A Very English Murder

by Verity Bright

  Lancelot’s expression changed to a serious one. ‘I heard about that, poor bloke. Wasn’t surprised though, he wasn’t great with a gun.’

  Her heart quickened. ‘So you knew him?’

  ‘Not really, bu—. Hang on, why are you asking about him?’

  Suddenly it didn’t seem such a great idea to tell a potential suspect that she knew Atkins’ death was no accident and he was the missing body. ‘Oh, no reason, I just thought it was a shame. I knew him… a little. Anyway, have you any idea who might have been responsible for the murder in the quarry?’

  Lancelot stroked his chin in thought. ‘Well, it could be the work of the notorious Sand Gang, I suppose. They could be your starting point.’

  Finally a lead! ‘The Sand Gang. Who are they?’

  ‘A ruthless bunch, local mafia, in a nutshell. If the police aren’t taking you seriously, I guess you’ve no choice but to fly solo. Are you going to march up to a higher authority with your murder exclusive?’

  She took this as a challenge. ‘Yes. That’s exactly what I plan to do. I wonder who that higher authority is? Who do you think?’

  Lancelot rubbed his forearm and flexed his fingers. ‘Surely that would be Mayor Kingsley? Chipstone’s the biggest place round here for miles.’

  ‘Indeed. Then I shall thank you for your assistance and be off to visit Mayor Kinsey.’

  Lancelot laughed. ‘Kingsley,’ he corrected. He glanced again at her. ‘Are you on foot? Chipstone’s a fair few miles.’

  ‘I’ve walked further, thank you.’ She turned to go.

  ‘Come on, Sherlock,’ Lancelot said. ‘I’m heading into town. I’ll give you a lift.’ Hopping back up onto the wing, he leaned inside and returned with a leather jacket over his shoulder and another helmet, which he threw across the grass to her.

  ‘Are we going by plane?’ Eleanor’s eyes widened with excitement.

  ‘Oh, you are too much. Please do come and entertain me more often. Of course we’re not going to fly in Florence. Well, not unless the authorities have installed a runway at the town hall and I missed the news. No, thought not, so we’re relegated to arriving on my other trusty machine.’

  Florence! He had named his plane Florence.

  ‘Hang on a sec.’ Lancelot disappeared into the cockpit. He emerged a moment later with another set of goggles. Eleanor caught her breath. With his goggles and aviator helmet on, Lancelot looked dangerously familiar. Was he the mysterious motorbike rider that night? It seemed far-fetched seeing as she had no real idea what the rider had looked like, but he was here, only half a mile from the murder site and – she glanced past the plane’s wing – with a motorcycle.

  But she’d been sure the motorbike she’d seen at Pike’s Farm a few moments ago was the one at the quarry. It certainly looked similar. But then again, so did Lancelot’s. The thing was, all motorbikes were pretty much the same when you came down to it. She looked at the motorcycle again. Oh, who was she trying to fool, she wouldn’t recognise one bike from another. She’d only ridden one once, in the wilds of Persia, and she’d had no idea what that was. Nevertheless, Cartwright wasn’t alone any more on her suspect list.

  Despite this, she dismissed any thought of danger. Even if this dashing pilot was the murderer, he wasn’t about to kill her in broad daylight. Besides, everyone in the county seemed to know who she was. He’d have to be a fool to think he’d get away with it.

  She looked over at Lancelot. He was standing with his jacket, helmet and goggles on backwards, chuckling at his own brilliant joke. On the other hand, Ellie, you could be in real danger!

  Lancelot had suggested that Eleanor should hold on to him tightly as the clutch was behaving oddly. Maybe because of a recent crash, she thought. With her skirt tucked behind her legs, she was enjoying the sensation of speed and the wind buffeting her face. The scream of the motorbike engine and the flaps of their helmets made conversation impossible. With her arms round Lancelot’s chest, she hoped he was as clueless about the murder as he appeared to be. At the same time she was acutely aware of how hugging him was making her feel. If she wasn’t careful, life in Little Buckford might take on a whole new sheen, albeit an unwanted one.

  She shook her head and loosened her grip as much as she dared. Pull yourself together, Ellie. You haven’t come thousands of miles just to fall in love again. Especially not with a murderer!

