A Burglary In Belgravia (The Lady Eleanor Mysteries Book 2)

by Lynda Wilcox

  Was that what lay behind her visit, behind her questions? Jealousy?

  Eleanor answered honestly, if a little warily. “No one, nor did I see any sign that he’d had company.” She gazed shrewdly at the actress. “Except for his murderer, of course.”

  The comment did not have the effect that Eleanor had expected. Deanna merely nodded and sipped more coffee.

  “Lady Eleanor, a mutual acquaintance — I won’t mention the name — has told me that you have recently set up as a private enquiry agent. Is that right?”

  Eleanor felt a familiar sinking feeling. Once again she sensed that a mighty hand was forcing her onto a path she did not wish to take. Only with an effort of will did she keep the smile on her face. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Then, I’d like to ask you to investigate Sir David’s death. I want to know who killed my patron and the play’s benefactor. I don’t care how much you want — one hundred, five hundred, name your price — but I must know who killed him.”

  Unlike many of her class, Eleanor did not consider the discussion of money to be sordid, and because money was not the reason she enquired into things, she waved Deanna’s offer aside for the moment.

  “Why come to me, Miss Dacre? The police are perfectly capable, you know.”

  “Then you have greater faith in them than I do. Besides, I cannot rely on them to be discreet.”

  “I see. You do realise, don’t you, that if I take on this case, it will be to discover the truth and to bring the culprit to justice. Any unpalatable or damaging facts will not be swept under the carpet and, if I do find out who is guilty, I will inform the police and not just yourself.”

  Deanna nodded. “Yes, I suppose you would have to do that.”

  “I could not do anything else. Also, are you prepared for me to ask some impertinent and personal questions? I will have to do so to get at the truth. Were it not for the fact that you were on stage at the time, you might be a suspect, yourself.”

  Deanna grimaced. “The police certainly treated me as one.”

  Another reason for the actress to ask Eleanor to investigate?

  “I can assure you that I will treat your answers as confidences as far as I may, where I feel that they are not germane to the investigation, that is.”

  “Yes, I have nothing to hide.”

  Eleanor wondered if that were true.

  “Very well, then. You described Sir David as your patron. Was he more than that? Was there a more...intimate relationship between you?”

  The actress put her cup and saucer on the tray and sat back. She smoothed down the skirt over her knee and a sad expression appeared on her face. “Yes, there was. David only consented to invest money in the play if I became his mistress.”

  Eleanor’s eyebrows rose. Was the woman prepared to sell herself in order to become a star?

  “Oh dear. Have I shocked you?” Deanna gave a tinkling laugh. “We artists aren’t as louche as all that, you know, and besides he was not unattractive and we shared an interest in the arts.”

  “No, I’m not shocked. How long had you known him?”

  “About six months. I met him at a party and we got talking. We went out together a few times, and I had hoped for a more permanent relationship. I thought I’d found a kindred spirit, but when we became lovers, it was obvious that David didn’t see things the same way.”

  She spoke quite freely. Eleanor reminded herself that the woman on the sofa was an actress. Had she rehearsed these words, expecting to be asked probing and personal questions?

  “Have you any idea who might want to kill him? Was he the sort who had enemies?”

  Deanna ran a forefinger below her lower lip.

  “I have no one particular in mind, but there were many, I think, that resented him. They resented his power and his wealth. Then there were some who disapproved of his ennoblement. I’ve heard it said that he only received a knighthood because he put money into the government’s coffers.”

  “Did he do that?”

  “I don’t know. It wasn’t something we talked about, and he became Sir David long before we met. He certainly supported the government, and at one time he used the Daily Banner to endorse their policies. It was staunchly Conservative.”

  In the normal run of things, Eleanor paid little attention to politics and, although she came from a wealthy and privileged background often found herself more in sympathy with socialist than with conservative thinking. It was a viewpoint she kept to herself.

  “Was?” she asked. “I tend not to read newspapers. Has the Banner changed its allegiance?”

