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

by Verity Bright

  She found her breath coming short. Ellie, is he just playing with you? Is any of this true? She snapped to. ‘Mr de Meyer, I am tiring of your game.’

  He smiled, a broad crocodile smile. ‘I have always had a soft spot for English politeness. It’s so ingrained and unwavering.’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘Well, mine is definitely wavering to the point you might have a chance to see the most unladylike side of me in no uncertain terms. Now did you kill my husband?’

  ‘I didn’t.’ At her derisive snort, he laid his hands out on the table. ‘But I would have. Without hesitation. The only problem was, when I tracked him and his two former partners to England and the Grand, Brighton, he was already dead.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘His room had also been ransacked, so I assumed his two former partners had caught up with him first.’

  Her hand strayed towards her pocket that held the two halves of the photograph, but she willed it back down. ‘Well, Mr de Meyer, thank you for your time. It is refreshing that you own up to knowing Hilary and even to going into his room the night he died. What time was that, by the way?’

  He cast his eyes upwards for a moment. ‘Maybe ten minutes or so before midnight.’

  So that agrees with Franklin’s version of events, Ellie, if we believe either of them. But then again, they’re bound to say he was already dead, aren’t they? They’re not going to admit to killing him!

  ‘Mr de Meyer, just before you take your very overdue leave, you must believe Mr Eden had something very valuable to your employer?’ Clifford asked. ‘By your own admission, you have pursued it for the best part of six years.’

  He eyed Clifford coolly. ‘My employers make it a rule always to recover their property, no matter how long it takes. And always to make an example of those who steal from them, to dissuade others from being so foolish.’

  Eleanor snapped. ‘So you did kill him!’

  He shook his head, a derisive smile on his lips. ‘For a bright woman, you do go back and forth. I’ve just told you he was already dead when I got to him.’

  ‘But you ransacked his room then?’

  A pained look crossed his face. ‘Please, I am a professional. If I had done it, I would have done it in a far more systematic and orderly fashion.’

  Despite himself, Clifford nodded approvingly.

  De Meyer rose, smoothing a hand down his trousers. ‘Lady Swift, we are both too smart to play games with each other. I suggest you return whatever your husband foolishly gave you and I will see it gets back to its rightful owners.’ he glanced at Clifford who had also risen. ‘Otherwise, despite the best efforts of your loyal companion, you may very well have celebrated your last birthday.’

  Twenty-Seven

  Back in her suite, Eleanor lay on one of the blue velvet settees wishing she could have hung on to the second half of her wedding photograph for longer. Just a day. Or even an hour. After Seldon’s earlier insistence that it was better they didn’t meet again that evening, she’d sent Clifford off to return it to him.

  A knock at her door interrupted her thoughts. Before she could react, the telephone on the desk rang. It was Clifford. ‘My lady, it is Thomas who is knocking. It is quite safe.’ His voice clicked off, leaving her staring at the handset.

  ‘What the…?’ She strode to the door and opened it. ‘Hello, Thomas, you have something for me?’

  ‘A small package, Lady Swift.’

  More confused than ever, she accepted the neat, tissue-wrapped parcel, and locked the door. She frowned as her fingers felt a hard round lump in the middle of the otherwise soft parcel. Untying the green ribbon, a wide smile split her face as the tissue paper fell open.

  ‘Oh my! It’s from Seldon… I mean Hugh. Gladstone!’

  Sprawled on the carpet, the snoozy bulldog raised his head wearily at the sound of his name. From the centre of the package’s contents, she picked up the beautiful pink stone worn almost circular that she had found by the bench up on the cliffs. ‘And he kept this from yesterday.’

  The accompanying note was handwritten in short, efficient strokes.

  Happy birthday, Eleanor. As your scarf requires significant cleaning after its adventures at sea, I have left it with the hotel staff to attend to.

  He went back and found your scarf, Ellie!

  I hope however this might suffice in the meantime.

