Death at the Dance: An addictive historical cozy mystery (A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 2)

by Verity Bright

  The policeman Seldon had referred to as Peters stood up looking ashen. He nodded at the crumpled figure on the floor. ‘He’s… dead, sir.’

  Everyone looked at the body. Seldon kneeled and checked for himself. Standing up he turned his gaze on Lancelot.

  ‘I am also arresting you for murder. You will be read your rights before a judicial officer down at the police station. Brice, take Lord Fenwick-Langham out the back way to save the hosts’ embarrassment.’

  Lancelot stared coolly at the inspector. ‘The hosts, as you put it, are my parents. They aren’t going to be terribly impressed that you’ve arrested not only the wrong man, but their son in his own house. This isn’t going to look good your end.’

  DCI Seldon held his gaze. ‘From where I’m standing, your lordship, it’s your position that doesn’t look good. Caught at the scene of a theft and a murder. And’ – he indicated the candlestick – ‘holding the murder weapon, I warrant. You are advised to remain silent until you have representation present. Take him away, Brice.’

  Eleanor’s brain whirled. ‘But, Inspector, you can’t think—’

  ‘Lady Swift, please don’t leave. I will need a full statement from you.’ He nodded at another uniformed officer who stepped over beside her.

  Lancelot drew level with her as he was led out by the constable and whispered, ‘Play it cool, Sherlock, you know what these uniformed johnnies are like. You’ve beaten them to the punch once already. But it wasn’t me, I swear to you.’

  As Brice pushed Lancelot through the door, Eleanor made to go after them. DCI Seldon clicked his fingers at a young officer and gestured towards Eleanor. The policeman blocked her way.

  She swung round to face the inspector, green eyes blazing.

  Out in the corridor, there was a loud commotion. ‘Open this door immediately or Harold will thrash the buttons from your uniform, you idiot!’

  ‘Who told the Fenwick-Langhams before I did?’ Seldon growled. He strode to the door just as it burst open.

  Lord Langham charged into the room and confronted the inspector. ‘What the hell have you done, man? I will have your superintendent—’ He froze on seeing the body crumpled against the far wall.

  ‘Pudders!’

  Lady Langham appeared at her husband’s side. ‘Colonel Puddifoot-Barton?’

  ‘Constable!’

  Before the officer could reach her, Lady Langham had slid to the floor in a faint.

  Four

  ‘Do you think I’ll need to wait much longer?’ Eleanor had to raise her voice to be heard above the rain now pelting against the windows.

  The nervous young policeman who had escorted her to the library shrugged apologetically.

  ‘Couldn’t say, m’lady.’

  ‘Is Inspector Seldon staying here or returning to Oxford?’

  ‘Chief Inspector, m’lady. And I couldn’t say.’

  ‘Will Lance— Lord Fenwick-Langham be permitted visitors this evening?’

  ‘I couldn’t say, m’lady.’

  Hopeless! What was keeping the inspector? They had first met only a few days after Eleanor had arrived at Little Buckford to inherit her uncle’s estate. She had reported seeing a murder, but as the body had disappeared, the inspector had refused to investigate further. By the time the case was solved, however, the gruff inspector had become a firm ally.

  Eleanor groaned. She wanted it to be over. For Lancelot to be released and for him to be back at Langham Manor. Even for the colonel to be alive and his usual unpleasant self. Her stomach rumbled. Champagne and dead bodies weren’t the happiest of bedfellows. The smell of musty leather-bound books and over-polished wood wasn’t helping either.

  Voices came from outside the door. ‘Make sure no one leaves.’

  A muttered response eluded Eleanor’s ears.

  ‘Just do it, man!’ DCI Seldon called over his shoulder as he entered the room. He offered Eleanor a thin smile as he stepped across to the table where she waited, drumming her fingers. He nodded at the uniformed officer who nodded back and left the room. Pulling out a chair, he sat, folding his long legs awkwardly.

  ‘Lady Swift.’

  ‘Inspector.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘I am sorry to detain you. I wish we were meeting under different circumstances.’

  ‘So do I. I hope this awful misunderstanding can be cleared up quickly.’

  ‘Misunderstanding?’

