He chuckled, a deep rich rumble that woke the butterflies in her stomach. She pointed to the other glass.
‘Oh gracious, how rude of me. Clifford left one for you.’
‘As Dutch courage? He is very perceptive.’ He lifted the brandy, took a large sip and put it back down. She caught her breath as he reached out and took both of her hands. ‘Please forgive me if it is wholly inappropriate, but would you permit me to attend Hilary’s funeral? I just want to be there for you. In spirit, of course.’
‘Only in spirit?’
He nodded. ‘Just that. Until… until the time is right.’
‘Oh, Hugh! That would mean the world.’
Forty-Five
As Clifford set the first of their cases down in the entrance, Eleanor closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She savoured the familiar smell of Henley Hall, beeswax polish mixed with delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen. She sighed. It was wonderful to go on holiday. But sometimes it was equally wonderful to come home.
She was brought out of her reverie by the postman at the open door. ‘Good morning, Lady Swift. Sorry I’m so late this morning, had to stop and help Mrs Atwood.’
Eleanor opened her eyes. ‘Oh dear, the pigs got out again, did they? I’ve had my share of trying to snare the ringleader amongst them myself.’
He looked shocked but tipped his hat and passed the post to Clifford, who had returned with another round of cases. Clifford held out two envelopes and a letter opener to her. She took them and rummaged in her handbag. ‘I’ve still got two in here I didn’t manage to open before we left for Brighton.’
As Clifford returned to the Rolls to collect yet more cases, she opened the first letter she’d been carrying around. Ah, a lunch invitation from Lord and Lady Langham. That will be a treat, Ellie. She smiled at the thought that she would ever have found such an aristocratic, older couple so delightful. The writing on the next envelope however made her shake her head.
Clifford materialised by her side. ‘Nothing untoward, I hope, my lady?’
‘No, thank you. I don’t even need to open it. I know it is my old employer, Mr Walker, asking me for the fifth time to return to South Africa and resume setting up new tourist routes for him.’
‘And, my lady?’ There was an edge to his voice.
‘And I shall write back this very afternoon to say I am happily settled here. At least for the moment.’ She ended with a wink.
‘Most heartening to hear. The ladies would have been very disappointed. Myself also.’
‘Speaking of the ladies?’
‘They will be with you presently. They have been caught up in trying to rescue one of Joseph’s boots from Master Gladstone. Unfortunately, he made it all the way to the orchard before they realised.’
She laughed and opened the first of the new letters, wondering about its City of York postmark. ‘Oh, Clifford.’ She handed it to him. Scanning it, he nodded in approval. ‘They have given your finder’s fee for retrieving the diamond to the British Miners Charity as you instructed Mr de Meyer. Most gratifying.’ He passed her the letter back.
She read it again. ‘I’m so relieved. At least something good will come out of the whole affair.’
‘Let us hope that this missive is equally positive,’ he said, pointing to the last letter, clearly concerned by the Brighton postmark the envelope bore.
She ran the letter opener along the top and peeped inside. Biting her lip, she slipped it in her bag and turned to him. ‘Erm… is that the last of the cases?’
‘Just one more set, my lady,’ he replied, scanning her face anxiously.
Before he could pry further, the sound of panting interrupted them.
‘Welcome home, my lady,’ Mrs Butters said as she bustled in, followed by Mrs Trotman and Polly. ‘So sorry we weren’t here to greet you. ’Twas Master Gladstone’s naughtiness again.’ She scanned Eleanor’s face, just as Clifford had. ‘We are so sorry about Mr Eden, my lady.’
Polly gave a loud sniff and wiped her eyes with the flap of her apron.
Eleanor shook her head. ‘Ladies, I am fine, really. It might take a little time to process everything but I’ve made peace with Hilary and it’s a great comfort knowing he’s at peace now too. I can’t tell you how much it meant to have you there at the funeral. I’m only sorry Clifford and I kept it all from you. It’s just that I really wished for you to enjoy your holiday, which I hope you still did?’
‘Rather too much, perhaps?’ Clifford said. ‘Certainly if any of the “Wanted” posters adorning every street lamp in Brighton as we left are anything to go by.’
Realising he was joking, Mrs Trotman chuckled. ‘Long as them posters don’t have photographs of us on the beach, we’ll be alright, Mr Clifford.’
Mrs Butters and Polly stared at her in horror as she blushed, realising what she’d said.
‘I think you’re safe, Mrs Butters. I didn’t notice any photographs of Henley Hall staff parading around in public in homemade bathing suits.’ He winked as the three of them gasped.
‘It’s alright, ladies,’ Eleanor said, crossing her fingers behind her back. ‘I’m the only one who saw you. And frankly, next time, I hope you’ll let me in on the bet. I would have loved to have joined you.’
Mrs Butters and Mrs Trotman nudged each other at Clifford’s horrified sniff.