  She lifted out an emerald silk scarf with a delicate beaded fringe and let out a sigh of delight as she placed it round her neck. ‘Gladstone, he bought me a present, and it’s beautiful!’

  Doubtlessly Gladstone was delighted for her, but the effort of supporting his head defeated him and he sank back down onto the carpet. She picked up the note and read the next line:

  Carriage booked for 7 p.m.… if dinner and dancing are appropriate, of course? Hugh.

  Her head shot up. Ellie, he’s changed his mind! She stared at her watch – six thirty! – and then back at the note in horror. ‘But I didn’t bring anything to go dancing in!’ Then she noticed the last line:

  P.S. I have been told to tell you to look under your bed.

  ‘What on earth?’

  On the dot of seven, she stepped out of the hotel lift in her favourite emerald-green gown. The one that she knew she hadn’t packed but which had magically appeared in her wardrobe and which miraculously matched her new scarf. Her dancing shoes sparkled as she crossed the lobby. She caught Clifford’s eye where he sat in one of the wingback chairs, absorbed in a book. He nodded and rose to accompany her to the door, pretending to button his lip.

  She wagged a finger at him. ‘Oh no, we will definitely have words about the hand you played in this amazing surprise later.’

  He bowed from the shoulders. ‘I regret, it will be a tedious one-sided conversation as I have nothing to say, my lady.’

  ‘You are a wizard, I swear,’ she said in awe, gesturing down at her dress, then laughing at the wink he gave her in reply.

  ‘You look… radiant,’ Seldon said as she stepped into the ornate horse-drawn carriage waiting just down from the Grand’s main entrance, away from any chance Inspector Grimsdale’s men might see them together. ‘Happy birthday. But perhaps that should have come first,’ he added awkwardly.

  She took the seat beside him, a frisson running down her spine at their closeness. ‘Thank you for my beautiful present. And for scouring the beach for my scarf. That was so kind. And for dealing with Grimsdale over the photograph. And… and for this.’ She waved a hand around the carriage. ‘It’s a wonderful, if very unexpected surprise.’

  ‘Ah, now is that my first blunder? I believed you like to be the mistress of the unexpected.’

  She blushed. ‘Well, I’m usually the one who changes her mind unexpectedly, that’s true. Not that I wish you hadn’t changed your mind,’ she added quickly. ‘In fact, I’m so happy you did, but I can see I need to reprimand Clifford severely for collaborating with the police against me.’

  He patted down his black evening jacket. ‘Ah, blunder number two then. There’s no policeman in here tonight. I left him back in Oxford. Mostly because someone, sitting right beside me I might add, told me in no uncertain terms that he was no fun at parties.’

  ‘Oops! I did, didn’t I? Was that because you arrested my good friend at the last party we were both at?’

  He groaned and rolled his eyes. ‘Surely we can call a truce tonight?’

  Her cheeks coloured. ‘Sorry. I promise not to spoil this amazing birthday treat for anything.’ She clapped her hands. ‘Now, let’s see just how much better Hugh is at partying than the eminent Detective Chief Inspector Seldon, shall we?’

  ‘Driver?’ he called out. ‘The Old Ship Hotel and ballroom, but please take the picturesque route.’

  She cocked her head at him. ‘Why the sightseeing tour?’

  He gestured out of the carriage window. ‘Because irritatingly you can actually see The Old Ship from here. And anyway, tonight we need to save those feet for dancing, not walking.’

 
; She blushed as his deep-brown eyes stared into hers.

  Her feet were still dancing and her heart skipping as she waltzed back up the steps to the Grand just before the night porter locked the door. The gentlemanly kiss Hugh had placed on her hand by way of goodnight had finished the evening perfectly, if all too early to end the fun they’d had.

  She ran her finger over the spot and grinned. It had been surprisingly easy not to squabble as they had both stayed away from mentioning anything to do with police protocols or murder. Instead, they had chatted amiably over dinner and their laughter had flowed as freely as the champagne. The rest of the evening had been a delicious series of dances, where he had held her as delicately as a butterfly princess.