  Nine

  Perhaps it was just the reckless act of jumping aboard this powerful machine, which was being ridden by a man she’d only just met, that had her heart racing. With each burst he gave the motorbike’s throttle, she gripped a little harder, trying not to grin like a simpleton.

  The six miles to Chipstone flew by in a blur of hedgerows, farm gates and a sprinkling of farmhouses set back off the road down muddy lanes. Soon they were flying through the slightly rundown outskirts, past rows of terraced flint houses, dodging children and dogs playing in the street. They entered the bustling high street filled with fluttering awnings and ladies chattering over their shopping bags. Having narrowly avoided a fox terrier as it stole a bun from the baker’s barrow, the motorbike finally stopped and idled outside the town hall, which had a brightly painted clock tower.

  ‘Right ho! Here you are,’ Lancelot called over his shoulder.

  Eleanor pulled off the soft leather aviator helmet and goggles Lancelot had given her and shook her red curls. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’ She mock curtsied.

  ‘Pleasure. Always happy to help out in an investigation.’ He winked. ‘Well, I’ll see you at the Manor.’

  ‘The Manor?’ No one had said anything about a manor.

  ‘When you come to dine at Langham Manor, silly.’

  Eleanor frowned. ‘No one’s mentioned luncheon.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. Mater will have made sure your invitation is waiting.’

  ‘Lancelot…?’ She realised she had no idea of his last name.

  ‘Fenwick-Langham. I’m the wicked only son of Lord and Lady Fenwick-Langham.’

  She frowned. ‘Oh! So you must be… Lord Fenwick-Langham as well?’

  Lancelot laughed. ‘Officially, yes, but you must know “lord” is only a courtesy title? It’s given to all sons of lords. Pater’s the real lord. I won’t inherit the title properly until the old man kicks the bucket.’

  She nodded as if she’d known that all along.

  ‘And you must be Lady Swift. Would you prefer I addressed you as such?’

  Eleanor blushed.

  ‘I’ll take that as consent to carry on calling you Eleanor and you can call me Lancelot, so long as the servants don’t hear.’

  Eleanor found it irritating that she couldn’t tell when he was joking and when he was being serious. It was a trait people had often accused her of. ‘I haven’t accepted your parents’ invitation yet. I might be busy.’

  Lancelot snorted. ‘You can’t say “no” to Mater, trust me, it really isn’t worth the battle. Goodbye, Sherlock.’

  With a cheeky salute, he slipped the motorbike out in front of a coal merchant’s wagon, giving a cheery wave in return to the man’s angry rebuke.

  Please don’t let him be the murderer, Ellie! She sighed and walked up the steps.

  Eleanor and bureaucracy went together as comfortably as a munitions store and a lit match, so it wasn’t long before fiery words were flying round the reception area.

  ‘What do you mean I can’t see the mayor? Move aside this instant!’

  ‘The Worshipful Mayor Kingsley will not receive unsolicited callers,’ the tweed-suited clerk repeated.

  ‘His most worshipful…’ Eleanor gave up. ‘… mayor whatever would be failing most appallingly in his duties should I be turned away.’

  ‘But Mayor Kingsley—’

  ‘Does he possess a first name? Are you allowed to call him by it in secret?’

  The clerk appeared horrified. ‘Miss, forgive me, but I ask that you speak of Mayor Kingsley with respect or I will have no choice but to—’
>
  The roar of a deep voice and the stomp of angry feet drowned out his words. ‘What in the name of thunder is going on here?’ A ball of a man emerged from the office, the veins in his thick neck standing out. ‘Perkins! What the deuce is this commotion?’

  Before the clerk could stammer a reply, the man noticed Eleanor and switched track in the blink of an eye. He smoothed his thinning side parting, unnecessarily as it was already held fast with brilliantine. ‘Well, well, a visitor. Show the lady in, Perkins.’ Smiling at Eleanor he left with a, ‘One moment, my dear.’

  At the door to the mayor’s office, the clerk pushed it open enough for her to pass through and announced, ‘Er…’

  ‘Lady Swift,’ she coaxed.

  ‘Lady? Oh, I didn’t realise.’