  ‘Don’t play coy, Inspector, please. You can’t possibly think Lancelot stole Lady Langham’s jewels. She’s his mother, for goodness’ sake. Why would he steal her jewels?’

  He held up his hand and consulted his notebook. ‘The accused was discovered standing by the open safe which, on inspection by myself, was found to be empty.’ He looked up at her.

  ‘That’s as may be, but we can’t be sure the jewels were even in the safe. The real thief could easily—’

  The inspector held up his hand again and read from his notes. ‘I verified the presence of the necklace in question at precisely seven forty-five.’ He flipped the front of the notebook back and forth with his thumb. ‘And given that the safe wasn’t blown and the short timescale between my verifying the presence of the jewels and my men entering when they heard voices, whoever stole those jewels, in my professional opinion, knew the code.’

  As she had no answer, she switched tack. ‘And it’s inconceivable that… that he killed the colonel. The poor man was a close friend of Lancelot’s family. What possible reason would he have? Be realistic, Lancelot’s a clown, not a killer. He hasn’t the wherewithal, or the malice, to do something so terrible.’ Eleanor’s face flushed. ‘And why were your men there? Why were they, or you, even at the ball? If I didn’t know better, I’d say this reeks of a police set-up!’

  DCI Seldon stiffened. ‘I am acutely aware of how you feel about authority in general, Lady Swift, especially the police, but—’

  She cut him off. ‘Hardly surprising, given that they were covering up a murder and wholesale corruption last time I dealt with them.’

  ‘Indeed.’ The inspector ran his hand over the back of his neck. ‘But this isn’t the same department. These are my men. This is my investigation and I am in charge, Lady Swift. I hardly need to remind you that this is a murder investigation not a grudge match with authority.’

  She had the good grace to look embarrassed. Last time she had met the inspector, she’d practically accused him of being involved in a police cover-up. ‘Quite so. I am sorry, Inspector, I wasn’t suggesting you were… I mean, I am still very grateful for your help in catching the killer from the quarry. But perhaps not showing it very well,’ she ended, with another flush to her cheeks.

  He nodded. ‘I understand, it has been quite a night for you.’ He spun his pen. ‘By the way, no need to be grateful for that… all part of the job, you know. Although, well, it was a genuine pleasure to do so.’

  He held her gaze for a moment and then returned to his notes. For the first time since the terrible events of that evening, she felt herself relax a little.

  DCI Seldon coughed. ‘Where were we? Yes, we’ve established no underhand police activities were conducted this evening.’ He glanced at Eleanor. ‘And that the facts of the case are that the accused was found hunched over the deceased, Colonel Puddifoot-Barton, holding a silver candlestick.’

  Eleanor felt the tension flood back through her body. ‘Has it been proven that the candlestick was indeed the murder weapon, Inspector?’

  ‘Not yet. The lab chaps have to analyse it but there was a substantial amount of blood and some matted hair on the top and along the side. I’m quite certain it will match that of the deceased.’

  Eleanor desperately tried to think of anything else that might throw doubt on Lancelot’s guilt. ‘Okay, but the colonel could already have been dead, couldn’t he?’

  ‘When the deceased was examined, his wristwatch was found to be broken. The glass had been smashed. Fragments were found on the edge of the fireplace. I therefo
re deduce the colonel was hit on the back of the head by a heavy object, I presume, at the moment, the candlestick. He then fell forward, his watch hitting the edge of the fireplace. The impact broke the glass and mechanism. The time recorded on the watch was eight twenty-three. My men entered the room at exactly eight twenty-five. So there’s no way anyone entered the room between the time of the colonel’s death and my men arriving. Except…’

  She groaned and covered her face with her hands. ‘Except me.’

  DCI Seldon turned back to his infernal notebook. She wanted to grab it from his hand and toss it in the fire.

  ‘What has Lancelot said? Surely he can explain everything.’

  ‘Young Lord Fenwick-Langham refuses to do anything except repeat his original statement.’ He turned over a couple of pages in the notebook. ‘To quote: “I came into the room and saw the colonel lying on the floor. I knelt down to see if I could help and noticed the candlestick by his side. I heard a noise and thought the killer was returning, so I picked the candlestick up to defend myself. Then I heard the door open and Lady Swift came in, followed by you lot.”’ The inspector looked up. ‘He means the police. And he swears he didn’t know the candlestick had been used to murder the colonel.’

