The driver threw his hands up. ‘You nicked it. I told you I’d never driven one like this.’ He graunched it into gear, and the car lurched forward again.
Eleanor swallowed hard and braced herself, hoping she had understood Clifford’s hastily coded message.
‘But I fear we need to alight,’ Clifford continued in his measured tone, ‘at number… THREE!’
Eleanor elbowed the driver in the jaw, smacking his head against the window. From the back seat she heard a crunch of nose against glass. The car hit the pavement and stopped.
Quickly, she gave the man next to her another elbow punch with all her strength and then tumbled out of the door. ‘Run!’ she heard Clifford shout.
Go, Ellie! He’s made it out too. She sprinted into a long narrow passageway, hoping that the prick of light she could see filtering around the corner was daylight. Breathing too hard to know if there were footsteps pounding after her, she ran on until she reached the end of the tunnel.
A form stepped in front of her and smartly sidestepped her instinctive kick.
‘Clifford, it’s you!’
‘Yes, my lady.’
She spoke while taking deep breaths to calm her heart. ‘Sorry… about trying to kick you, but… but how did you get to the end of this passageway before me?’
‘These passageways are in fact drainage tunnels, my lady, designed to swiftly channel the water away from the grand buildings along the front in case the sea wall ever collapses. I took the next parallel passageway and have nothing more than the extra length of my legs to explain my earlier arrival.’
She ran her hand through her curls and glanced behind her. ‘They don’t seem to have followed us, but that was too close. In fact, if it hadn’t been for your quick thinking with the number thing, goodness knows what would have happened.’
‘Actually, my lady, we have his lordship to thank for that. He used it once to extract us from a rather similar situation in Algiers.’
‘Perhaps he was looking out for us just then?’
‘Possibly, my lady.’ He frowned. ‘It seems we are safe. For now. But I am greatly concerned by the turn and speed of events since our arrival.’
She smiled ruefully and shook her head. ‘None of this was on my holiday to-do list, that’s for sure. Maybe we should postpone our shopping trip and return to the hotel, avoiding anywhere deserted on the way?’
‘Agreed.’
As they walked, it was Eleanor’s turn to frown. ‘Why do you suppose they tried to kidnap us?’
‘Likely because they were the ruffians who killed Mr Eden and ransacked his room. On failing to find the item they were looking for, they assumed, as did our man on the pier, that Mr Eden passed it on to you.’
She groaned. ‘So now we have no choice but to find out what this wretched item is that was worth killing Hilary for. And we can’t go to Grimsdale because he already disbelieves everything I’ve said.’ She checked the street on her left wasn’t deserted before turning into it. ‘If we could just get hold of this troublesome object, we’d have the best chance of finding out why Hilary was killed for it. Then we might be closer to finding out who killed him.’
Clifford nodded. ‘Indeed, my lady, I am getting the distinct feeling that were we to possess this item, every criminal in Brighton would come knocking at our door, Mr Eden’s killer included.’
Eight
‘Perhaps we will try shopping in The Lanes tomorrow?’ Clifford said as they safely reached the red-carpeted entrance steps of the Grand Hotel.
‘Well, we need to shop elsewhere first,’ Eleanor said as she stepped inside, rubbing her bruised elbow. ‘For disguises. And excellent ones at that!’
‘Strange that a lady would need a disguise on holiday?’ came an unwelcome voice from behind an enormous Grecian urn.
Eleanor rolled her eyes. ‘Inspector, good afternoon.’
Grimsdale’s bald crown appeared between the fronds of gladioli and arum lilies as he rose. ‘Lady Swift, finally you return. I have been waiting for you.’
‘Most fortuitous timing then because here I am.’
His mouth set in a thin line. ‘I need to ask you some more questions. But not here. Please follow me. We can talk in room 204.’
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Clifford stiffen. She swallowed hard, aware that Grimsdale was watching her carefully. ‘I think I recall you saying that was my late husband’s room?’
‘You have an excellent memory, Lady Swift. Or perhaps you have been in there?’