  Kingsley gestured for him to be silent. ‘Good morning, Lady Swift.’ He pulled out a pocket watch strikingly similar to her late uncle’s. ‘Although I do believe it’s nearly noon. Perkins, tea immediately and properly hot. I’ll deal with you later.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Perkins scurried out, without chancing a look at Eleanor.

  ‘Please do take a seat.’ Kingsley indicated a buttoned, leather library chair in one of the window recesses. ‘Such a pleasure to meet you. I can only apologise for the preposterous treatment you’ve received upon your arrival.’

  Eleanor waved away his apology. ‘Thank you, but please excuse me arriving unannounced. I wouldn’t trouble you in such a way if it wasn’t a matter of urgency.’

  ‘I am sure not, my dear. Do make yourself comfortable first.’

  There was a nearly imperceptible tap at the door.

  ‘Come,’ Kingsley bellowed, making Eleanor jump.

  A rabbit of a woman ventured in, pushing a tea trolley with quivering hands. She placed the cups and refreshments on the ornate rosewood table.

  ‘The coat, woman, take Lady Swift’s coat!’

  Eleanor stood with her back to the poor creature and let the coat slip from her shoulders. The woman took her coat and scuttled back out. She noticed in the far corner a mannequin standing guard on a section of herringbone floor, resplendent in the mayor’s ermine-trimmed scarlet robe. A bicorn hat of silk adorned with black feathers sat on top of the dummy’s neck. In a locked case hanging on the wall to the left were the town’s silver mace with its sparkling gold top and the civic sword. How funny, that grown men dress up in costumes like little boys, Eleanor mused.

  Perched on the edge of his oak desk, Kingsley made a great flourish of signing some papers before putting down his pen. ‘Forgive me, my dear, life in the mayoral office is a busy affair.’ He crossed the short space and more than filled the chair next to Eleanor.

  ‘I imagine it is,’ she said. ‘So I’ll come straight to the purpose of my visit.’

  He leaned forward. ‘It is always a pleasure to make time for a lady with a businesslike approach.’

  ‘Quite. Now, Mayor Kingsley, I bring grave news. There has been a murder.’

  He stiffened. ‘A murder?’ He heaved himself out of the chair and paced the floor. ‘That won’t do at all. A murder, indeed. On the whole, my constituents are reasonably law-abiding. I can only assume the perpetrator must have come from over the border.’ He sat back down. ‘The Oxfordshire contingent are quite a rabble.’

  ‘Perhaps so, Mayor Kingsley. I wish I could say that the police have a line of enquiry in that direction. However, being as inept as they are, they have made no enquiries at all.’

  He adjusted his position and swung one leg over the other knee, picking a piece of imaginary lint off as he did. ‘This sounds most grave indeed. Please do give me all the facts, my dear.’

  She started her story from the point when the storm had been raging overhead and she had seen the light in the quarry yard’s hut. Kingsley sat silently throughout, save for a few surprised grunts when she described the shooting.

  ‘So I reached the hut but there was no one there. And the man I saw shot, well, there was no corpse. It had simply vanished,’ she concluded.

  He ran his tongue over his lips. ‘Lady Swift, what an incredible tale. How very intrepid of you.’ He shook his head. ‘Now tell me,’ he held her gaze, ‘what did the police say?’

  ‘They made it abundantly clear that they believed it was nothing more than a fabrication on my part, as if I were some mad, attention-seeking old crone.’

  ‘A fabrication!’ He thumped the arm of his chair. ‘Let me assure you, Lady Swift, that I do not hold such a view. It is obvious to me that you are a level-headed and observant young lady.’ He took a sip of tea, looking thoughtful. ‘Tell me, my dear, were… were you able to see any useful details? Such as, perhaps, the face of the killer? Or victim?’

  ‘As I said I never saw the killer and I only got a glimpse of the victim.’

  ‘So you couldn’t identify either of them if you saw them again?’

  She realised he was leaning forward in his chair, staring at her.

  ‘Alas, not with any certainty.’ She’d decided not to disclose her belief that the victim was Atkins until she had some positive proof. It seemed unlikely anyone would take her seriously otherwise.

  Kingsley leaned back and studied her. ‘And there is the inconvenient lack of a corpse?’ He shook his head slowly. ‘It’s as if the event never happened.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I assume you’ve discounted the idea that the victim may simply have been injured?’

