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

by Lynda Wilcox

  Eleanor surveyed the Lancashires. After her visit yesterday, Barbara must have concocted that story for her husband’s benefit and to cover her sins. Eleanor wondered if he had already known, and if Barbara had suspected him of solving her problems. Or did she, even now, think that an unknown killer had been her benefactor?

  And what of Robert? Was he truly in the dark about the nature of the blackmail?

  It would be up to Chief Inspector Blount to decide if there was a case to be made against either of them. Eleanor remained silent as she listened to his interrogation.

  “Were you aware, sir, that the necklace in question had been stolen, until Lady Eleanor here returned it to your wife on our arrival?”

  “I knew of its theft, though not of its return. That is good news.” He beamed at Eleanor before turning to his wife. “I’m glad you have your pearls back.”

  “But you weren’t aware that your wife was using those pearls to pass messages to Sir David Bristol?”

  Sir Robert’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, Chief Inspector, I am at a loss to know how she would do that?”

  “By letting him know, simply by virtue of which shoulder the clasp was positioned on, which of two days Mr Gaston Doumergue would be at Chequers.”

  “What?” Sir Robert gripped the back of his wife’s chair, the blood draining from his florid cheeks.

  “Did you leave that information lying about on your desk, Sir Robert? Does her ladyship have access to your safe?”

  Lord Lancashire appeared not to hear the questions as he stared at his wife.

  “I...I...Barbara? Is this true?”

  She said nothing, though the twisting, writhing fingers in her lap seemed to semaphore her guilt.

  “Answer me, woman? Is this true?”

  The fingers fluttered and flew. “A mere taradiddle.”

  Apparently satisfied, Sir Robert faced the policeman. “There, you see. Besides, why on earth would Bristol need to know about the Frenchman’s whereabouts?”

  “Because he was the leader of a coven of spies who planned to assassinate him.”

  “Good heavens! Surely not. Bristol? I can scarcely believe it.”

  “Nevertheless, we have evidence to that effect.”

  “But why?”

  Blount was saved from answering Sir Robert by a tap on the door and the arrival of his constable. Over his arm he carried the jacket of a man’s evening suit.

  Eleanor glanced at Barbara who was eyeing both jacket and constable with horror.

  “Found it, sir. It had been put out for collection by the rag man.”

  “Good man. And?”

  “You were right, sir. There’s a bullet hole in it. Possibly some powder marks, too.”

  “Let’s have a look.” Blount stretched out a hand.

  “And the staff assure me this was the suit that Sir Robert wore on the night he and her ladyship went to the theatre, sir.”

  He sounded rather pleased with himself. Eleanor hid a smile, delighted that they had found the evidence she had told Blount to look for.

  The Chief Inspector turned the garment in his hands and opened it up, holding it by the shoulders. It had several holes where it had been folded over, wrapped around the gun, and used to muffle the sound of the shot. The single bullet had torn through all the layers on its way to the man in box number 11.

  The Lancashires had no answer to Blount's questions as to how the jacket had got into that state. The pair appeared to shrink into themselves, all the bluster and pomposity drained out of them, leaving only shrivelled husks, as they stared at the evidence of their guilt. Blount arrested them, and as the sergeant and constable led them away, turned to Eleanor.

  “It isn’t over, you realise, but I think we have a better chance of getting the truth out of them now.” He bowed and raised her hand to his lips. “Thank you, your ladyship.”

  Eleanor inclined her head, but said nothing. The Chief Inspector was right, it wasn’t over. Barbara may have betrayed her husband, and Sir Robert committed murder, but they still had a nest of spies to lay by the heels and bring to justice.

  And there was the small matter of a young boy to be avenged.

  Chapter 27

  Promptly at eight o’clock that evening, Eleanor and Tilly slipped inside Bakewell House and made their quiet way by torchlight to the kitchen. Under strict instructions from Major Armitage to stay out of sight and out of trouble, the pair stepped into the scullery and held a whispered conversation.

  “Should we take the fuses out again?” Tilly shivered in the cold night air.

  “I don’t think there’s any point. The gang will assume there’s no light on like before, so they won’t try the switch.”

  “But what if they do?”

  Knowing that she was in her own home on sufferance did not please Eleanor. Armitage had been confident, once Eleanor had told him of the gang’s plans and how many people were involved, to handle everything himself with assistance from Chief Inspector Blount if need be. He had been less than sanguine, however, about her own and Tilly’s presence. Only when she had suggested that he think of them as back-up did he accede to her request to take part in the night’s events.

