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

by Verity Bright

  Clifford cleared his throat. ‘Forgive my interjection, but one thing stands out as being most irregular. If I might enquire, how was it that the chief inspector and his men happened to be at the ball? They were not guests, but on duty I understand.’

  Lady Langham sprang up, stepped to the window and stared out. Everyone waited. ‘It was the dratted invitations! You appreciate how it is. When you hold a ball, you have to invite all the right people. It would have been a dreadful faux pas not to have done so. But if we’d just not sent… that one.’ She sniffed again. Gladstone stole over and nuzzled her hand. Her fingers hung limply against his cheek.

  Lord Langham picked up the reins. ‘My bish totally, didn’t think about it at all. I included Lord Cavendish-Wraith in the guest list, naturally.’

  ‘Er… naturally,’ Eleanor said. Who the devil is Lord Cavendish?

  As if he read her thoughts Lord Langham continued, ‘Cavendish is the bally Chief of Police, old girl. So naturally he tells Inspector Seldon to set up a sting for these wretched jewel thieves at the ball. Messed up the entire plan and got our boy cuffed into the bargain.’

  Clifford nodded. ‘Lord Cavendish would have been aware that Chief Inspector Seldon had been after this jewel thief for some months. I imagine they both agreed with Lord and Lady Fenwick-Langham that the thief would not be able to pass up the opportunity to steal such a prize as Lady Fenwick-Langham’s necklace.’

  ‘Exactly, Clifford!’ Lady Langham turned, her eyes rimmed red. ‘We decided all we could do was plough on with the ball. We just hoped that the burglar would be as clever as he had been at the other events and that he’d elude the police and escape with the necklace.’ She put down her cup. ‘Please excuse us, dear Eleanor, but there’s really nothing more we can tell you. We must be going. This business has caused such great upset, we really aren’t ourselves.’

  She began shooing her husband from the room. Turning back to Eleanor she kissed her on the cheek. ‘Thank you, my dear, you’ve given us both hope. With you and Clifford on Lancelot’s case, he’ll fare much better than in the hands of so-called Law and Justice.’

  ‘Of course. Clifford and I will soon have him back at Langham Manor where he belongs.’

  Eleanor hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt.

  Seven

  As Clifford returned from seeing Lord and Lady Langham out, Eleanor flopped full-length on the sofa.

  ‘Clifford?’

  ‘Yes, my lady?’

  ‘What did you make of all that?’

  Clifford pursed his lips. ‘As Mr Burns would say, “The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley.”’ At Eleanor’s look, he translated. ‘“Often go awry”, my lady.’

  Eleanor snorted. ‘Well, I’d hardly call this one of the best-laid schemes I’ve come across. I’d say this was one of the worst, whether laid by man or mouse. What were they thinking of? I mean, who would dream up such a ridiculous plan, Clifford?’

  A discreet cough was his only reply.

  She groaned. ‘Okay, maybe it has all the hallmarks of something I might have come up with, but we need to get serious. What’s our first move?’

  Clifford looked thoughtful for a moment, and then nodded as if to himself. ‘If we are to aid their lord and ladyship, not to mention young Lord Fenwick-Langham, perhaps we should establish the exact events that evening leading up to the theft of the jewels and the colonel’s murder.’

  ‘You’re right, Clifford, let’s get everything clear in our heads first and then we can see what’s what.’

  She fetched her notebook, and set about jotting down a rough timeline of the evening, explaining her calculations to Clifford as she went.

  ‘Lady Langham said I was the last to arrive by about quarter of an hour. Now, I arrived around seven forty-five, so Lancelot’s friends must have been there by seven thirty, but I don’t imagine before around seven fifteen, as I can’t imagine they’d have wanted to be the first to arrive. And then me at seven forty-five.’

  She looked up and caught Clifford’s expression. ‘Don’t say a word, Clifford! I’m just not naturally good at arriving on time for, well, anything really.’

  ‘Very good, my lady,’ he said, in most butlery tones. But his eyes were twinkling. ‘What of the colonel?’