  She paused on the top step of the Grand, his parting words ringing round her head.

  ‘Eleanor, in the possibly unlikely event that we are still on speaking terms on your next birthday, perhaps we could repeat this evening?’

  She hugged her shoulders. Ellie, who could ever have guessed that someone so rigidly obsessed with procedure and protocol would be such a debonair dancer! The way he twirled you was too heavenly. Oh, why did the perfect birthday evening have to end so soon?

  In the lobby there were a surprising number of staff and guests given the lateness of the hour. She bid the night porter goodnight and turned to see Clifford waiting at the bottom of the main staircase.

  ‘Tell me you haven’t waited up when you knew Hugh, I mean Seldon, was dropping me off at the door, Clifford?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, my lady, I had no doubt Chief Inspector Seldon would be the perfect gentleman. Unfortunately, even though I sincerely wish not to spoil your evening, I have no option but to impart some regrettable news.’

  She looked around the lobby and then back at Clifford. ‘Okay, now I’m intrigued. What is so important that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Mr Blunt has… departed.’

  Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. ‘So, he’s made a run for it, has he? Botheration!!’ She gasped. ‘Do you think he found the item everyone is after?’

  Clifford cleared his throat. ‘If he did, I doubt he retained it for long. What I meant to say is he has departed this world. Mr Blunt, my lady, is dead.’

  Twenty-Eight

  ‘We absolutely need to do it now!’ Eleanor hissed as she pretended to peruse the magazine racks on the far side of the lobby. ‘Everyone should be in their rooms. Although’ – she peered across to the activity in the bar – ‘it seems the shock of Mr Blunt’s death has kept quite a few of the guests and staff from retiring. Dash it!’

  Clifford followed her gaze. ‘Not surprisingly there has been a furore in the last few hours of your absence, my lady. The police left but twenty minutes ago.’

  She groaned as the manager strode over to the lobby desk with two members of staff hurrying on his coat-tails. He disappeared into his office, then reappeared, a ring of keys jangling in his hand.

  ‘Ridiculously,’ he snapped just loud enough for Eleanor to hear, ‘I have been called to the police station now! None of the staff are to talk about the incident to anyone, understand? It was a most unfortunate accident. The man was clearly drunk. Understood?’ He held up a finger. ‘And see that the guests are kept happy. Whatever it takes!’

  Eleanor waited until he had stormed out of the front door the night porter held open for him and then whispered to Clifford again. ‘It’s now or never. Remember how quickly Hilary’s things were cleared out of 204? This is our only chance to sniff round Blunt’s room before housekeeping strip it bare.’

  Clifford coughed.

  She looked at him quizzically. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I meant to inform you earlier, my lady, but the moment never arose. I have a small confession. I—’

  She looked back at the bar. ‘What a stroke of luck, Thomas is there. Sorry, Clifford, you’ll just have to hold that confession until later. Now, you’ve sweet-talked Thomas before. He’ll help us if you play it right.’

  Clifford’s usually inscrutable expression was lost as he frowned. ‘He might be your number one fan, my lady, but forgive my question, how exactly do you suggest I play it right? I must, it seems, ask him to give me the key to the room of a man who has just died by falling off his balcony while drunk?’

  ‘Is that what happened?’

  ‘An apparent accident with nothing suspicious or amiss was the view held by the police who attended. That is what the manager told me in strict confidence. And the version of events the staff has been told to tell the guests.’

  ‘Well, how did you get the manager to talk to you about it if he is trying to hush it all up?’

  ‘I couldn’t say, my lady.’

  She groaned. ‘Let me guess. My name and “reporting the Grand Hotel’s fearful lack of security and care for their guests to the newspapers” were mentioned in the same sentence?’

  ‘Only twice before he gave in.’ He adjusted his perfectly aligned tie. ‘Hotel managers really need better training to deal with such awkward guests as yourself.’

  Despite the gravity of the situation, his wry humour made her smile. ‘You, Clifford, are a monster. How on earth did my uncle put up with you for so long?’

