Mystery by the Sea: An utterly addictive English cozy mystery (A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 5)

by Verity Bright

  ‘Go on,’ she said quietly.

  ‘If what we discover proves you were right, you will not be subjected to any more upset because you have, as I said, already made peace with the idea. But if we reveal a more positive reason for his actions, might you not then move on through life eminently lighter of heart?’

  She nodded glumly. Aware that her despondency was adding to the gloomy pall over the afternoon, she tried to lighten the mood. ‘Thank you for wading in with Grimsdale by the way, much appreciated.’

  ‘Perhaps we might omit him from our conversation, with your permission, of course. I confess to finding it hard to control my temper when his name is mentioned.’

  She tilted her head. ‘Do you actually have a temper, Clifford? I find it difficult to imagine.’

  He adjusted his perfectly aligned tie. ‘If the situation dictates.’

  She managed a small chuckle. ‘You know, you have a wonderful knack of knowing what to do and say to make me feel better in even the trickiest of situations. But I suppose you had years of practice with Uncle Byron.’

  She choked on her tea as he laughed out loud, only the second time she’d heard him do so since she had come to live at Henley Hall.

  ‘What? What did I say?’ She was a little bemused.

  ‘Please accept my sincere apologies, my lady, that was unforgivable but also, regrettably, uncontainable.’

  ‘What exactly did I say that was so amusing?’

  ‘Merely the notion that any of the twenty plus years I enjoyed in his lordship’s service could ever have prepared me for the unprecedented situations I have found myself in since you arrived.’ He shook his head. ‘It has been quite the extraordinary ride.’

  She winced. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘But not in any way an unpleasant one,’ he added. ‘Interesting. Surprising. Deeply concerning in regard to your safety on too many occasions. Perhaps unpredictable, even on a daily basis, would be the best description.’

  ‘Yet you’ve taken everything perfectly in your stride. You’ve never flapped or faltered once.’

  ‘I am a butler, my lady.’

  She nodded and raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, of course, the conclusive answer.’ She knew better than to rib him on that score. Her mind drifted back to the manager’s office. ‘After what our friend told us on the pier last night, I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that Hilary’s room had been ransacked. I wish we knew something about the item his killer was looking for, though.’

  ‘We do, my lady.’

  She looked at him quizzically. ‘Do we?’ She thought hard, but drew a blank. ‘What?’

  ‘That whatever Mr Eden’s killer was seeking is too large to fit into a gentleman’s wallet, but not too large to be concealed in his satchel.’

  She slapped her forehead. ‘Of course, you clever bean! The murderer didn’t even open Hilary’s wallet, but slashed his beloved satchel.’ She frowned and shook her head. Something was nagging at her memory again. ‘The desk!’

  Clifford arched an eyebrow. ‘I’m sorry, my lady?’

  She jumped up. ‘Grimsdale said Hilary was found stabbed in the back at the writing desk! Come on!’

  She rushed out of the terrace, followed by her confused butler, ignoring the two old ladies’ remarks about ‘the youth of today’.

  ‘My lady, I cannot.’ Clifford shook his head and stayed resolutely in the corridor outside her suite.

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Clifford! We can’t afford to be overheard, this is too important.’ She tipped out her handbag onto an exquisite inlaid table and pawed through the contents. ‘Look!’ She held up the envelope he had interrupted her in opening as he’d chivvied her to start their journey to Brighton. ‘I knew I recognised the writing.’ She showed him the handwritten address. ‘It’s Hilary’s,’ she whispered.

  Clifford glanced up and down the corridor before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

  She gestured to him impatiently. ‘Come over here.’

  Again, he shook his head, his back pressed to the door. She had never seen him look so uncomfortable.

  What is his problem, Ellie? We’re not in my bedroom, only the sitting room, it’s no different to the sitting room downstairs. She shook her head.

  ‘Okay, Mr Etiquette, stay where you are and I’ll be quick. Thank you for always being the gentleman and protecting the lady’s reputation, but I’m sure propriety allows a lady’s butler to attend to her in the sitting room of her suite.’ She grabbed the hotel letter opener before joining him. ‘I can’t believe I’ve had this all along and didn’t realise it. I forgot all about it until Grimsdale mentioned Hilary being killed at his desk. Obviously he can’t have been writing this letter at the time as I wouldn’t have received it, but it finally jogged my memory.’