  ‘I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, Clifford, but the colonel really was a most difficult man. I spoke to him before I went upstairs to look for Lancelot and he did talk a load of nonsense.’ She sighed. ‘But we can’t allow his killer to walk free. So, onwards.’

  ‘What of the colonel’s death?’ Clifford asked. ‘Didn’t you tell me that Chief Inspector Seldon found a stopped watch in the study?’

  ‘Ah yes, you’re right. I assume the colonel was killed sometime around this time as the inspector said the colonel’s watch stopped at eight twenty-three.’ She added it to the list and showed it to Clifford.

  Eleanor stopped writing and looked up. Despite her gut feeling that Lancelot couldn’t have stolen the jewels, let alone murdered the colonel, she found her mind, and her jottings, telling her a different story.

  ‘Oh, Clifford, what have we got ourselves into? How on earth are we going to prove a man innocent when he’s caught red-handed and all the evidence points to his being guilty?’

  Eight

  The following day the sun had decided to stop hiding and show itself. Despite this goodwill gesture, not being market day, Chipstone High Street was half empty. The Rolls glided past groups of women gossiping on street corners while bored shopkeepers cleaned their front windows and swept the shop steps.

  As Clifford pulled into a parking space next to the police station’s signature blue lamp, Eleanor noted there were none of the usual uniformed men smoking in the adjoining alley. Perhaps after she and Clifford had brought the corruption at the station to light, a shake-up had occurred.

  As he opened her door, she stepped out. ‘Thank you, Clifford, please wait for me. This is a battle I need to fight on my own.’

  ‘Of course, my lady. But do you feel that going into battle is the best attitude with which to approach such a delicate matter?’

  ‘No, not at all, but it’s the one I’ve got.’ Without waiting for a reply, she strode up the steps.

  Inside the station the atmosphere felt altogether different to when she’d last been there. A gentle hum of activity filled the building, boots echoed on polished floors. The officer behind the reception desk stood smartly as she approached.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said.

  He looked at the large wall clock opposite. ‘Actually, it’s afternoon, miss.’ Recognition dawned. ‘Oh, it’s you, Lady Swift. Apologies, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Constable… oh, sorry, I believe it’s Sergeant Brice now, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right, Lady Swift.’ He swelled with pride. Brice had been recently promoted after the previous sergeant had been removed for incompetence and suspected corruption. ‘May I ask the nature of your visit?’

  ‘Yes, you may. I wish to speak to Lance… Lord Fenwick-Langham, please.’

  Brice gave an involuntary low whistle that he tried to turn into a cough. ‘Prisoners held for serious offences aren’t permitted visitors.’

  Eleanor’s stare bore into his skull. Few had survived the Swift Stare.

  He shuffled behind the counter. ‘It’s the rules. You can leave a message and I’ll ask Detective Chief Inspector Seldon if I can pass it on to the… accused.’ He glanced up at her and hurriedly looked back down. ‘That’s the best I can do.’

  ‘The inspector?’ She frowned. ‘He’s still here? I rather hoped he would have been dragged back to London or Oxford.’

  ‘He’s in charge of the investigation, Lady Swift. He’ll be with us until the verdict is reached.’

  ‘Verdict? Now just you hold your horses! None of you should be thinking about verdicts, or trials at this stage. You haven’t even established the facts yet!’

  Another voice interrupte
d. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Swift. Have you stopped by to offer the police advice on how to run a murder investigation, or is there something else we can do for you?’

  She turned to the newcomer. ‘Inspector.’

  ‘It’s Detective Chief Inspector,’ Brice whispered.

  She couldn’t help notice DCI Seldon’s eyes seemed warm, despite his smile being not much more than a thin line across his strong jaw.

  He tilted his chin. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Yes. As you most likely overheard, I would like to see Lord Fenwick-Langham.’

  ‘I’m afraid he is not permitted visitors.’

  ‘I did tell her that, sir,’ Brice said.

  DCI Seldon shot him a look. ‘Tea, Sergeant. We’ll be in my office.’

  ‘I thought you was going out to…’ The sergeant tailed off at the inspector’s glare. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Hot and in scrubbed cups, mind,’ Eleanor couldn’t help calling after him.

