‘Guest? Oh Ambrose. I forgot all about him still being detained in the cellar! How did the ladies take the news ‒ not well, I suspect?’
‘There was a fair amount of wringing of hands. There’s every chance he’ll get off lightly though. We’ve traced Kingsley’s operation and the whole dastardly thing is based on blackmail, your “guest” was probably threatened into kidnapping you as he said.’
‘Have you got enough to send Mayor Kingsley to jail for a long time?’
‘We’ve only just started unravelling his criminal activities, but we already have enough evidence with his confession and the money and notebooks you found to convict him of murder and blackmail to start with.’
A thought struck her. ‘You know, with all the excitement of capturing Kingsley, I’d forgotten about Cartwright’s meeting with Jack Cornell. And his practically denying towing that car out of the mud the day after the murder. Cartwright obviously isn’t the killer, but I’m still in the dark as to his dubious activities.’
DCI Seldon grunted. ‘Well, I can clear up one aspect. It seems Cornell always intended to make it look like an accident. On re-examining Mr Atkins’ property, we found evidence that on the night of the storm he hid his motorbike near Atkins’ house as he knew he’d need to move fast after the murder. Then he walked to the quarry and laid in wait until Atkins drove in and entered the hut. He then shot him, as you witnessed. What you didn’t see, was Cornell then placing the body into Atkins’ car and driving to the dead man’s house.’
‘Ah!’ Eleanor nodded. ‘That’s why there was no body. And so it was Atkins’ car that passed me? That’s why it seemed strangely familiar. I never thought anything about it at the time, just a car on a dark road. The motorcycle was different, he obviously saw me but didn’t stop, while I assumed the driver of the car simply couldn’t see me at all.’ She frowned. ‘Also the car passed me very soon after the shooting, so I didn’t really think it could be the killer with the body.’
It was Seldon’s turn to nod. ‘Cornell moved fast, I’ll give him that, but then he planned it well. Once he’d arranged the body in the house, he simply collected his motorbike and shot back to the quarry and removed all evidence of the murder. His only bit of bad luck was to almost run you down in his haste.’
‘And the car that got stuck in the mud, Inspector? The one Mr Cartwright towed out?’
Seldon grunted. ‘Just a local lad in a hurry. He realised he’d forgotten a package he was supposed to be delivering and tried to use the quarry lane to turn around without slowing down. He lost control of the car and ended up stuck. Apparently Mr Cartwright charged him handsomely to pull him out.’
Eleanor laughed. ‘I see, that explains the stuck car. But there’s another thing that’s been bothering me. Jack Cornell obviously knew Cartwright quite well?’
A cough at her shoulder made her start. ‘Clifford?’
‘I apologise for interrupting, but perhaps I can answer the riddle of Mr Cornell and Mr Cartwright’s relationship. And about Mr Cartwright’s “nefarious dealings”?’
Eleanor nodded. ‘That I’d love to know!’
‘It seems a few days ago Mrs Trotman was in Brenchley’s. She was inadvertently hidden from view by a giant display of Persil, the “amazing oxygen washer” as I believe it has been dubbed.’
Eleanor smiled at Clifford’s inability to recount anything without, as she saw it, superfluous information.
‘She overheard Mrs Mount whispering to Mrs Jefferson that she’d gone all the way up to Pike Farm this week only for Mr Cartwright to tell her he couldn’t supply her regular order of game, what with the police trampling all over the quarry and his land since it was shown, by yourself, my lady, that a murder had indeed occurred there.’
DCI Seldon’s face cracked into a grin. ‘So, Cartwright was selling illegal game from poachers.’
‘Indeed, Inspector Seldon, and the man supplying the game was—’
Eleanor raised a hand. ‘Let me guess, Jack Cornell?’
‘Exactly, my lady.’
DCI Seldon laughed. ‘And you had Cartwright pegged as the murderer!’
Eleanor huffed. ‘At least that clears that up. And explains why Cartwright is no friend of our upstanding butcher.’
Clifford nodded. ‘Indeed, not only would it have offended Mr Penry on a moral front, for he is a very religious gentleman, but also on a business one. I imagine Mr Cartwright’s activities cost him customers.’