  ‘But what did he say about why he was upstairs?’

  ‘He has not given a clear explanation. He merely said that it is his house and why shouldn’t he be anywhere that he damn well pleased?’ DCI Seldon tapped his pen on the notebook. ‘Excuse the language.’

  ‘Not at all. I’m surprised his language wasn’t more colourful, given the gravity of his situation.’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘The stupid fool. Does he think this is a game?’

  DCI Seldon cleared his throat. ‘Lady Swift, I need to ask you what you were doing upstairs.’ A muscle twitched in his jaw as he waited for her response.

  She frowned. ‘I was looking for Lancelot.’

  ‘Why were you looking for him, Lady Swift?’ There was that twitch again.

  She leaned forward, her elbows on the table. ‘Because, Inspector, I was a little overwhelmed by meeting so many new people. I wanted to see a… familiar face.’

  ‘Familiar face,’ DCI Seldon repeated as his pen scratched across the paper. He glanced up at her. ‘Please continue, Lady Swift.’

  ‘Well, I had taken a small… tumble on the dance floor and was just going to fix my make-up when I spotted him disappearing up the side stairs.’

  DCI Seldon looked at her strangely. ‘Yes, I am well aware of your small “tumble”, as was everyone else, including my men.’ He looked back down at his notebook. ‘So, you followed him upstairs?’

  ‘Yes, as I said, I followed him up the stairs.’

  ‘And what did he do?’

  ‘Honestly, I don’t know. When I got to the landing, he’d disappeared.’

  DCI Seldon stroked his jaw. ‘Did he know you were following him?’

  ‘No, he was quite a way ahead of me.’

  ‘You didn’t call out to him, then?’

  ‘Inspector, I appreciate you refraining from remarking on my unladylike behaviour in following him in the first place, but was I really likely to bellow his name out? I was trying to be discreet.’

  The corners of Seldon’s lips curled upwards. ‘Being discreet,’ he mumbled as he wrote. ‘So whilst discreetly creeping around the upstairs, you…?’

  ‘Wandered around for a few minutes, if I’m honest.’ She studied the tabletop. ‘I can understand how this sounds, Inspector, but I had the idea and just ran with it. All that doing the right thing at the right time doesn’t come naturally to me, you know.’

  ‘Yes.’ He stared at the paper. ‘I do know.’

  She tried to gauge this response. Was he laughing at her? Oh, this was all so ludicrous! ‘Yes, well, anyway I wandered around and then heard a noise coming from that room so I went in.’

  ‘Without knocking?’

  She stiffened. ‘Inspector, are you making fun of me?’

  He looked up. ‘I’m just establishing the facts of the case. If you had knocked, the accused would have had time to react.’

  She tugged at the yards of fabric swaddling her legs. ‘I-I’m sorry, I’m a little on edge. Yes, without knocking. I wish that I had knocked.’

  DCI Seldon leaned forward. ‘Lady Swift, it is my duty to remind you, again, that this is a murder investigation and that your statement will be the most pertinent in the case. You may wish to stick to the facts.’

  Eleanor was tired and confused. With every word of her statement she seemed to be incriminating Lancelot even further.

  DCI Seldon cleared his throat. ‘If you would like to continue from “heard a noise coming from that room so I went in”?’

  ‘So I went in…’ Her chest tightened, pulling the air from her lungs.

  ‘And saw?’ DCI Seldon coaxed.

  She pursed her lips. ‘And saw Lancelot crouched over… a body that was lying on the floor.’

  ‘And was the accused holding anything?’

  She nodded slowly. ‘Yes, a candlestick.’

  She sat up as the detective’s notebook snapped shut.

  ‘Thank you, Lady Swift. You are free to go but we will obviously need you to call in at Chipstone Police Station and sign your statement within the next day or so. I will also need to talk with you again once we have corroborated your story.’

  She frowned. ‘Corroborated my story?’

  He pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘Lady Swift, you were found in the room with the accused. Lady Fenwick-Langham’s jewels were missing and there was a dead body! You are as close to a suspect in this affair as that blasted young Lord Fenwick-Langham.’

  Eleanor gasped. ‘You can’t be serious!’