  ‘With the amount of blood, yes.’

  ‘Blood?’

  ‘I found a large stain where the man was shot. Too large to believe anyone could have survived.’

  ‘It is indeed a puzzle.’ He sucked his teeth. ‘It is as if the event never happened,’ he repeated, resting his elbows on the plump padding of the chair’s arms. ‘However, my dear, you have been treated shabbily by our law enforcement officers. I will see to it immediately that they are given a severe reprimand.’

  ‘Thank you, but the matter of the murder is my only concern.’

  ‘Indeed, indeed. I shall ensure the police start a full investigation into the events you saw.’ He held up a finger and pursed his lips. ‘And, I shall monitor the investigation closely myself.’

  She was impressed. Here was a man who, despite his brusque manner, was to be applauded for his direct approach. She rose to leave. ‘Thank you, Mayor Kingsley, I appreciate your time today.’

  ‘An absolute pleasure, my dear.’

  They crossed the floor and at the door, he held out his hand. ‘Thank you again for bringing this to my attention. It really is most helpful of you.’

  She shook his hand and started off down the hallway before halting. Spinning around, she asked, ‘Oh, Mayor Kingsley, one last question.’

  He looked up from adjusting his chain.

  ‘Where can one buy a…’ She glanced at his stubby legs, rotund body and bright-red cheeks and nose. ‘Oh, never mind.’

  Ten

  Chipstone’s town hall clock struck a quarter past one as Eleanor stood below, running over her recent meeting with the mayor. Finally, Ellie, someone whose thinking isn’t mired in the dark ages when it comes to taking a woman seriously! With the mayor taking an interest in the case, things should start happening.

  She paused in her reflection and looked around trying to remember the instructions to Bevan Brothers the man outside the town hall had given her. The shop was at the southernmost end of town, just after a sharp turn east. Or was it west? Over the years Eleanor had travelled much of the civilised, and uncivilised, world alone on her trusty bicycle. Having perfected the art of asking directions even when she couldn’t speak the local language, she’d also developed the peculiar habit of forgetting them instantly.

  She glanced around. ‘East or west? This is ridiculous! Isn’t this why people lived in small rural backwaters like Chipstone because you don’t have to go on an expedition just to purchase a bicycle!’

  Had it been able to reply, Chipstone might have balked at being called a rur
al backwater, as it rather prided itself on being a bustling market town in the heart of the Chilterns.

  But fortunately it couldn’t, so there was no offence taken. Eleanor, however, continued to let off steam. ‘What on earth is wrong with using left and right?’

  ‘I couldn’t say, miss,’ a bright voice answered. Eleanor looked down. A young boy of about ten stood with his cap in hand, in a waistcoat that was neat and clean but missing two buttons.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I thought you were asking me a question… since there’s no one else here, miss.’

  ‘Yes, I can see how you would have thought that. However, I do have a question for you. Actually two. What’s your name?’

  ‘Alfie, miss.’

  Eleanor realised she had now used up one of her two intended questions without asking either of them. No matter, she doubted if the boy would notice. ‘Now, Alfie, would you like to earn a penny?’

  The boy slapped his legs in excitement. ‘You bet, miss.’

  ‘Excellent. Then can you point me to Bevan Brothers?’

  ‘Actually, begging your pardon, miss, but that’s three questions. Is it a penny each or a penny for all three?’

  This child was not to be underestimated. In fact, if she needed a team of street urchins like the one used by Sherlock Holmes, then Alfie would be a good choice to head it up.

  The child was looking at her expectantly.

  ‘To answer your question, it’s a penny for all three. Deal?’

  ‘Deal!’ Alfie extended a small, unexpectedly clean hand. Eleanor shook it. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you want to know how to get to Bevan Brothers. That’s easy.’ He turned to face the opposite end of the high street to the one she and Lancelot had entered the town by. ‘Do you see that chimney over there? The tall one with the smoke blowing out the top?’

  Eleanor nodded, bending down to the boy’s height and squinting where he pointed. ‘Yes.’ ‘That’s Barnes’ Paint Factory. Me dad used to work there. I still help out sometimes. Now follow my finger along, you see where them buildings stop?’