Polly giggled and then clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Paddling with the mistress must surely be against the rules?’ she whispered.
‘Definitely,’ he replied.
Eleanor laughed. ‘Well, let’s see next time we’re on holiday. Although, frankly, at the moment, I can’t think of leaving Henley Hall for a long while. It’s so very good to be home.’
‘And ’tis our greatest treat to have you here, my lady,’ Mrs Trotman said. ‘I have your uncle’s, his lordship’s, favourite end-of-holiday dinner prepared in case you wanted to continue the tradition? But anything can be conjured up to suit, just as you wish.’
Eleanor sighed with delight. ‘That sounds absolutely perfect, thank you. What is it?’
‘Piddington Pudding, my lady. ’Tis tender beef with kidney and mushrooms in onion gravy, topped with rosemary dumplings, baked in suet pastry. Most important, though, ’tis in the shape of Piddington Hill, steeper on the left side as you look at her.’
Eleanor laughed. ‘Uncle Byron’s traditions never disappoint. And neither does your wonderful home cooking. I can’t wait.’
Mrs Butters grinned at Eleanor. ‘Not to mention, the more than generous slop of Mrs Trotman’s famous homemade walnut whisky she always adds to the gravy.’
Mrs Trotman tutted. ‘I don’t slop it, thank you! ’Tis a precise and careful drenching.’
They left, chattering, Mrs Butters turning back to throw Eleanor a motherly smile. Soon Clifford reappeared with the last of the cases.
‘Oh, Clifford, it is marvellous to be back.’ She stared at the portrait of her uncle, Lord Byron Henley, that hung in the entrance hall. ‘I have to marvel for the thousandth time what a wonderful mix of English eccentric and daring adventurer he was.’ She bent down to ruffle Gladstone’s ears and reluctantly accept the muddy boot he’d brought in from the orchard.
‘It is greatly heartening to see how his legacy lives on, my lady.’ He broke into a rare smile. ‘In yourself.’
‘Me! Eccentric, no?’
‘Perhaps unorthodox is a more gracious description.’ He shook his head. ‘Solving murders? Rounding up pigs? Betting with one’s staff? The suggestion one might visit the beach in’ – he ran a finger round his collar – ‘less than appropriate dress? I rest my case.’
‘Ah, but you missed out staying up with them until all hours savouring Mrs Trotman’s parsnip perry and cherry brandy as I fully intend to do tonight.’
His eyes twinkled. ‘We are looking forward to it most heartily, my lady.’
Later that evening in the kitchen, with the delicious Piddington Pudding devoured and the five of them contentedly full, they
were all enjoying reliving the fun the ladies had had in Brighton. Gladstone was snoring in his bed by the range, dreaming of his revenge on that pesky seagull, with the photograph of them all posing with him on the beach hanging above his bed in a silver frame.
‘Clifford,’ Eleanor said airily. ‘I think we need a toast to the end of the holiday.’
‘It was to be my next task, my lady. If I am able to move at all after Mrs Trotman’s all too fine feast.’ He rose and disappeared out towards the butler’s pantry.
‘Ladies, you are in for one last treat before we need to toe the line,’ Eleanor whispered. ‘Ready?’
As Clifford returned with a decanter of port and a small glass of cordial for Polly, he pulled up short in the kitchen doorway, wincing at their shrieks of laughter.
‘Do come and join us, Clifford,’ Eleanor said mischievously, waving him over.
‘I am trying, my lady, but with my hands full, I am unable to protect my ears.’ This set the rest of them off again. ‘Perhaps the port should be foregone, my lady? I can only assume the ladies have shamefully attacked the wine cellar in my momentary absence.’
Eleanor wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘They haven’t had so much as a snifter.’
He set the tray down. ‘What then is the cause of this outbreak of hilarity?’
As Eleanor reached under the tablecloth, the ladies held their breath. She passed him the envelope she’d slipped into her bag earlier.
‘Ah,’ he said quietly on turning it over and seeing the Brighton postmark. He pulled out the photograph inside. It was of him on the beach, soaked from the waist down. Trousers rolled to different heights and covered in sand, in his arms, a soggy Gladstone who was licking his face in gratitude for being rescued.
‘Sand is a terror, my lady. It gets absolutely everywhere. In all the cracks.’
Like the ladies, Eleanor threw her head back and roared. ‘Oh, Clifford, you are such a good sport.’ She smiled fondly round the table. ‘It’s amazing, but despite what I said earlier, I’m already starting to feel restored enough to let you plan our next holiday. Besides, as Tolstoy helped us solve the final riddle of “something old”, I flicked through your book of his quotes on the way back in the Rolls. And one struck quite a chord: “Happiness consists of living each day as if it were the first day of your honeymoon”’ – she paused and then hurried on – ‘and the last day of your vacation.” Perfect, wouldn’t you say?’
