Snobbery With Violence - M. C. Beaton [56]
Everyone looked at her. Her voice was high and strained. “Questions, questions, questions,” she raged. ‘Tin sick of policemen. Lord Hedley, can’t you use your influence and get rid of them?”
“Fve tried,” he said heavily. “But now the press are baying for blood, there’s no way of removing Kerridge. I phoned the Prime Minister several times but his secretary keeps telling me he’s busy.”
Rose found her voice. “Don’t you think it would be better to help the police all we can? I mean, it looks as if the maid was killed and we don’t know about Mary Gore-Desmond.”
Inspector Judd appeared in the doorway. He whispered something to the butler, Curzon, who approached Lord Hedley and inclined his head, murmuring in a low voice.
“Tell Kerridge I’ll be with him shortly,” said the marquess. “This is all I needed.”
“What’s happened?” asked Lady Polly.
“The maid’s suitcase has been dredged up from the moat. Her belongings were all in it and it had been weighted down with bricks.”
Looking down the table, Rose saw that the enormity of the situation they were in had struck all the guests at once.
And Mrs. Fairfax made matters worse. “So someone here’s a murderer,” she said.
NINE
You may attempt the upper classes With your villainous demitasses, But Heaven will protect the working girl.
-EDGAR SMITH
Bertram-Brookes was the first to find his voice. “You cannot mean one of us, surely.”
“Who else?” demanded Mrs. Fairfax.
“My dear lady,” drawled Bertram, screwing his monocle into one eye and glaring at her through it, “it appears to have escaped your attention that we are surrounded by servants. The lower orders, Mrs. Fairfax. All prone to violence and nastiness.”
“Hear, I say,” mumbled Harry Trenton, rolling an anguished eye in the direction of the wooden-faced butler.
“Seems obvious to me,” said Mrs. Fairfax. “Servants seem regular enough. You lot don’t.”
“The weather really has turned cold,” said Lady Hedley, “but the autumn colours are quite beautiful.”
“Quite,” several voices agreed.
“It’s no use changing the subject,” said Mrs. Fairfax. “Someone kills Mary Gore-Desmond. Her maid knows who it is and ends up in the moat.”
“It wasn’t her maid,” said Frederica Sutherland, “it was Miss Bryce-Cuddlestone’s maid.”
“Oh, really? How interesting.” Mrs. Fairfax glared at Margaret. “Well, if you ask me, who else would want a maid hushed up but her mistress?”
There was a shocked silence. Margaret, her face white, fled the table.
Sir Gerald Burke, his eyes alight with malice, smiled at Mrs. Fairfax and said, “Amazing. Quite amazing.”
“What is?” she demanded.
“Americans are always being damned as vulgar and coarse. I never believed it before. After all, your nieces, ma’am, are a delight. But now, here you are, a prime example of everything that is coarse and unrefined.”
“Take that back, you whipper-snapper!”
Lady Hedley rose to her feet as a signal for the ladies to join her, seemingly ignoring the fact that the dessert had not yet been served.
To everyone’s relief, Mrs. Fairfax announced loudly that she was going to He down.
Once the ladies were gathered in the drawing-room, Mrs. Jerry Trumpington said, “Wouldn’t it be too marvellous to be like that? I mean, to say exactly what one is thinking?”
“Might start a lot of wars,” said Rose.
“May I remind you all,” said Lady Hedley, “that you are in a civilized household? No more ugly talk of murders, please.”
Mrs. Trumpington and Lady Polly went over to speak to her. The Peterson sisters approached Rose. “When do you think we can get out of this place?” asked Harriet.
“Soon, I hope,” said Rose. “But, oh, I wish we could find out what actually happened. Is your aunt usually so blunt?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” said Deborah. “She’s supposed to be chaperoning us at our first season next year, but we’d better tell our parents that shell frighten off anyone who comes near us.”
“Do you think she was right about Margaret Bryce-Cuddlestone?” asked Harriet.
Rose said slowly, “I cannot imagine her doing anything so awful.”
“Maybe it is one of the servants,