  “Then I suppose that will be the signal to the Major and his team to swoop in and grab them. They won’t do that though until all five of the members have arrived. Are you armed?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  Both women were good shots, and Eleanor had her own small pistol tucked into the pocket of her trousers. They both wore black from head to foot.

  “I hope you don’t have to use it. The gang are probably all armed. If they start shooting, go to the floor and keep your head down. I’m going to stand on the other side of the service door. Will you be all right here?”

  “Yes, I’ll stay here in the scullery, but keep the door ajar, so I can hear what’s going off.”

  “All right. Good luck.”

  The two shared a quick embrace and separated. Eleanor walked back through the kitchen and the swing door to take up a position in the hallway beyond. She leant against the side of the grand staircase and shivered in the silent darkness — a shiver that owed as much to the familiar thrill of danger and excitement as it did to the cold.

  Between them, she and Tilly had both entrances covered. The maid was only a step from the back door and would be safe enough if she stayed inside the scullery. No one was likely to come in via the front door, but if they did, or if they came out of the kitchen, Eleanor would see them.

  She fondled the pistol in her pocket and waited for the man who had savagely bound up a young boy and left him to die, alone and frightened, in an unused garage. Given the chance she would shoot him herself.

  The wait seemed endless until, suddenly, the night erupted into noise. Eleanor heard shouts and shots. An urge to leave her safe position overwhelmed her. What if Tilly, or worse, the Major were hurt? What if her quarry got away?

  She took a deep breath to steady herself and then stepped closer to the service door, straining her ears for sounds from the kitchen. To her dismay she heard the waspish tones she’d hoped never to hear again.

  “You fool! You’ve brought us into a trap.”

  “How was I to know the place was under surveillance? They’ve got the others, I think. It’s just us, now.”

  “Maybe we can get out through the front.”

  “Nah, it’s bound to be watched, what? Besides, the door will be locked and I don’t have that key. First, I’ll get the jewels, then we may have to shoot it out.”

  “I’m unarmed.”

  That was enough for Eleanor. She hadn’t cared for the odds with two guns against her, but one she could handle.

  She stepped through the door.

  Gerald Hope-Weedon was standing by the dresser, a gun in one hand, a flash light in the other, staring open-mouthed into the empty drawer. Behind him, just to the side of the open back door, Miss Haringay looked on.

  Despite the torch in Weedon�
�s hand, Eleanor’s silent entry had gone unnoticed.

  “All right, Gerald. Put the gun down and your hands up, please.” He spun to face her, gun raised.

  Eleanor’s pistol pointed straight at him and, as he turned, Eleanor caught sight of Peter Armitage in the doorway. With a cat-like stealth the major took a step forward. He placed one arm around the secretary's neck with the hand over her mouth, while at the same time wrapping his other arm around her waist. Then he lifted her up and whisked her out of the kitchen. It was a slick, well-practised, and above all silent manoeuvre and Hope-Weedon had heard nothing, his attention being focussed first on the empty drawer, and then on Eleanor.

  “Put the gun down,” she said, again. “I do know how to use this little bauble in my hand. I’m a crack shot and my aim is deadly. Besides, at this range, I can’t miss.”

  Neither could he. In her anger, she ignored that fact.

  He shook his head. “I could shoot you dead, and plead self-defence.”

  “Not when you're a trespasser in my house. I ought to kill you where you stand for what you did to that boy. How dare you? And how dare you use my home for your filthy purpose, you two-faced coward?”

  Her finger tightened on the trigger.

  “Ella! No!”

  The major, having somehow rid himself of his burden, had returned to the open doorway. At his command, Eleanor wavered, instincts torn.

  For a moment, the three of them stood there like statues, guns raised in the semi-dark, before light flooded the kitchen and the scullery door burst open. Tilly flew out and, with a scream of agony, Hope-Weedon went down, clutching his knee.

  His gun lay on the floor. Eleanor stepped forward and retrieved it as the room filled with men. They dragged the politician to his feet and took him away, hobbling badly, muttering imprecations, claiming his kneecap was broken.

  Tilly leant back against the dresser and watched them go, her arms crossed on her chest, her rolling pin sticking up like a truncheon.

  Armitage ran a hand over his lower face, hiding a grin.

  “Wait there, please, ladies. I shan’t be long.”

  When he returned, he did so with Chief Inspector Blount, who came in rubbing his hands. Eleanor and Tilly were seated at the table.