He nodded. ‘Almost, my lady. However, for once I feel I must allow our American cousins precedence. I am minded to paraphrase the words of the writer and philosopher, Elbert Hubbard. “No woman needs a vacation so much as the woman who has just had one.”’ He dropped his hand to where Gladstone had pottered over. ‘I sincerely hope your next holiday is less incident packed!’
‘No, Mr Clifford! Master Gladstone’s stolen the photograph of you on the beach!’ Mrs Trotman jumped up as the bulldog disappeared out through the back door into the garden. ‘He’ll have hidden it to bury later afore any of us can get to him.’
‘Mr Clifford, quick. You’ve the longest legs,’ Mrs Butters cried, rushing round the table.
Eleanor clamped her hand to her mouth as her butler sat motionless, his legs blocking the way out to the garden. ‘Regrettably, Mrs Butters,’ Clifford said, ‘I have mysteriously become welded to my chair. I fear it is the effect of too much Piddington Pudding!’
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Books by Verity Bright
The Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Series
1. A Very English Murder
2. Death at the Dance
3. A Witness to Murder
4. Murder in the Snow
5. Mystery by the Sea
Available in Audio
The Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Series
1. A Very English Murder (available in the UK and the US)
2. Death at the Dance (available in the UK and the US)
3. A Witness to Murder (available in the UK and the US)
4. Murder in the Snow (available in the UK and the US)
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A Witness to Murder
A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 3
A medieval house, a dead body and some rather suspicious chocolate fudge?
Call for Lady Swift!
Autumn, 1920. Lady Eleanor Swift, accidental amateur detective and retired explorer, is determined to take a break from investigating murders. So when a local politician dies suddenly at an elegant dinner party at Farrington Manor, she tries her hardest not to listen to the raft of rumours around the village that he might have been poisoned by the fudge. It’s the anniversary of the disappearance of her beloved parents and she’s promised herself not to get mixed up with any more mysteries. She isn’t sure they’d have approved.
But when she arrives home to discover that Mrs Pitkin, the kindly cook from Farrington Manor, has been dismissed without wage or reference because the police consider her a suspect, Eleanor knows she needs to act. If there was a murder, then she needs to track down the culprit and clear Mrs Pitkin’s name.
Accompanied by her faithful partner in crime, Gladstone the bulldog, who has the best nose for sniffing out bones in the country, Eleanor sets out to find the killer. And when another body turns up and she finds poisoned fudge in the victim’s house, Eleanor knows she’s on the right track. But can she sort the truth from the lies before she becomes a witness to another murder – this time rather closer to home?
An utterly charming cozy mystery!
Warm and witty, fans of Agatha Christie, T.E. Kinsey and L.B. Hathaway will be totally hooked.
Get it here!
Death at the Dance
A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 2
A masked ball, a dead body, a missing diamond necklace and a suspicious silver candlestick? Sounds like a case for Lady Eleanor Swift!
England, 1920. Lady Eleanor Swift, adventurer extraordinaire and reluctant amateur detective, is taking a break from sleuthing. She’s got much bigger problems: Eleanor has two left feet, nothing to wear and she’s expected at the masked ball at the local manor. Her new beau Lance Langham is the host, so she needs to dazzle.
Surrounded by partygoers with painted faces, pirates, priests and enough feathers to drown an ostrich, Eleanor searches for a familiar face. As she follows a familiar pair of long legs up a grand staircase, she’s sure she’s on Lance’s trail. But she opens the door on a dreadful scene: Lance standing over a dead Colonel Puddifoot, brandishing a silver candlestick, the family safe wide open and empty.
Moments later, the police burst in and arrest Lance for murder, diamond theft and a spate of similar burglaries. But Eleanor is convinced her love didn’t do it, and with him locked up in prison, she knows she needs to clear his name.
&n
bsp; Something Lance lets slip about his pals convinces Eleanor the answer lies close to home. Accompanied by her faithful sidekick Gladstone the bulldog, she begins with Lance’s friends – a set of fast driving, even faster drinking, high-society types with a taste for mischief. But after they start getting picked off in circumstances that look a lot like murder, Eleanor is in a race against time to clear Lance’s name and avoid another brush with death…
Fans of Agatha Christie, T.E. Kinsey and Downton Abbey will adore this tremendously fun cozy whodunnit, full of mystery, murder and intrigue!
Get it here!
A Very English Murder
A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 1
Move over Miss Marple, there’s a new sleuth in town! Meet Eleanor Swift: distinguished adventurer, dog lover, dignified lady… daring detective?
England, 1920. Eleanor Swift has spent the last few years travelling the world: taking tea in China, tasting alligators in Peru, escaping bandits in Persia and she has just arrived in England after a chaotic forty-five-day flight from South Africa. Chipstone is about the sleepiest town you could have the misfortune to meet. And to add to these indignities – she’s now a Lady.
Mystery by the Sea: An utterly addictive English cozy mystery (A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 5) Page 25