  Brice whirled round and then caught her drift. Shaking his head, he disappeared through the door behind him.

  DCI Seldon raised a questioning eyebrow.

  ‘Oh, it was that buffoon Sergeant Wilby’s favourite command. “Brice! Tea, hot and in scrubbed cups!”’

  ‘Ah, yes, Sergeant Wilby. Well, as you know he is no longer at this station.’

  ‘Or any other I sincerely hope.’

  DCI Seldon rubbed his forehead and gestured to the half-open door behind him.

  ‘Lady Swift, as you are the main witness, I was going to call and ask that you came and signed your statement, but it appears you have saved me the trouble.’

  He marched into the office, ducking under the doorframe as he did so. She followed and stood as he closed the door behind her. The office had a temporary feel; boxes crammed with files littered the floor while the bureau stood empty, its door ajar. He threw his blue wool overcoat and bowler on the corner stand and pulled a chair out for her.

  She smiled as she sat. ‘Inspector, I just need to talk to Lancelot. It’s very important.’

  ‘As is answering some pertinent questions.’

  She leaned across the desk. ‘Fine. And then you’ll take me to see Lancelot?’

  He flopped in the chair behind the desk, folded his long legs under the seat and wrestled them out again. ‘Lady Swift.’ He sighed. ‘As I said I have some further questions to ask you.’ He pulled his notebook from his pocket.

  She removed her gloves, unpinned her hat and dropped them in front of him. ‘I have some things to ask you too. You first.’

  ‘Right.’ He shifted a mountain of files to the corner of the desk. ‘First off, what precisely did you see on entering the room on the night of the murder?’

  ‘Didn’t we cover this already on the night of the murder?’

  ‘Lady Swift, please just answer the question.’

  Eleanor marshalled her thoughts. ‘I pushed the door open and saw Lancelot. Well, I wasn’t sure it was him at first. So I suppose, to be accurate, I noticed a figure standing over another figure lying on the floor.’

  ‘Did you notice anything particular about the victim?’

  ‘I did think he was lying at a most peculiar angle.’

  ‘And what did you do next?’

  Eleanor scrunched her eyes shut. ‘I called out to Lancelot.’

  ‘What were you trying to warn him of?’

  ‘Warn him? I wasn’t warning him of anything. As I said, at that point I wasn’t certain it was him. So I called his name and he stood up.’

  ‘What exactly did you say, please?’

  ‘His name.’

  DCI Seldon sighed. ‘Specifics, please. Did you use his first name, his full name?’

  Eleanor frowned and tried to peer at his jaw. Was it twitching again? ‘Lancelot. I just said “Lancelot”. You know, because that’s his name.’ Ellie, just answer the questions! She shook her head, aware that DCI Seldon was staring at her. She didn’t mean to be difficult, but she’d struggled with authority, especially the police, since her parents’ disappearance. A thought struck her. ‘But surely you must have heard me? Isn’t that why you and your men then charged into the room?’

  ‘My men and I entered just after that point, yes.’

  ‘Because you heard me?’

  A fumble at the door handle appeared to bring him relief. ‘Ah, here’s the tea. Enough questions for a moment.’

  He rose to open the door.

  ‘Thank you, Brice.’ DCI Seldon indicated for the cups to be set down on the one clear spot on the desk. ‘That will be all.’

  ‘Er, sir, would you like me to telephone and cancel your appointment? You were supposed to be at—’

  ‘I know where I was supposed to be, Sergeant. It will be obvious by now that I have been detained.’

  As the door closed behind Brice, Eleanor leaned her elbows on the desk. ‘Is it my turn now, Inspector?’

  ‘Not yet.’ He grunted, running his finger along the handle of the mug. ‘I haven’t finished.’ He took a sip of his tea and winced. ‘There was a moment between you calling the name of the accused and my men and I entering the room. Can you describe what you remember?’ Pen at the ready, he held her stare.

  ‘Um, was there? It all happened so fast, I’m not sure I can remember.’

  ‘Let’s see if you can try.’

  ‘Okay, well I think Lancelot stood up and turned around.’