‘Well, until the police cease their investigations, they’ll have no choice but to go to Penry now.’
‘It would seem so, my lady. However, standing here discussing such matters isn’t helping you recover. I believe Doctor Browning recommended rest. It would be a shame to ignore the good doctor’s advice.’ He turned to DCI Seldon. ‘We are obviously immensely grateful for the first-rate medical attention Lady Swift has received. I fear, however, if she sustains any more injuries, the household accounts will suffer dreadfully when the doctor sends in his bills. We may have to economise.’
Eleanor snorted. ‘Nonsense, I’m fine!’
‘Indeed, my lady. What else explains your playing havoc with the meal schedules, running the housekeeper’s errands, making merry with the staff in the kitchen and… entertaining visitors in your pyjamas?’
They both turned at the inspector’s roar of laughter.
Eleanor grinned. ‘I am delighted that you are here to witness the disgraceful insolence I am subjected to. Perhaps in the future you will record my complaints in case I ever wish to press charges.’
‘Of course, Lady Swift.’ DCI Seldon held her gaze. ‘I’ve learned to pay attention when you have something to say.’ He glanced at the mantelpiece clock. ‘Forgive me, but I really should be going.’
Five minutes later, Mrs Butters popped her head round the door, and spoke in a voice tinged with sadness. ‘Excuse me, m’lady, Mr Clifford sir, they’re taking him away now.’
Eleanor and Clifford joined the solemn gathering in the hallway. Polly had a hand on Mrs Butters’ shoulder, and a tissue to her eyes while Mrs Trotman hung back. Ambrose Cooper stood between DCI Seldon and a uniformed officer, with his hands cuffed.
The prisoner grunted. ‘Can I say something?’
‘As I said when I read you your rights, anything you say, will be taken down and may be used as evidence in court,’ said DCI Seldon.
‘It’s nothing to do with that. I just wanted to thank these ladies… for their kind hospitality. Ain’t never been treated so well. Never eaten so well neither.’
He smiled at Mrs Trotman who darted forward and placed a parcel into his cuffed hands.
‘Well, he won’t be eating so well where he’s going, Detective Chief Inspector, this should tide him over for a while.’
DCI Seldon groaned. ‘Thank goodness there’s no one to see this.’ He turned to the constables. ‘If any of you utter a word about this, I’ll have your badges.’
DCI Seldon led Ambrose out of the door. As the inspector passed Eleanor he paused. ‘I wish you a speedy return to full health, Lady Swift. And… perhaps we can meet less… formally next time?’
Forty-Two
With the inspector and their guest gone, a peculiar sense of loss hung in the air. The ladies had returned to the kitchen, and it was just her and Clifford in the drawing room. As he turned to leave, Eleanor blocked his way. ‘Clifford, I wanted to wait until we were alone to say thank you for… well, everything.’
‘It was a pleasure, my lady.’
‘And… and to apologise.’
‘Apologise, my lady?’
‘Yes. When… when I thought you were, you know…’
‘Trying to kill you?’
‘Yes, that. Well, I sort of snuck into your…’ She blushed at the memory.
Clifford coughed. ‘If you are confessing that you entered my rooms and searched them, I am already aware of this.’
She stared at him. ‘How? I mean I was as stealthy as a cat. Clifford? You’re…
laughing!’
Regaining his customary butler-esque demeanour he pulled a spotless, starched handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and wiped his eyes. ‘It is my turn to apologise. You have many talents, my lady, but “stealthy” is not a word I would associate with any of them. If Polly were not strictly forbidden from entering my rooms after that last episode’ – he shuddered – ‘I would have imagined that she had run amok in them. As it obviously wasn’t her, that left only one possible culprit.’
‘Look here, dash it, I was trying to apologise!’
He gave a half-bow. ‘Apology accepted.’
She folded her arms. ‘It’s all very well being so understanding after the event, but I… well, I found garnets in your room just like the one we found at the quarry! I mean, what was I to think?’