Keep calm, Ellie. ‘No, I have never been in… that room.’
‘But you may choose to? Assuming you are found to have no involvement in the death of Mr Eden – or Painshill – as the widow, I thought you might like to record any items you wish to keep. These can then be sent on to you later, after the investigation is closed.’
The inspector seemed to have another motive, however. ‘Also, despite your self-professed distance, as the closest person to your late husband, there is a chance that you may notice something pertinent that my men missed?’
Including whatever got him killed? She bit her lip. ‘Fine, Inspector. Lead the way.’
The excitement of riding in the hotel’s innovative hydraulically powered lift passed her by as she fought to control her rushing emotions. As the attendant stopped the lift on the second floor, she felt Clifford press a clean handkerchief into her hand from behind. Her fingers closed tightly around it.
As she stepped out of the lift, the tall man she’d seen in the lobby wearing an overcoat when she’d first arrived passed her. He kept his eyes fixed forwards, but she was uncomfortably aware that he was looking at her, nonetheless. Following the inspector along the thick plum-carpeted corridor, her mouth was dry, her throat tight.
At the door, Grimsdale raised a hand. ‘I may have forgotten to mention whoever killed Mr Eden also ransacked the place.’
The room was less luxurious than her suite, but still beautifully appointed. Striped Wedgwood blue-and-silver wallpaper, peppered with a small walnut writing desk, a matching dressing table, chest of drawers and a single wardrobe. A sumptuous leather chesterfield armchair facing the window looked out over the promenade to the sea.
The chaos of clothes and belongings strewn across the floor, however, destroyed the room’s elegance. In the centre of the room, two suitcases had been stripped of their inner linings, their tattered edges waving as Grimsdale strode past them.
Eleanor’s first impression was that Hilary had been travelling light as, despite the mess, there were few personal effects to be seen. Three pairs of suit trousers, six shirts, two tailored jackets and a leather belt were all the clothing. But then she glimpsed a flash of blue silk.
Hilary’s favourite scarf! The one he tied into a temporary sling for you, Ellie, that day you were thrown from the horse. She looked up to see Grimsdale staring at her, his pencil moving across his notepad. She cleared her throat. ‘Where… where exactly was he killed?’
He nodded to the walnut writing desk facing the far window. ‘He was found slumped over the desk with a knife sticking out of his back.’
She closed her eyes and swallowed hard at the image. Sensing Clifford was reassuringly only half a pace behind her, she opened her eyes and tried to regain her composure.
‘I assume you have checked what is left of the suitcases?’
Grimsdale nodded and nudged open the door of the en suite bathroom. ‘And the remains of his toiletries case.’ She peeped past him and caught her breath at the tumble of shaving gear and the smashed cologne bottle that littered the floor. The sight of his familiar tan leather washbag having been slashed from end to end with a knife made her feel light-headed. Scrutinising the rest of the room, she ruled out any hiding places the killer might have missed, for the entire place was tiled with a scrolling wave motif. With the clawfoot bath standing as the centrepiece, there were no concealed nooks or opportunities for loose wainscotting.
Back in the sitting room, the inspecto
r appeared to be losing patience. ‘Do you see anything unusual, Lady Swift?’
She shook her head slowly. ‘I assume his leather satchel bag is in the bedroom area?’
He inclined his head. ‘Satchel bag?’
‘He never travelled without it. But perhaps he had changed his habits.’
‘Apparently not.’ He slid a Chinese screen to one side.
She stepped towards the bed as if in a daze. Her fingers ran along the mattress and onto the strap of the satchel Hilary had always had with him wherever he went. That it was now shredded like the rest of his luggage made the fact of his death seem more final than all the other decimation around her.
He’d even produced her surprise honeymoon present of the most beautiful emerald necklace she’d ever seen from that very satchel. That was after he’d carried her over the threshold of the romantic wilderness lodge he had booked for them. That her present had been stolen before the end of their trip had saddened her at the time. But now, standing amid the disarray of the last moments of the man she realised she knew little about, she admitted to herself that the theft might have been just one more lie.