  ‘You have had rather a lot going on, my lady.’

  She nodded. ‘I just couldn’t remember at the Hall why the handwriting was familiar.’ She peered at the envelope and let out a long breath. ‘Here goes.’

  ‘Are you sufficiently prepared for whatever it might contain?’

  ‘Not even a tiny bit. Good job you fortified my tea.’ With a trembling hand, she ran the letter opener carefully along the top of the envelope. ‘Empty! Look.’ She held it open for him to see. ‘But it can’t be,’ she muttered. ‘Oh, Hilary, talk to me, please.’ She put her fingers inside and ran them along the back. She gasped. ‘There’s something glued inside.’ She pulled it out, ripping the envelope as she did so. ‘Oh, gracious! Clifford, it’s’ – she held it up – ‘the other half of our wedding photograph!’

  Ten

  Outside on the top step of the hotel’s majestic staircase, Eleanor felt her head was finally beginning to stop spinning. There was still a biting sea breeze, but the sun shone in a sky speckled with fluffy white clouds lazily sauntering along as if they were the ones on holiday.

  ‘Sorry, Clifford,’ she mumbled. ‘I thought I’d been down the steepest part of this wretched emotional helter-skelter.’

  ‘No need at all to apologise, my lady. However, perhaps a break from all of it would help? An engaging distraction, as it were?’

  ‘Yes, it certainly would. Let’s see if we can find the ladies.’

  ‘Eminently doable.’

  ‘But they won’t want me tagging along. They’ll only feel they have to behave.’

  ‘At the seaside on holiday? I sincerely doubt it. And even if they intend to, I am confident they won’t manage it.’

  How he had deduced that the ladies would have visited the bright lights of the entertainment halls and now be at the Palace Pier, she could not fathom. But the sight of the three of them arm in arm, laughing as they walked along, brought her the sense of grounding she craved.

  Even in her short time at Henley Hall, there had been some significant squabbles between Mrs Trotman and Mrs Butters. And she knew that Polly’s clumsy forgetfulness drove them both to distraction. Clifford, too. And he sometimes found the ladies a challenge to oversee, but it had never been more clear that the four of them were a team. One bound by more than just being thrown together through their employment. Behind all the respectful adherence to the rules of the staff hierarchy, they were friends.

  And she was part of it too, she realised, as the three of them spied her and ran over calling out, Gladstone trotting alongside barking excitedly. Make that the perfect six, Ellie.

  ‘My lady? Hooray!’

  Gathered in front of her, Mrs Butters nudged Polly, whose cheeks coloured. ‘Go on, my girl.’

  Polly reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small tissue-wrapped package. ‘We bought you a present, your ladyship.’ She bit her lip. ‘I hope ’tis not against the rules.’

  Eleanor took the package from the young girl’s outstretched hand. ‘Gracious, thank you. But the envelopes I asked Clifford to give each of you were for you to spend entirely on yourselves on your holiday.’

  Mrs Butters waved her hand. ‘’Tis only little.’


  Pulling open the tissue paper, Eleanor caught her breath. ‘Ladies, it is absolutely beautiful.’ She lifted up the darling plaited bracelet of starched green ribbons of every shade. ‘Green is so my favourite colour.’ Below hung four shiny tin charms.

  ‘I chose the seagull,’ Polly said. ‘Because she made me think of you flying along on all your magical travels.’

  Mrs Butters chuckled. ‘And I picked the dog because we all know how much you love Mr Wilful here.’

  ‘Beggin’ your pardon, my lady, but I chose the little knife and fork because you’re always so complimentary and enthusiastic about my cooking,’ Mrs Trotman said.

  ‘And the delightful little clock?’ Eleanor asked with a sideways glance at Clifford.

  The ladies looked at each other. ‘We chose that in Mr Clifford’s absence because we know how much you enjoy following his schedules,’ Mrs Butters said through a fit of giggles which set them all off.

  ‘Ladies, sincerely it is the most wonderful present I have ever received.’ She laid it over her wrist, Mrs Butters looping the delicate chain clasp closed.

  ‘Have you both a little while to join us? ’Twould be such a treat.’

  Fearing her voice would give her away, Eleanor simply nodded.

