosamund but now my heart began to thump again—mostly at the thought of the whole party’s being witness to our first meeting in eight years.

  ‘I’ll go and see where she’s got to, shall I?’ Joan said and moved towards the door. Just as she did so, however, it was flung open and two people came in. I recognized one of them as Angela Marchmont. The other was Rosamund.

  FOUR

  The room fell silent and everyone turned to watch as Rosamund paused in the doorway and scanned the assembled company, as though seeking someone. Then she caught sight of me and let out a little scream.

  ‘Charles, darling!’ she cried, heading straight towards me and clasping both my hands in hers. ‘How simply divine to see you again! My, how well you look! Sylvia, you sly thing, you never told me how delightfully handsome he was looking!’

  ‘I can’t say I’d noticed,’ replied Sylvia carelessly.

  ‘Nor had I,’ I admitted. Everybody laughed and the moment of tension was broken. The buzz of conversation resumed.