  The inspector held her stare. ‘As I said at the beginning, I wish we were meeting under different circumstances.’ He opened the door.

  ‘But this is preposterous!’

  He spun round. ‘For goodness’ sake, you and the accused were the only people in the room. Alone, damn it! As the detective in this case, I have to consider the possibility that either you were working together, you are protecting him or…’ He looked into her eyes. ‘He is protecting you.’

  Five

  ‘Mrs Trotman’s sent me in with your favourites, my lady, fresh from the griddle.’ Mrs Butters made space on the breakfast table for the covered plate she held. ‘Master Gladstone seems to think as they’re for him, mind. Followed me all the way from the kitchen.’ She gave the bulldog a gentle look of reproach as he leaned on Eleanor’s leg, breathing heavily and waiting expectantly.

  Eleanor brightened as she lifted the cover. ‘Mrs Trotman’s famous crumpets! Just what’s needed. I shall pop down and thank her as soon as I have eaten the lot.’

  The housekeeper smiled and pushed the mustard and jam closer to Eleanor.

  ‘Look at that! It’s supposed to be summer.’ Eleanor gestured with a half-buttered crumpet to the morning room’s French windows that normally gave a wonderful view of the formal lawns and colourful herb borders. But the rain of the night before had died out to be replaced by a blanket of grey, oppressive fog. ‘Mrs Trotman couldn’t have timed a welcome plate of comfort food any better. What do you say, Clifford?’

  Clifford straightened his cuffs. ‘I should think that finishing a full complement of crumpets would see one in a flour-and-sugar-induced coma, my lady.’

  ‘Tosh, I’ll rise to the challenge. Half with egg and gammon, and half with Mrs Trotman’s fine home-made jam. Besides, a hearty breakfast is essential to aid concentration.’ She reached for another crumpet. ‘It would be entirely ungrateful of me to let them go stale after all her efforts.’ She looked down at Gladstone and tickled his chin. ‘Don’t think that means you can share them, greedy old chum.’ His eyes implored her to think again.

  Mrs Butters stifled a giggle and pulled a fresh serviette from her apron pocket.

  Clifford stepped to Eleanor’s side. ‘Would you care for more coffee to accompany your
substantial breakfast?’

  Eleanor nodded as she swallowed another mouthful, savouring the salty butter contrasting with the sweetened damsons. ‘Yes, indeed.’

  Mrs Butters took the coffee pot. ‘I’ll bring a fresh pot, Mr Clifford. I’m sure you and the mistress have plenty to discuss this morning.’ She threw Eleanor a sympathetic smile before leaving them alone.

  ‘So, a busy day for us then, if not an easy one.’ Eleanor ignored the proffered tongs as she helped herself from the silver egg decanter Clifford held for her. ‘Yikes, they’re super hot!’ She dropped the boiled egg into her cup at an angle. Clifford set it upright with the tongs. ‘Oh, and Clifford, thank you again for appearing so promptly at Langham Manor to collect me yesterday. Very timely. I was positively itching to leave.’

  ‘You have Mr Sandford to thank. He telephoned me when Detective Chief Inspector Seldon started interviewing you.’

  ‘Yes, gosh that was a horribly awkward business.’

  ‘Being involved in a murder investigation tends to be a trifle… unsettling.’

  She eyed him over her coffee cup. ‘I meant it was awkward with the inspector. He was, well, odd, most odd. Honestly, it’s like he’d already decided that Lancelot was guilty.’

  Clifford cocked an eyebrow.

  ‘Seriously, I have a suspicion the inspector is struggling to balance his professionalism in this case. It’s as though he disliked Lancelot for some reason.’

  Clifford cleared his throat. ‘Indeed, it is hard to be objective when one is emotionally caught up in a case.’

  Eleanor paused in adding a gammon ring to her crumpet. ‘What do you mean, “emotionally caught up in a case”?’

  Mrs Butters broke the awkward silence by arriving with the fresh coffee pot. Sensing something was hanging in the air, she set it down without a word. The door closed behind her. Gladstone let out a quiet grumble at the lack of crumpet and dropped into an ungainly sprawl on the floor.

  Eleanor stared at her butler. ‘Clifford, please don’t dance around the maypole on this. What were you insinuating?’