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

by Verity Bright

  ‘Did anyone mention when Mr Longley arrived in the bar this evening? Assuming he did, of course?’ she added hastily. ‘It’s just that someone mentioned he was there at the time of the event which we aren’t mentioning, and yet I was sure I saw him strolling along the promenade. You see, I’m worried I’m losing my memory. I had another birthday yesterday. It’s most troubling.’

  ‘Oh, belated returns of the day, Lady Swift.’

  Clifford whispered behind his hand. ‘The real reason for Lady Swift’s question, Thomas, is that she does not enjoy being wrong.’

  She threw her arms out. ‘Well, who does!’

  Thomas let out a chuckle but stopped himself abruptly. ‘My apologies, I may have forgotten myself for a moment. To answer your question, Mr Longley was already there when I went out to the terrace. But quite when he arrived, in all the confusion, I’m not sure I could say for certain. But let me think.’ Thomas drummed his fingers on his chin as he frowned. ‘Mr Longley can’t have been at the bar for long, if at all, before Mr Blunt fell. I’m sure, because I had been there just before to collect a post-dinner brandy ordered by the last diner.’

  Eleanor nodded thoughtfully. ‘I see. Do you know the whereabouts of Mr Franklin at this moment?’

  Thomas looked surprised. ‘Mr Franklin? The gentleman is reading in the private sitting room just through there.’

  ‘You see, Clifford, at least I was right about something. I thought it was him I saw with, er… that book I was interested in borrowing. I shall go and find out if he has finished with it. Thank you, Thomas, that will be all.’

  The luxurious long sitting room was decorated in pale blue and silver, which reflected the minimal light of the single lit lamp. Two plush velvet settees faced each other across a deep pile rug. A mahogany bookcase filled with leather-bound books that Eleanor wondered if anyone had ever read occupied one wall, while a selection of framed oil paintings of Brighton’s sights filled another. An enormous scrollwork mirror hung above the low marble mantelpiece which was flanked by two grey leather wingback chairs, their backs to the door, one occupied by a man seemingly reading a large hardback book.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Franklin. Couldn’t you sleep either?’ Eleanor stepped over and pulled back one of the long silver curtains to reveal the sharp white of the reclining crescent moon. ‘Isn’t it marvellous?’

  ‘Could be better.’ Franklin continued to stare at the open page.

  ‘Oh really, how so?’

  He snapped the book in his lap shut. ‘You could stop wasting my time and hand over what belongs to me.’

  ‘Now that is disappointing.’ She dropped elegantly into the chair opposite him. ‘Because I haven’t even started wasting your time yet.’

  Franklin shrugged but ran a hand down one of his cheeks, which appeared more hollow than ever in the dim glow of the fire.

  ‘And now Mr Blunt is dead too,’ Eleanor said. ‘This place really needs to improve its security, wouldn’t you say? Although’ – she looked pointedly at Franklin – ‘seeing as the man who murdered both men is posing as a guest, that probably wouldn’t help.’

  He scrutinised her face. ‘Who says the man who fell was murdered? That idiot Inspector Grimsdale?’

  She ignored the question. ‘It might be selfish to say but I am glad I wasn’t here when poor Mr Blunt was pushed over his balcony though. I can only imagine the awful image that would have been through those long glass windows in the bar.’ She shuddered. ‘I wonder if he screamed on the way down?’

  ‘He did.’

  She stiffened. ‘Oh, I hadn’t realised you were outside when it happened.’

  ‘I wasn’t. I was in my room with the window open. My room is on the floor below his.’

  ‘Gracious, you might have seen him flying past.’

  ‘I was too busy planning how to get what is rightfully mine back from you to be staring out the window.’

  She shook her head. ‘What an awful business. I’m amazed that the manager has managed to keep it so quiet. I thought the place would be flooded with press hounds.’

  ‘There was no crowd in there. When I ran down to see what had happened, there were just a handful of people. Only three from the hotel and one of them was the barman.’

  She gasped. ‘Oh but poor Miss Summers. She must have been in shock, having seen Mr Blunt fall?’

  Franklin leaned forward, the firelight picking up the golden strands in his fair hair. ‘I never said she was in the bar.’