He nodded. ‘I agree, my lady, I would probably have drawn the same conclusion. However, it is just a coincidence, not that strange a one either. Garnets actually have many uses most people are not aware of. The ones you discovered are actually your uncle’s. They were a gift from the leader of a Hunza tribe in Kashmir. The tribe believed that bullets made from garnets were a stronger weapon against one’s enemies than those made of lead.’ He hesitated, then seemed to make up his mind. ‘Your uncle retired early from a successful army career because of his increasingly strong sympathy for self-rule for the Indian Subcontinent. After leaving the army he continued to support those who seek independence, including the tribe in Kashmir that gave him these bullets to protect him from his enemies. Both Christians and Muslims have used garnets as a talisman since the Crusades.’
‘Is that why…?’ Eleanor tailed off.
Clifford’s voice was soft, his words genuine. ‘That is why those garnets, along with much else, is hidden away. My lady, your uncle loved you very much, but his life was too dangerous to have a young niece living with him. He feared for your safety.’
Tears ran down Eleanor’s cheeks. She didn’t brush them away. ‘Oh, Clifford, I thought he didn’t care about me.’
‘He cared more than he knew how to say, my lady.’ Clifford handed her his handkerchief and then winced as she blew her nose hard into it.
‘Thank you.’ She sniffed. ‘I mean for telling me. I’m so sorry… I briefly doubted you. Now I feel terrible.’
Clifford sighed. ‘Your uncle and I were master and servant, that much is true, but away from the eyes of the world we were also friends. He confided in me his worries and confusion over how to raise a child. With no guiding feminine hand, he worried that you might founder in the care of two old bachelors living a life totally unsuited to a young girl.’
He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. ‘It was I who suggested a boarding school for you, my lady.’ Clifford stared at her. ‘We wanted you to have a proper education among girls of your own age. Above all, we wanted you to be safe.’ It was his turn to sniff. ‘I’m so sorry, we underestimated how much you needed… love above all that.’
Eleanor offered him back his handkerchief. With a smile, he pulled another from his waistcoat pocket and wiped his nose.
It had been years since Eleanor had properly cried but Clifford had just opened the latch to her heart and her tears rained down. She stared through them at the man in front of her. He was clearly wrestling with his own emotions, and with his years of guilt.
She cleared her throat, her voice trembling. ‘Thank you for everything you did for my uncle… and for me. After the disappearance of my parents, I resented being sent away to boarding school, but only because I didn’t know the truth.’ She momentarily managed a laugh through her tears. ‘Despite everything, Clifford, I think you and my uncle made the right decision. Just imagine how I would have turned out if I’d spent my days with you two on your adventures. I would surely have ended up as a tomboy hooligan with a penchant for dressing as a cowboy.’
Clifford smiled. ‘If I may correct you, my lady, I believe that in Dodge City you actually did dress as a cowboy, or cowgirl, as I suppose the correct term is.’
Eleanor gasped. ‘Clifford! My uncle really did keep tabs on me!’
Clifford gazed into the distance. ‘Many, many evenings were spent in enjoyable recollection of your latest exploits.’ He looked down at his lap. ‘Your uncle always said you were a marvel and that you would go on to do great things.’
Eleanor wiped her eyes and looked down at her lap too. ‘Well, perhaps that was my uncle’s only failing then.’ She hesitated and then sighed. ‘Between you and me, Clifford, I think I’ve made a bit of a hash of my life so far. Dabbled at lots of things. Travelled for years to keep from having to face the fact I didn’t know what to do with myself. And…’ She bit her bottom lip. ‘I’m absolutely rubbish when it comes to men.’
Clifford startled her with a roar of laughter that filled the room.
‘Forgive me, my lady, but your uncle noted the very same. He remarked on more than one occasion that he needed to study the art of matchmaking to save you from the terrible affairs of the heart you kept charging into.’
Eleanor laughed and then stopped as a thought struck her. ‘Okay, Clifford, I can understand why my uncle sent me to boarding school now. But once I turned eighteen why didn’t he send for me? He and I could have had this exact same conversation all those years ago.’
Clifford took a long breath. ‘In your uncle’s final moments he confided that his deepest regret was not having made you a greater part of his life once you became a young adult. He feared…’ His voice broke. Eleanor bent forward and stared into his eyes until he had regained his composure. ‘He feared you would reject him.’