  “A good night’s work, I’d say, Major.”

  “Did you get them all?” Eleanor asked, motioning them to chairs.

  “Yes,” Blount said, lowering his large frame onto a seat. “All five of them. Four men, one woman.”

  “Who bites.” Armitage wrapped a handkerchief around his hand.

  “But I thought Joe said five men?” Tilly looked at her mistress.

  “He was mistaken. Miss Haringay probably had her back to him, or was hidden in the shadows. Did she draw blood?” She pointed at Armitage’s makeshift bandage.

  “No, it’s only bruised.”

  “Well, together with the arrest of Sir Robert Lancashire, it’s been a good day’s work all round.” Blount beamed at the two women. “Thank you, my lady, Miss Tilly.”

  “You’re welcome.” Eleanor inclined her head, then looked at Armitage. “And your French visitor...?”

  “Has been safely ensconced at Chequers for the last few hours. I’ve a man keeping an eye on things there, together with a few policemen from the local force.”

  “Good. By the bye, Chief Inspector, Gerald Hope-Weedon is your jewel thief. I’ve managed to discover that he had been invited to quite a few of the parties and soirées where the jewels were taken. You would need to check if he attended any others, but I’m sure you’ll find that he did.”

  “Right you are.”

  “I had originally assumed that the jewels had been stolen to fund the gang’s activities, but finding them all here, I’m beginning to think they may have been taken merely to line his own pockets.”

  “And it was Sir David who was in charge of the gang?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Eleanor smiled at her maid, still cradling the rolling pin. She’d told Joe Minshull that she had more than one use for it, Eleanor recalled. It was true, as Gerald Hope-Weedon could testify.

  “But why?”

  It was the same question that Robert Lancashire had asked only an hour or two earlier.

  “Money, Tilly. As Major Armitage will tell you, as well as being a newspaper proprietor, Sir David sold armaments. I saw a map when I was in Miss Haringay’s office. Along with quite a few European capital cities, there were several Middle Eastern and African states marked on it, and in small letters at the bottom it bore the label, ‘Arms Sales’. If he could foment another war, it would increase his profits.”

  Tilly sniffed. “That’s disgusting.”

  “As for Hope-Weedon, his reasons were more idealogical, but even so, he is a hypocrite. He aims to be the top man at everything and I rather think that he and Bristol were at loggerheads.”

  “He wanted to run the gang?”

  All the time that Eleanor had been talking, she’d been acutely aware of Peter Armitage sitting opposite, saying nothing, a small private smile on his lips. She looked directly at him and nodded.

  “Oh, yes, just as he wants to be Foreign Secretary, and possibly Prime Minister. As it happens, Sir Robert Lancashire is notoriously forgetful. Ask anyone who knows him. It’s my guess that the itinerary for Ramsay MacDonald’s guest this evening was left lying about on Sir Robert’s desk or in an unlocked drawer, and that Hope-Weedon discovered it on the night of Barbara’s soirée. Bristol was killed, you see, before he could pass on Barbara’s information, yet the gang still knew which night they had to be at Chequers.”

  Later, Eleanor stood at the back door while Peter Armitage pressed her hand to his lips. She had already said goodnight to Chief Inspector Blount, who was ambling down the kitchen garden towards the back gate.

  “Well done, my lady, and thank you.”

  “I’m glad to have been of assistance.” She smiled. He hung onto her hand.

  “Are you going to continue as a private enquiry agent?”

  “Why not? I seem to be rather good at it.”

  She had effectively solved three cases and Peter Armitage was holding her hand for an awfully long time.

  “Then, I’m sure I will see you again soon.”

  Eleanor heard the expected sniff and reluctantly retrieved her hand. Tomorrow she would visit Deanna Dacre and give Danny Danvers his scoop. For tonight, though, her eyes sparkled with laughter and all was right with the world.

  The End

  THANK YOU FOR READING A Burglary In Belgravia. I hope you enjoyed it.

  Book 1 of Eleanor and Tilly's adventures, is A Poisoning in Piccadilly.

  Book 3, A Traitor At Tower Bridge is available for pre-order. You can reserve your copy here:

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZD2DFM5

  https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07ZD2DFM5

  Other series by Lynda Wilcox:

  The Verity Long Mysteries

  A crime writer's researcher finds herself in a heap of trouble trying to solve old cases.

  The Gemini Detectives

  Twins Linzi and Loren Repton solve crimes with the help of a mysterious bag-lady and her three-legged dog.

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