  ‘And did he respond to you calling out to him?’

  ‘But you must have heard…’ At Seldon’s pursed lips, Eleanor paused and took a deep breath. ‘He said something, I don’t quite remember what.’

  ‘Let me remind you.’ Seldon flicked back through the pages of his notebook. ‘“Sherlock, what the hell are you doing here? You should leave. Now!” Does that sound familiar?’

  ‘Yes, he may have said something like that.’

  ‘He seemed surprised to see you?’

  ‘Of course he was. I told you he had no idea that I’d, you know, followed him up the stairs.’

  ‘And he ordered you to leave?’

  ‘As there was a dead body in the room, I imagine any gentleman would try and spare a lady that unpleasantness.’

  At the word ‘gentleman’, Seldon stiffened. ‘And what is the reference please of “Sherlock”? Is it code for something to do with the crime?’

  Eleanor blushed. ‘For pity’s sake, you know full well it isn’t code! Just as you know I’m not Lancelot’s accomplice, and he isn’t guilty of stealing the jewels or of finishing the old colonel off!’

  Seldon leaned towards her, his tone terse. ‘Sherlock?’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s a… pet name, if you must know.’

  ‘Thank you. That is the end of questioning, for now. I will ask Sergeant Brice to bring in the fingerprint kit.’

  ‘Fingerprint kit? For me? But I didn’t touch anything.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but we need to match all the fingerprints found at the murder scene, including those discovered on the candlestick, which we are now certain is the murder weapon. The murder weapon you failed to disclose was in the accused’s hand as he turned and called you Sherlock!’

  Stay calm, Ellie! She took a deep breath. ‘Did you find any other fingerprints on the candlestick? Apart from… Lancelot’s, obviously.’

  ‘The only other fingerprints were the maid’s, who Lady Fenwick-Langham confirmed cleaned the room the day before.’

  Eleanor leaned forward. ‘And has she an alibi for the time the colonel was killed?’

  ‘Yes, she was in the parlour with two other servants, who corroborated her statement.’

  She leaned back in her chair and groaned.

  He strode over and pulled the door open. ‘Brice! Fingerprints, now!’

  A scurry of footsteps saw the sergeant back in the room. One look at DCI Seldon’s face brought a stuttered, ‘Shall I take them here, sir?’

  ‘I’ll do it. Just leave it.’

  DCI Seldon flipped the lid of the ink
pad and hesitated before asking Eleanor for her hand with his own outstretched. She offered the left first. His hand was warm, strong and surprisingly soft as he rolled each of her fingers in the ink and then onto the accompanying paper. When it was done, he completed the boxes at the bottom of the form.

  She felt her chance of helping Lancelot slipping away. ‘Inspector, can I ask if Lancelot has said anything that explains what happened?’

  DCI Seldon grunted again. ‘He still refuses to say anything other than the statement he gave at the scene, which I read out to you on the night of the murder.’

  ‘Look, just ignoring the colonel for a moment, what possible reason would Lancelot have for stealing his mother’s jewels?’ She blushed. ‘Or for being your notorious jewel thief?’

  ‘Young Lord Fenwick-Langham had got in with a bad set, I have been told. Maybe his habits were costing more than his doting parents gave him?’

  To Eleanor the detective’s tone seemed scornful. ‘Inspector, I don’t believe this investigation is entirely about justice. I suspect something may be clouding your judgement about the accused.’ Oh, Ellie, what are you doing?

  DCI Seldon’s neck reddened. Before he could reply, a uniformed officer bowled into the room and strode over to DCI Seldon, then jerked to a halt on seeing Eleanor. ‘Oh, sorry, sir, I didn’t realise you weren’t alone.’

  ‘What is it?’ DCI Seldon’s voice was as cool as his glare. The officer whispered something in his ear. ‘Right, get the car.’ DCI Seldon waved his hand.

  Eleanor waited until they were alone again. ‘A development in the case?’

  ‘Lady Swift, as you are acutely aware, you are too involved in this case for me to discuss any details with you.’

  She swallowed hard. ‘Can I ask one question?’