  Eleanor smiled. ‘So you know who I’m talking about? An acquaintance of yours, is she?’

  He leaned back in his chair and shook his head. ‘No, Lady Swift, not of mine, of your husband’s.’

  She started. ‘Whatever makes you think that, Mr Franklin?’

  He leaned forward again. ‘It’s just that I’ve never met a woman who argues with a man she doesn’t know in his own hotel room.’

  Eleanor gasped theatrically. ‘Now this doesn’t sound good at all.’ She held his stare. ‘For you, I mean. Because unless you were peering through the keyhole, how could you possibly know she was in Hilary’s room?’

  ‘Because I happened to be passing your husband’s door about quarter to ten the night he was murdered. I distinctly heard two voices. Your husband said, “Oh why can’t you drop it, Grace. It doesn’t concern you!” Her name is Grace Summers, isn’t it?’

  ‘Ah, I’ve always liked the name Grace. A pretty name for a pretty girl. Most apt.’ She rose to leave, but Franklin put his arm out lazily, blocking her exit. ‘As you insist Mr Blunt’s death wasn’t accidental, aren’t you going to ask me if I killed him? That’s what you came for, isn’t it?’

  She smiled sweetly. ‘No, I came to see if you were done with that book. Not that you are actually reading it at the moment. You’re using it to disguise the fact that you are watching the comings and goings in the lobby in the mirror, so, actually, I imagine you’ll require it a good while longer.’ She winked. ‘Don’t worry, I shan’t let on if you answer one last question. When you heard Mr Blunt scream, what exactly were you doing in your room?’

  Franklin’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why would you want to know that?’

  She shrugged. ‘Oh, you know, curiosity and the cat and all that, although I’m more a dog person myself.’

  He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair for a moment before replying. ‘If you really must pry, I returned to my room to collect this book.’ He held it up.

  Eleanor read out the title. ‘A Complete Guide to Brighton’s Points of Interest and Landmarks.’ She glanced at Clifford, who nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘Well, thank you for letting me waste your time, after all, Mr Franklin.’ She started towards the door, Clifford following.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Franklin half rise and then sink back into his chair. Thumping the arm, he scowled and muttered, ‘What the devil was that all about?’

  Thirty-Three

  After a few snatched hours of sleep, the next morning Eleanor hailed Clifford as he waited for her by the door to the garden, pocket watch in hand. ‘Clifford. I say, breakfast was marvellous! The lobster scrambled eggs were absolutely sublime. Not to mention the mini caviar cups and those pastry twist fellows filled with bacon and tomato, I had heaps of those. Oh, and the mushroom pancakes were too irresistible for words.’

  ‘No sausages?’ he asked drily.

  She frowned. ‘Have I ever turned down a sausage!? Don’t be silly. Besides, sausages are implicit in the word “breakfast”. And the chef here is a marvel. He twirled them into a spiral and surrounded them in the lightest, fluffiest eggy bread I have ever eaten, except for Mrs Trotman’s, of course.’

  He scanned her face. ‘And yet, perhaps breakfast is not the real cause of your increased animation this morning, my lady?’

  She motioned for them to step out into the hotel garden where they wouldn’t be heard. The sun was valiantly trying to warm the morning air, but the cold wind from the night before was still blowing and the previous
ly scattered clouds were gathering ominously on the horizon. ‘Dash it, Clifford, you’re right. I was trying to fool myself more than you. I don’t feel at all bright about what I need to do next. And I confess, I may have had a third round of breakfast purely as a means of putting it off for just a few more minutes.’

  ‘At least you found an enjoyable and fortifying diversion over which to procrastinate.’ He paused. ‘However, delaying tactics are not your usual modus operandi.’

  She groaned. ‘I know, but I feel rather… witless about interrogating Miss Summers again.’

  His tone softened. ‘Might apprehension over the answer you fear Miss Summers will give be getting the better of you, my lady?’

  ‘Only completely. It’s such a hideous place to be. I desperately want to know if she knew Hilary while I was married to him and if they…’ She tailed off.

  Clifford took a moment to straighten each of his perfectly aligned cufflinks. ‘Perhaps I can offer you one more moment’s distraction. It would be prudent to retrieve Master Gladstone from your suite and walk round the garden.’