‘Reject him! I spent my whole childhood wishing he was a greater part of my life.’
‘I know, as did he. But behind his fierce love, there was a fear that he hadn’t done the right thing by you. He said it had eaten him up for years, wrestling with the idea of contacting you but fearing your reaction might be indifference… or worse.’
‘Oh, Clifford, what a mess. And now I can’t tell him that I would never have rejected him.’
‘My lady. If I may ask permission?’
She raised her hand. ‘No, Clifford, you may not ask permission. It’s my turn to ask for permission… permission to hug the life out of you.’
For the first time since arriving at the Hall, his stiff butler’s demeanour slipped.
‘Permission… granted, my lady.’
Eleanor found the ladies as ever, working away industriously in the kitchen. ‘Ladies. I believe we need to have words’ – they looked up anxiously – ‘about how we best go about having a celebratory lunch!’
They giggled in relief and patted each other’s arms. She held up her hand. ‘But, I now know’ – she put on her best imitation of Ambrose – ‘that them what is downstairs never stops working, so if the hoity-toity lady of the ’ouse wants to join in, she’d better pull on an apron…’
‘And muck in!’ chorused the cook and housekeeper.
Several hours later up in her bedroom, she found an uninvited guest. ‘Gladstone, old chum, how did you get in here? I thought we shut you out when I went downstairs.’ She sat on the bed and patted him, laughing as he rolled onto his back. ‘Honestly, that belly. You must be part pig, surely.’
Her foot knocked against something on the floor. Her walking shoes! What the…? She was sure she’d left them in the wardrobe. Bending down, she could see a small card folded inside one of the shoes.
‘Be yourself, everyone else is already taken.’ Oscar Wilde.
‘Oh, Clifford!’
Half an hour later she stepped from her room, feeling content with her choice of attire – a calf-length, green silk tunic with delicate straps and matching beaded shawl. She held a satin clutch purse but abandoned it on the lamp table as she passed. No need of accessories, Ellie, you’ll do as you are.
Clifford was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Thank you for your note,’ she said. ‘I went for ballet pumps, although the walking sh
oes were tempting.’
‘Either would have been a fine choice, my lady.’
‘You know, you are a true gentleman, Clifford, a true old-fashioned gentleman.’
‘And you are a true lady, a true modern lady. Tell me, will there be more like yourself in the future?’
‘Absolutely, Clifford.’
‘Then I look forward most heartily to that.’
The rumble of tyres sounded on the gravel drive.
‘I do believe the car has just arrived, my lady.’
From the hall table he picked up a silver tray and held it out to her.
‘A package? For me, Clifford?’
Clifford nodded at the long, green, silk-covered box, tied with a delicate bow and embossed with the unmistakable Harrods logo. Lifting the lid, Eleanor gave him a puzzled look. She parted the folds of the tissue paper and gasped.
‘Forgive my presumption, my lady, I ordered ivory white.’
Eleanor took a pair of long, satin gloves from their box. She ran her finger over the finely monogrammed ‘ES’. Her shoulders shook with emotion as she slipped them on and mouthed a heartfelt, ‘Thank you, Clifford.’
They waited on the steps as Lancelot struggled out of the driver’s door, with his right arm bandaged heavily.
‘Sherlock, you look… stunning.’ He held out a powder-blue wrap with his good arm. It was the softest cashmere she had ever felt.
‘Gracious, Goggles, that’s so thoughtful. Thank you.’
He grinned. ‘Wasn’t sure about the colour, old girl, but I’m pretty sure that Holmes chap wore a blue scarf. Or maybe it was a blue jacket? Anyhow, I just needed to bring you something to warm you up for… that conversation we never finished.’
‘It’s perfect.’ Eleanor slid into the passenger seat and giggled. ‘After all, blue and green should always be seen with a lady between. Shall we?’
Can’t get enough of Lady Swift’s crime-solving adventures? Fear not! Just sign up below to be the very first to know when Verity Bright’s next addictive cozy novel is available.
A Very English Murder Page 26