She forced herself to speak. ‘I can’t see anything that might help you find the monster who did this.’
‘What about his watch?’
‘His watch?’
‘Yes. I’ve never known a man travel without the aid of some kind of timepiece, have you?’
She shrugged but stepped automatically over to the left-hand bedpost and reached for the slim length of leather cord she knew would be there. Turning it round, she stared sadly at the empty end of the loop. ‘The killer took his watch.’
‘No. I did, Lady Swift. You see, we in the police force are fully capable of conducting a thorough search. But I wanted to see how well you knew the man you still profess was your husband.’
‘A mean trick,’ she muttered.
‘Murder is a mean business, Lady Swift. Enlighten me, please. Why did he hang his watch behind his bedpost?’
She closed her eyes and spoke through her fingers. ‘His father died of a stroke in bed when Hilary was six, I think it was. His mother woke him and walked him to the grandfather clock in the hallway and made him stop the pendulum as a mark of respect, which broke his heart. From the first day he owned a watch, he swore to always hang it out of sight at night. He told me if he ever died in his sleep, no one would find it and be asked to stop it for his death.’ A stream of tears ran down her cheeks, which she failed to stem with Clifford’s handkerchief.
‘I see, I had no inkling of the significance,’ Grimsdale said without feeling. ‘Shall I add it to the list of effects you wish to keep?’
Clifford gave an uncharacteristic snort and stepped in front of the policeman. ‘When you have quite finished with all the gentleman’s effects, you will have someone neatly package every one, regardless of their condition. You will then dispatch them to Henley Hall.’ He pulled a card from his waistcoat pocket and thrust it into the inspector’s hand. ‘Here is the address.’
‘There is one more thing I wish her to look at,’ Eleanor heard the inspector say.
‘It’s alright, Clifford, thank you.’ She turned to Grimsdale. ‘Where is it?’
‘In the manager’s office.’
She followed him, glad to escape the room.
The manager’s office was a rather grandiose version of the hotel itself. Swathes of green flock fabric hung in perfect pleats the full length of one wall. Two chairs, upholstered in the same colour, sat either side of an imposing mahogany desk with a green leather writing inlay. Aside from a large bookcase of neatly labelled files and two plain standard lamps illuminating the somewhat gloomy space, there were no other items of furniture.
The inspector took the chair behind the desk and waved Eleanor into the other.
She reluctantly complied. ‘Inspector, I would appreciate it if we could make this as quick as possible. I really have been through enough emotional turmoil for one day.’
For once, Grimsdale gave her the impression that he believed her. Unlocking the top desk drawer, he pulled out a wallet and passed it to her.
‘Do you recognise this?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. I believe it is Hilary’s. Does it bear an embossed bird on the other side?’
‘You can look for yourself. The only fingerprints on it were his.’
She turned it over. ‘I imagine you found this on the bedside table?’ she said without thinking.
‘We did. Peculiar, wouldn’t you say?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to think. It seems whoever killed my husband wasn’t after his money.’
‘No, clearly, despite the room being searched, it wasn’t a case of robbery. Please look inside, perhaps something will strike you.’
There appeared to be little inside. The main pocket contained several bank notes she recognised as being marked from the South African Reserve Bank. There was also the stub of a second-class Blue Line ship’s passenger ticket from Natal to the Port of London, which had been scheduled to dock four days previously. She ran her fingers along each of the other pockets but found nothing more and handed it back.
‘Missing anything?’
‘How would I know? When we were together, I was not in the habit of searching Hilary’s wallet.’
Grimsdale skimmed a rectangular photograph face down across the desk to her.
‘I thought you might have been looking for that when you went through his wallet, that’s all.’
Trying to stop her fingers trembling, she ignored the few faint ink markings on the back and picked it up.
Please don’t let it be Hilary with another woman.
She turned it over and sighed in relief. It was a photograph of Hilary, looking like the happiest man alive. Impeccably dressed in a dinner suit, he stood smiling at the camera, incongruous with the dirt floor of the lean-to shelter adorned in flowers he stood under.