  It was a perfect afternoon. The sea breeze died down from biting to nipping and occasionally the warmth of the early spring sun reminded one that summer, not winter, was around the corner. Eleanor and the ladies explored the esplanade and piers, giggling at the risqué postcards and pointing out everything that caught their eye. The milder temperature had enticed more people outside, giving the long parade something of a fashion-show air. Ladies in colourful silk dresses and fur coats held tight to the arms of smartly suited gentlemen, most sensibly still carrying umbrellas knowing how fickle seaside weather could be.

  Eleanor was captivated by the elegant window displays of the many shoe shops, while Mrs Butters cooed over the rainbow array of delicate fabrics in the haberdashers and Polly drank in the rows of feathered, fringed and netted hats and fascinators in the milliners. Among the rather wind-blown stalls set up on many of the wider street corners, they idled over the collections of artwork, chatting with the artists. It was fascinating to learn the history of many of the buildings and boats included in the seascapes.

  At one street corner, Eleanor stood quietly as she watched Clifford in animated discussion with the painter of a scene of the nearby Beachy Head Lighthouse being constructed twenty years earlier.

  The engineers had built a cable car purely to transport the building materials from the cliffs to the lighthouse, spanning the five hundred feet out from the cliffs, the sea approach being too dangerous. It obviously appealed to Clifford’s love of engineering and science. As he moved on, she discreetly paid for the painting and asked for it to be delivered to his room at the Grand.

  Fortified by a stop off in a sweet little café in one of the quirky boutique-filled lanes, the five of them hurried off to the beach and a Punch and Judy show. Despite the lack of tourists elsewhere, a sizeable crowd had gathered in front of the narrow stage, which stood about eight feet above the sand. The gold-painted sign declared this to be Professor Willoughby’s Royal Show. Framed by an ornate wooden cut out of a theatre’s decorative arch, the sides and back of the pop-up theatre were made of red-and-yellow striped calico pulled taut to hide the puppeteer inside at work.

  Clifford made sure Polly had a good view of the hook-nosed puppets and soon she and the other ladies were tired from laughing at the crocodile repeatedly stealing Punch’s sausages and Punch fighting with the doctor who had come to examine him. Hoarse from shouting at naughty Mister Punch, they finally set off to find another café where they revived themselves by devouring cockles and whelks, prawns and candyfloss.

  As they wandered back along towards the pier, Clifford paused to tie his shoelace. The ladies, meanwhile, dissolved into fits of giggles in front of the ornate fronted ‘Miniature Picture Palace’. Polly clapped her hands over her mouth and stared wide-eyed at Mrs Butters, who had shuffled in front of one of the posters in the window.

  ‘What is it?’ Eleanor said.

  ‘Oh, apologies, my lady, it must be the sea air affecting our sense of humour.’

  ‘Come on, let me in on the joke.’

  With a mischievous grin, Mrs Trotman pushed Mrs Butters aside to reveal the poster. It depicted a coin-operated free-standing viewing machine and written inside the outline of a keyhole the words ‘What the Butler Saw! Only 2d.’

  The ladies stared at Eleanor apprehensively until she exploded into laughter. ‘Can you imagine if Clifford even catches us looking at the poster? The poor man will blush from his impossibly shiny shoes to the tips of his ears.’

  ‘Quick, he’s coming,’ Mrs Trotman hissed.

  Feeling guilty, they spun round and slapped on their best innocent expressions. Eyeing each of them in turn like naughty children, Clifford shook his head. ‘I see it is not just the staff who are flouting the rules of propriety.’

  As they moved on, a man in a tightly belted overcoat and fedora approached them carrying a camera on a wooden tripod. ‘Good afternoon, folks, excuse me interrupting. I wonder if you would care for a photographic memento of your trip to almost sunny Brighton?’

  Eleanor nodded. ‘We would absolutely love that.’

  ‘Price includes developing and sending to any address in the country by post.’ The photographer was obviously delighted at what was probably his first piece of business all day, given the less-than-sparkly weather and the lack of tourists.

  With the group pose sorted and Gladstone finally persuaded to sit still, the photographer disappeared under a dark cloth and called, ‘Let’s see beautiful smiles all round, folks!’