  The actress lifted her hands and spread them. “I believe it has become more...um...populist, I think that was the term David used, and not everybody approved of that. As far as he was concerned it sold more newspapers, and thus made him more money. He was all for that.”

  Surprised at the sneer on Deanna’s beautiful face, Eleanor pressed her about the state of her relationship with the murdered man.

  “You sound as though you didn’t like him much.”

  Deanna screwed up her nose and moved uncomfortably on her seat. “Let’s just say that there had been a cooling off on both sides. Sir David Bristol was not the man I took him to be when we first met. Lately, I’d come to think of him as having a shady side.”

  “Shady?” Eleanor poured more coffee for them both. “In what way?”

  “It’s hard to explain. There were certain phone calls that he made and people that came to his house and, if I were there, he would either banish me to another room, or even order a taxi and send me away. Thank you.” She took the refilled cup and added cream.

  Eleanor did the same with her own coffee and asked, “These people, were they connected with his business?”

  “He said so, and that I would find it boring, but he would never quite meet my eye, and I sensed he was lying to me, covering up the real reason. There were times when he would spend the whole weekend at his house in Windsor. It’s a beautiful place, on the banks of the Thames quite close to Windsor Castle, but on those occasions he would never invite me.”

  “You did go to Windsor with him sometimes, though?”

  “Oh, yes.” She let out that tinkling laugh again. “I once accused him of having another mistress there.”

  A natural assumption, Eleanor thought, considering what Penelope had told her about the Countess Vera Ivanova in Menton. Perhaps Sir David Bristol collected beautiful women like some men collected works of art.

  “Did you ever find out if he had?”

  Deanna shook her head. “No. He denied it, and when I jestingly said that I might turn up and catch him with her, he became very aggressive.”

  “Oh? In what way?”

  “He grabbed hold of my face in one hand and squeezed hard. “He said that if I ever did, I would live to regret it.” She shivered. “I believed him. His eyes blazed and he was clearly furious. I was terrified.”

  “Had you not seen his temper before then?”

  “No, never. I had to go on stage that night wearing extra make-up to cover the bruises, but when he collected me at the stage-door to take me for supper that evening, he was all sweetness and full of apologies. He even brought me roses.”

  “Forgive me for asking, Miss Dacre, but given the cooling in your relationship, why are you so anxious to know who killed Sir David?”

  Deanna turned a beseeching gaze upon her hostess. “Because I still cared.” She leaned forward, hands clasped at her breast, and in a voice full of anguish and emotion said, “Don’t you see? Despite what he had done, I still cared. Please tell me you will investigate. Please.”

  Eleanor, ignoring the histrionics and the pinprick of doubt that insinuated itself into her thoughts, suppressed a sigh. “Very well, Miss Dacre. I'll see what I can find out. I will be in touch.”

  Chapter 13

  After the actress had departed, Eleanor fetched her notebook from where she had left it on the study desk and began to jot down her thoughts a
nd make a record of the conversation that had just taken place.

  Did she believe the reason the actress had given for wanting Eleanor to look into Bristol’s death? Not entirely, although she had agreed to do so. Now that she was no longer required to look for Barbara Lancashire’s pearls, she had no other commission on her books and could afford the time to take a closer look at Sir David’s murder.

  She stopped writing when she came to the part where the actress had talked of her lover’s business dealings and sat back, tapping her fingers on the table. Should she inform Major Armitage of these details? They sounded the sort of thing he’d like to know about, secret meetings and shady goings-on, and it was up to him to decide whether they were relevant or not.

  She toyed with the idea of picking up the phone and calling him, but the hunger to hear his voice that suddenly surged through her kept Eleanor in her chair.

  “Don’t be such a fool.”

  Eleanor carried on with her notes and when, an hour or so later, she did pick up the phone, it was to place a call to Ann Carstairs.

  “Hi, Ann, it’s Eleanor.”