  She laughed. ‘In case we bump into the killer and need to pretend he’s a ferocious guard dog instead of a lazy, lumbering loafer who only attacks sausages, you mean?’

  He gave her his best dispassionate look.

  ‘Oh, not that,’ she said. ‘I see. Well, it’s kind of you to think of him, but he is all sorted and cosy in his bed. I couldn’t sleep, you see. I was so frustrated by all the thoughts running around my head. So I rose early and took a dawn stroll with Gladstone to make sure we at least both had a suitably large breakfast appetite.’ She frowned. ‘I’m not sure he appreciated me getting him out of his bed at such an early hour, mind you. It did take a little… coaxing. Hence him making a dash for his bed the minute we returned.’

  Clifford pursed his lips. ‘My lady, forgive the directness of my observation but it is hardly safe for you to wander around alone. Particularly in the early hours and especially in light of last night’s events regarding Mr Blunt.’

  ‘Oh, but I wasn’t alone. I joined the elderly sisters for their morning constitutional turn around this garden.’

  He covered his eyes. ‘And what protection did you feel two frail ladies in their seventies might be able to offer you in the face of an armed attacker?’

  ‘Who knows? I haven’t heard their story. One day I’ll be in my seventies and yet inside I’ll still be the girl who cycled around the world. And then defeated several dastardly murderers, with my eminently adept butler, I admit. Yet I shall be dismissed by everyone who meets me as just a little old lady!’ At his silence, she added lamely, ‘Oh, alright, it was a bish on my part, although remember’– she patted the top of her head – ‘I’m thirty now.’

  ‘But still going on the nine-year-old who refused to listen to caution and fell from the tallest tree in his lordship’s orchard, perhaps? My lady, I greatly appreciate that you navigated much of the world alone and managed to make it home safely. But’ – he fixed her with a steely look – ‘that was not on my watch.’

  ‘Oh, Clifford, I am sorry,’ she said, genuinely contrite. ‘I never mean to worry you. You know how much I appreciate your dedication to your promise to Uncle Byron to watch over me. Maybe my impulsiveness will diminish now I’m in my fourth decade?’

  He ran his hand down his tie. ‘Praemonitus praemunitus.’

  She stared at him blankly.

  ‘“Forewarned is forearmed”. By which I mean I am resigned to the worst.’ He gestured towards the stone steps leading to the conservatory.

  Halfway down, however, Eleanor stopped so abruptly, Clifford almost knocked into her. She turned and held up an accusing finger. ‘Wait a minute! Before we go any further, it’s your turn to confess.’

  ‘Might I enquire in regard to which matter, my lady?’

  ‘No, you may not, because you know perfectly well I mean a full disclosure on what you were doing while I was out with Hugh… Seldon. You fobbed me off instead of telling me last night, saying we were both too tired. How on earth did you know Rex Franklin would be reading A Complete Guide to Brighton’s Points of Interest and Landmarks? And how did that strange fact prove his innocence of Blunt’s death? In eighty words or less, please, as I have an interview to get to.’

  For a moment she thought Clifford would rise to the bait, but instead he merely gave her a pointed look and cleared his throat. ‘If you remember you mentioned my, as you were kind enough to call it, “impeccable organisation” and “meticulous attention to detail” might over time insidiously work their way into your psyche?’

  She laughed. ‘Yes. And you suggested in horror that if influence transfers one way, it would surely also do so the other and you would end up operating with my less structured way of working.’

  He nodded. ‘I’m afraid my worst fears were realised last night while you were out dancing with Chief Inspector Seldon. I noted one of our suspects, Mr Franklin, was otherwise engaged downstairs. It entered my head that we really should search each suspect’s room when the opportunity arose.’

  Eleanor gasped. ‘Clifford, you didn’t?’

  He nodded and then shook his head in disbelief. ‘On the spur of the moment I found myself entering Mr Franklin’s room. However, my lack of planning was soon exposed. While I was searching the bathroom a man entered the bedroom. Fortunately he failed to enter the bathroom where I would have undoubtedly been discovered. Unfortunately, however, the opaque nature of the glass door obscured the man’s identity. A moment later a scream pierced the evening air, and the figure left hurriedly. I emerged to also find out who had screamed. On my way to the door, I noted that only one thing had changed since I’d entered. A book on the side table had been taken.’