  Just as the photograph was taken, Gladstone decided that the seagull he’d been eyeing on the beach needed chasing and shot off after it.

  ‘No, boy. Come back!’ Eleanor called after him as he lumbered down the short flight of steps. Clifford was quickly on his trail, his long strides making swift progress in closing the gap. But the seagull had got the measure of the panting bulldog and came to rest ten feet from the shore, bobbing on the heaving waves. Oblivious to the swell of the sea, Gladstone barrelled in after it and then came to a stunned halt as he was lifted up and thrown about by the choppy water.

  Eleanor ran to the sea’s edge, but by then Clifford had ripped off his shoes and socks. Rolling up his trouser legs, he waded in to catch the struggling bulldog. Re-emerging soaked from the waist down he put the dog gently on the sand and ruffled his ears. ‘Not without a life jacket, Master Gladstone. You’re not built for swimming, remember?’

  ‘Oh, Clifford,’ Eleanor said, dropping to her knees and nuzzling Gladstone’s soggy nose. ‘Thank you.’ But then she failed to hold back the giggle that broke out of her at the sight of her usually impeccable butler dripping onto the beach. With his sodden trousers turned up at different lengths and his feet covered in sand, he looked too comical. Recovering, she tried to sound concerned. ‘You must be so cold. I bet the sea is absolutely freezing, isn’t it?’

  ‘I believe “bracing” is the official seaside term, my lady.’

  As Clifford bent to put his shoes on, the photographer appeared at Eleanor’s side and said in a low voice, ‘The image of such a smart gentleman wading into the sea in March after a mischievous dog was too funny, madam. I couldn’t resist it.’ He patted his camera. ‘But that one will be developed and sent to you on me, just for him having made my day.’ With another chortle he set off across the sand, whistling.

  Back at the Grand, Clifford slid in via the staff entrance, given his disordered appearance, taking Gladstone with him. Eleanor pulled out her pocket watch. She was at a bit of a loose end for the hour until they had arranged to meet back up. When they did, they would need to find a restaurant where they could eat together. Society certainly didn’t condone butlers dining with their employers, so they needed to find one well away from the Grand. Eleanor
sighed, wishing, not for the first time, that she had been born in the future, when society would surely be based on a more equitable footing.

  But then she realised all that sea air had made her quite ravenous. Putting campaigning for social justice on temporary hold, she went in search of a pre-dinner snack.

  Eleven

  Back in her room, relaxed from her afternoon with her staff, Eleanor looked around with renewed interest. Since arriving at the Grand, she’d simply been too caught up in the dreadful events of the last twenty-four hours to notice her surroundings. Across the sumptuous cream carpet, separated by an exquisite marble and onyx coffee table, sat two sky-blue and silver velvet button settees, their bold geometric print echoed in the wallpaper. One wall of the room was occupied entirely by floor-to-ceiling windows, shrouded by the sheerest of pleated silver voile. Taking the turned glass rod, which served as a decorative curtain pull, she pulled the shimmering fabric aside and stared out at the restless sea.

  Hilary crossed that, Ellie. Likely thirty days aboard, sailing the South Atlantic and the North, too. Could it have been all with the intention of seeing you? What other explanation could there be for sending you the other half of our wedding photograph? And for keeping it all those years? Maybe in his wallet, close to his heart? And yet before you realised he had kept the other half of the photograph, you were sure your marriage meant nothing to him!

  Fearing she would explode with her conflicting emotions, as well as the events, of the last twenty-four hours, she decided a bath and a change of clothes would at least distract her burning brain.

  In her adjoining cream-and-gold bedroom, silk wallpaper depicting exotic birds filled the wall opposite her queen-sized bed. She smiled at the pretty dish of Turkish delight on her pillow and the vase of fresh flowers left by the cleaning staff. At least if life was going to veer off the rails, it had happened somewhere luxurious. Even the bathroom was worthy of a sultan’s palace. One wall depicted Botticelli’s ‘Birth of Venus’, artfully edited in the modesty stakes by the careful placement of two wall sconces. The remaining walls were decorated with embossed shell-motif tiles. An indulgent deep, gold, claw-footed bath along with twin gold-tapped washbasins occupied this end of the bathroom. Choosing from an array of bath oils, she slid into the hot water and let the steam melt her angst away.