  “Ooh, ooh, don’t shout,” her friend protested, though Eleanor’s voice had been at its normal level. “Have some consideration for a girl with a bad head.”

  “Hangover, huh? It serves you right.”

  “Beast. What did I ever do to deserve an uncaring friend like you?”

  Eleanor laughed. “My, we are feeling sorry for ourselves, aren’t we, darling? Look, are you busy today?”

  “Moderately so, my lamb, or I will be in a bit, once I’ve got the right head on. I’ve got a lot of calls to make for Sophie and Totter’s party, and I picked up another commission for a bash at the Connaught. Why do you ask?”

  “I was wondering what you remember about the night we went to see The Burning Heart at the Viceroy.”

  “Other than you going in search of a dead body, you mean?”

  “Ann!” Eleanor heard the laugh followed by the groan at the other end of the line.

  “Don’t shout.”

  “I won’t if you behave yourself. Please tell me what you remember, and leave all references to dead men out of it.”

  “Oh, all right. Well, Deanna Dacre was fabulous, what a performance! What a star!”

  Eleanor considered the performance that had taken place in her drawing room earlier, and had to agree, but it wasn’t Ann’s opinion of the play, or its leading actress, that she was after.

  “She was. I’ve just had her around here, as a matter of interest. I’ll fill you in on that some other time,” she said, in answer to her friend’s gasp. “For now, I want to know who was there in the audience. Who did you see?”

  “Good heavens, Eleanor. I saw just about everybody who was anybody. Do you want me to list them all?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Gracious, you don’t want much.”

  Eleanor said nothing and started writing as Ann reeled off a list of names. Her friend had always had a phenomenal memory and a very good eye for spotting attendees at functions. Eleanor’s own observation skills were pretty sharp, but in her own estimation they weren’t a patch on Ann’s.

  “Hang on, I’m going to have to turn the page. All right, carry on.”

  “Haven’t you had enough, yet? Now, where was I? Oh, yes, the Right Honourable Giles Frobisher and wife, the playwright Arthur Prince...”

  Another twenty names were added to Eleanor’s sheet of paper.

  “There,” Ann said, “that’s as many as I can recall right off. Will it do you?”

  “Marvellously! Thanks, Ann.”

  “I don’t suppose you are going to tell me what you need to know all these names for...”

  “Later. I’ve got to go.”

  “Wait! I know! You are investigating David Bristol’s death. I knew it! Didn’t I say you would?”

  Eleanor heard the gurgle of laughter and smiled to herself. “Let’s just say that I’ve received another commission. I’ll see you tomorrow at Totters’ place.”

  She replaced the receiver firmly, and carried her notebook to her chair by the fireside. Tracing a finger down the list of names, she nodded to herself a few times and began marking them with ticks, crosses, and question marks.

  Then she let out a huge sigh. She might need to go back to the theatre and sweet talk the manager into supplying each person's seat or box number.

  “Excuse me, my lady.” Tilly walked in from the kitchen. “Would a cheese omelette be all right for your ladyship’s lunch?”

  “Indeed, Tilly, thank you. That will be perfect. As I have a new job, I shall celebrate by opening a bottle of red to go with it. The 1910 Pomerol, I think.”

  “Very good, my lady, I’ll see to that. It won’t take long.”

  Tilly darted back the way she had come and Eleanor continued to ponder the death of Sir David Bristol.

  She made a number of notes, including one to speak to Danny Danvers again. He should be able to give her the low down on some of his boss’s associates and whether there was any love lost between them.

  Perhaps she could ask Totters about him, too. Now that he was a working journalist, he might have heard something about the owner of the Daily Banner, and be prepared to divulge it. Tomorrow night would be soon enough for that. Although it was a celebration, she should be able to get him to herself for a few minutes and ask his opinion of Bristol. For all she knew, he might have been a member of White’s club, too.

  She ate a solitary lunch — Tilly said she’d had a sandwich and was now busy rolling out pastry — but asked her maid to join her for coffee afterwards.