Then realisation dawned. It was over. All her years of wondering, of hoping. Now she knew.
‘Thank you,’ she said matter-of-factly. She held the inspector’s questioning gaze. ‘Perhaps this will convince you once and for all that Hilary and myself were unquestionably estranged.’
She skimmed the photograph back to him. ‘That is the picture taken on our wedding day. And as you can plainly see, Hilary cut me out of it. A long time ago, if the condition of the cut edge is anything to go by. Good day.’
Nine
‘Where can I take you, my lady?’ Clifford said gently as he pulled the door of the manager’s office shut behind her.
‘Anywhere away from here.’
‘Follow me.’
As Clifford led the way she spotted the short man she’d first seen in conversation with the taller man. He was lounging on the far side of the lobby where he had an unobstructed view of the door into the manager’s office. Unless it was her imagination, he too was surreptitiously taking a keen interest in her. In the furthest corner of the hotel’s glass-covered terrace, she absently accepted the lap blanket the suited waiter offered and let Clifford order for her. As lunchtime had passed, they were alone, save for two elderly ladies and the dapper man she’d also noted in the lobby when she’d first arrived. He was seated apart from the ladies at the opposite end of the long chandelier-lit extension.
‘Leave the tray, I’ll pour, thank you, Thomas,’ Clifford said.
Eleanor looked up to see the waiter hesitating over the unorthodox request.
‘It’s fine really, thank you,’ she managed with a weak smile.
As the waiter walked away, she turned to Clifford. ‘Thomas?’
‘As a guest’s servant here at the Grand, my room is on the same floor as many of the staff, all of whom have proved to be most genial. Thomas usually works on the front desk but as the hotel is understaffed at the moment he also helps out in the dining room. We discovered that we both enjoy Tolstoy and were delighted to swap books for the week.’
She smiled. ‘I can’
t imagine any situation you could be dropped into where you wouldn’t instantly be welcomed. Be that the king’s court or the pirate’s tavern in the most treacherous end of nowhere.’
He bowed and placed a steaming cup of tea in front of her. Leaning across, he then added a generous measure of what she assumed was brandy from a miniature crystal decanter. ‘Your sangfroid has remained admirably intact, my lady, but perhaps a little extra fortification would not go amiss?’
‘Thank you. Did I really think a holiday by the sea would be a good idea?’
‘I heartily wish that I had suggested booking anywhere but the Grand, my lady. All of this unpleasantness would have passed you by had we booked into any other hotel.’
‘Do you really think so? Honestly, I’m not so sure. Whoever it is that’s after what Hilary had seems horribly determined. Somehow I get the feeling I would have been sought out at some point, seeing as several dubious types already seem to think I have it in my possession.’ She stirred her tea thoughtfully. ‘Mind you, I suppose, as you said, given the chaotic state of things after the war, I doubt if anyone would even have known Hilary and I were ever married.’
She groaned. ‘That was a bit of a punch in the stomach, though, seeing our wedding photograph… cut like that.’ She kept her eyes on her tea. ‘I don’t understand why he would do that. I mean, even if I meant nothing to him, why go to all the trouble of cutting me out and then still carrying the other half around? It wasn’t as if we fought, or parted on bad terms. The last time we spent together was wonderful.’ She blushed as the full memory of their last night flooded back.
Clifford’s tone was non-committal. ‘It is a puzzle, my lady.’
‘Clifford.’ She looked up at him. ‘You mean well I know, but there can be no other explanation and I should just accept it. He cut me out of his life and I suppose cutting me out of the photograph probably just reinforced his relief it was over.’
‘Supposing is good, but finding out is better.’ He paused. ‘Mark Twain,’ he added. ‘If you are resolved in thinking that Mr Eden felt the need to move on from your marriage, then that is fine. You are now at peace with that idea. So would there be any harm in pursuing the rest of the story? You said you wanted to find out the truth, no matter what.’
Mystery by the Sea: An utterly addictive English cozy mystery (A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 5) Page 5