  ‘A Complete Guide to Brighton’s Points of Interest and Landmarks by any chance?’

  He nodded.

  ‘So you figured if Franklin had the book when I questioned him last night, he had to be the person in his room? I don’t know if it would stand up in a court of law, but it’s good enough for me.’ She paused. ‘Which means if we’re sticking to our hunch that whoever killed Hilary also killed Blunt then—’

  ‘Mr Franklin is off our suspect list.’

  Thirty-Four

  Five minutes later Eleanor was still trying to rub some warmth into her hands as they rounded the last corner of the twisty herringbone path to the conservatory. Suddenly she jumped back behind the cover of a clump of bay trees. ‘Ooh, look, there she is! It’s Miss Summers.’ She noted that Clifford didn’t follow her gaze. ‘You knew she was here, didn’t you, and that’s the real reason you suggested the walk through the garden?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say, my lady.’

  Eleanor peeped round again. ‘I say, that’s the first time I’ve seen her wear even a dash of colour. What a pretty blue scarf.’

  ‘Ah! Then it seems she has accepted your apology, my lady. I shall leave you to work your magic.’ He turned to go the way they had come.

  ‘Wait!’ she hissed. ‘What apology? Clifford, what did you do?’

  ‘Aside from overhearing Miss Summers’ exasperated and angry soliloquy at the end of your last meeting together?’

  ‘Mmm.’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘I may have gone in a teensy bit hard.’

  ‘Thus, it struck me last night that a sweetener would likely ease this morning’s meeting.’

  ‘In that case, thank you. And a splendid choice, well done.’ She gave him a glowing smile.

  She watched Clifford’s coat-tails disappear round an imposing statue on the corner of the path.

  Alright, Ellie, let’s try a different tack this time.

  Pre-empting her, Miss Summers crossed to the door and pulled it open, the magazine she had been leafing through held against the navy cardigan of her twinset. ‘Morning. Coming in?’

  ‘Well, I was, until… I realised you were reading’ – Eleanor gestured to the magazine – ‘and thought it rather rude to disturb you.’

&nbs
p; A confused frown coupled with an awkward smile crossed Grace’s face. ‘You… thought it rude…’ She tailed off. ‘Thank you, by the way. It’s beautiful. The scarf, I mean.’ She ran her fingers along the edge of the baby-blue silk, which intensified her eyes so much Eleanor found it hard to tear hers away.

  ‘My pleasure. A small apology for my demeanour at our last meeting. I fear I may have been swept up in recent events more than I had realised.’

  Miss Summers turned away, but Eleanor was sure she caught a muttered, ‘Haven’t we all.’ She watched the young woman fold her curves into the seat of an ornate fan-backed wicker chair and was surprised when she indicated for Eleanor to join her in the opposite one.

  ‘I find it very restful in here,’ Miss Summers said, gesturing round at the myriad potted palms and baskets of flowering succulents.

  ‘A brief respite from your job hunting?’

  This drew an exaggerated sigh. ‘I haven’t the heart for selling myself just at the moment. I have a little time on my side.’

  ‘Unlike poor Mr Blunt,’ Eleanor said, carefully observing the woman’s face, which betrayed a flash of horror. ‘Oh gracious! I am sorry,’ she added quickly. ‘I forgot you were in the bar when it happened.’

  ‘So, I see this isn’t a friendly chat either,’ Miss Summers said sharply. ‘I don’t know what you want from me, Lady Swift.’ She rose. ‘But I am suddenly heartened to resume my search for employment. If you will excuse me.’

  ‘Wait! Just tell me what you were doing in Hilary’s room? Please.’

  Miss Summers scowled. ‘That again? We have had that conversation. I told you, I wasn’t acquainted with your husband.’

  ‘I know. But at that point, only one of the guests had seen you sliding into his room on the night he was murdered. But now I’ve been told so much more.’

  The woman’s tone was scornful. ‘More lies then, clearly. Really, I expected you to be more shrewd than to listen to malicious tattle.’