  “You look troubled, my lady,” Tilly said as she took a seat opposite her mistress at the fireside.

  Eleanor had topped up her glass before leaving the table and now stared into the ruby depths of her wine and nodded.

  “I am, Tilly old thing, I am. Something is going off and I don’t understand it. That always troubles me. I also think that I have to call Major Armitage, and that troubles me, too.”

  On hearing the major’s name Tilly sniffed, making Eleanor smile, for a single sniff of Tilly’s could speak volumes, and mostly on the same theme.

  Sniff — I wouldn’t do that if I were you.

  Sniff — You go ahead and do it, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.

  Sniff — Of all the darn stupid things to do, but you're the mistress, I'm only the maid, and what do I know?

  “Yes, I know what you think of him, but following this morning’s interview I have information that he really ought to know about. I’m aware that I said I wouldn’t get involved, but as a law-abiding citizen, and someone who holds this country dear, I simply cannot not tell him. I’m in a cleft stick, and it’s largely one of my own making.”

  “You must do what you think best, my lady. Follow your conscience, like you always do.”

  “I know, Tilly.” Eleanor sipped some wine and changed the subject. “So what did you think to our visitor?”

  Tilly smiled. “Oh, very glamorous. In that black outfit she looked like a real grieving widow, didn’t she?”

  “Gosh yes.”

  “Of course, you have to remember she’s an actress.”

  “Ah, you noticed that, did you?”

  “Oh yes, as soon as I opened the door to her. If I may say so, my lady, although I was only the maid, she saw me as her audience and just slipped into the role she’d decided to play.”

  “That’s very perspicacious of you, Tilly. I must say that I got that impression, too, but she seemed genuine enough in wanting to know who killed Bristol.”

  “So, you’re going to take the case on, then?”

  Eleanor wrinkled her nose. “Yes, I think so. She did offer me five hundred pounds.”

  “How much?” Tilly looked outraged.

  “Actually, she told me to name my price, and that was just one of the figures she mentioned.”

  “Blimey! It must pay well to be an actress. Either that or she’s got
more money than sense.”

  Privately, Eleanor wondered if, as well as being his mistress, Deanna Dacre had received money from Bristol. For her to offer the sums she had, she must have had an income over and above what she was paid for acting.

  “What do you know of Miss Dacre, Tilly? What have you read or heard about her?”

  Tilly was an avid reader of cinema fan magazines, but as far as Eleanor knew, Deanna Dacre had not made the move away from the stage and her maid might not be such a follower if the actress had not appeared on the silver screen.

  “Only the usual sort of thing, my lady, and most of that is made up, I reckon, just to get you to buy newspapers and magazines.” The cynical Tilly shook her head at the goings-on of publishers. “She’s supposed to be twenty-six years old and although the American film industry are keen to have her over there, she claims that she would prefer to stay in this country and remain on the stage. I’d love to see her act — on the stage, I mean. They do say she has immense talent.”

  “Oh, I can vouch for that, but I’m not so sure about her morals. She told me that Sir David Bristol had promised to put money into her latest play, only if she became his mistress.”

  “And she accepted?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  This brought forth the anticipated sniff. Tilly wasn’t prudish, but she had her own moral compass.

  “Then she’s no better than she ought to be,” she remarked.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Eleanor rang a finger around the rim of her wine glass. “It may take two to have an affair, but he was the one to suggest it.”

  “She says. For all you know she seduced him because she was after his money.”

  Eleanor wondered if that were the case, and if it had backfired on Deanna Dacre. It hadn’t stopped Bristol having other lovers, if there was any truth in the tale of Countess Vera Ivanova, nor had he been gentle with her, if the story of him assaulting Deanna were to be believed.

  “Hmm. When Peter Armitage called here the other evening, he remarked that whoever had killed Bristol had done them a favour. Perhaps he’s also done Deanna one.”