  ‘With extreme fortitude and fine brandy, my lady.’

  ‘Well, I shall need plenty of both in future. Oh quick! Go!’ she whispered. ‘Thomas is leaving the bar. You’ll think of something, you always do.’

  Up on the fourth floor, Thomas gestured to the last bedroom door, clutching a key in his hand.

  ‘You will be ensuring the scene where her character discovers the body is the making of the film,’ Clifford said in a low voice. ‘She will be eternally grateful for the chance to experience the chilling atmosphere left behind after an actual death. Even an accidental one,’ he added quickly.

  Thomas looked up, wide-eyed. ‘I never imagined being able to help the lady with her acting. It is an honour.’

  ‘Good man. However’ – Clifford gestured to where Eleanor had paused back along the corridor, breathing deeply through her hands held over her nose – ‘the lady is a fanatical method actress. She cannot step out of character for a moment or the effect will be lost.’

  Thomas wavered for a second. ‘What exactly does that mean?’

  ‘For the exercise to be successful, it is essential you leave us alone in the room.’

  ‘Umm, I’m not so sure I can do that. If the manager found out, I’d be for it.’ He stole a look at Eleanor, who now appeared to be engaged in a silent but impassioned conversation with an imaginary partner. The clerk looked back at Clifford in awe. ‘The lady is such a professional, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt?’

  ‘As you have noted, the lady is the consummate artist in these matters.’

  ‘I shall certainly be the first in the queue when the film comes to the picture palace! Ten minutes, no more, please!’ As he scurried off down the staircase, Eleanor glided gracefully up to Clifford and paused dramatically in the doorway in case the clerk was somehow still watching.

  Once inside, Clifford locked the door behind them.

  ‘Perhaps you have missed your vocation, my lady. Quite the film star performance if I may offer my commendation.’

  She groaned. ‘No, don’t. I feel terrible deceiving that poor man. And I’m panicking as I have no idea what to say if he finds out I’m not who he imagines I am!’

  ‘Oh, I should think throwing a hysterical tantrum that he was so crass as to believe that a titled lady would deign to appear in a moving picture. That should suffice.’

  She ran her hand through her curls. ‘You know, I hope I’m never on the opposite side to you. You are incorrigible.’

  She turned slowly in a half circle, surveying the scene, but at first glance, the room showed no sign of anything untoward having taken place. But it had. A man had died there. A wave of sadness hit her. Here you are, once again, Ellie, standing in a room where a life has been extinguished only a short time before
.

  She sensed Clifford hovering behind her. ‘It’s alright, at least there are no personal ghosts this time. Now, we both know what we’re thinking. Blunt may, or may not, have fallen to his death drunk, but the authorities seem too keen to label it an accident without a proper investigation.’

  Clifford nodded. ‘I agree, my lady. I gathered when I spoke to the manager that the Grand’s owners are not without considerable influence in the town—’

  ‘And they don’t want another potentially suspicious death bringing the popular press down here, claiming there’s a serial killer loose at “Death Hotel” and scaring the new season’s guests away?’

  Clifford’s brow furrowed. ‘I believe I have been in dereliction of my duty, my lady. I promised your uncle I would guard your wellbeing, mental and physical. Yet I failed to burn those penny dreadful novels you have devoured for too many years.’

  Eleanor folded her arms. ‘Look here, Clifford, I reckon we’ve only solved the cases we have because I’ve read those books. Now, what would the amateur sleuth do in a penny dreadful?’ She ignored him rolling his eyes and looked around.

  Being one of the smaller rooms at the furthest end of the hotel, the room felt cramped after her luxurious suite. It did, however, have a cosy charm, albeit tempered by the muted grey-and-cream decor and high ceiling. And, she mused again, the fact that a man had just died there.

  Clifford stepped to the chest of drawers and pulled two pairs of his white butler gloves from his pocket, holding one out for her. ‘My lady, even though the police have discounted anything untoward, prudence would suggest we leave no trace of our visit here tonight.’