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

by Verity Bright

  ‘Really?’ She blushed slightly and hurried on. ‘So once all the guests were holding champagne flutes and waiting to twirl the evening away, where were you stationed?’

  ‘By the orchestra, my lady. From there I have a bird’s-eye view of the ballroom… and any guests in need of assistance.’ His eyes sparkled once more.

  Eleanor shrugged. ‘I did rather fall on my face, literally. I never thought Lady Fenwick-Langham would speak to me again.’

  She suddenly remembered Lancelot’s words: The jewel thief does seem to pick parties we’re at, though… I suppose, if you think about it, that does make them suspects. She decided to find out all she could during the interviews about the movement of Lancelot’s bright young things.

  She resumed her questioning. ‘Shortly after my arrival, when I asked after Lancelot’s whereabouts, you kindly told me you’d seen him in the garden?’

  Sandford rubbed a hand over his slicked-down hair. ‘Yes, the young master’s friends had taken to the garden to partake of a little tobacco. Once they had finished, they returned to the ballroom. It was then Prince Singh alerted me to his regrettable need to return to Oxford due to an emergency. I arranged for his car to be brought to the front steps, which caused a little consternation in her ladyship and the group of guests with her.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘I believe there was a queue of ladies waiting to dance with him.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, I suppose dancing with a prince is quite a draw. Do you know what time he left?’

  Sandford thought for a moment. ‘I believe it would have been around eight, my lady.’

  She nodded to herself. That tallied with what Coco had told her at the ball.

  ‘Thank you, Sandford. You’ve been most helpful, and I hope I’ve not been too terrifying an inquisitor.’

  As Eleanor waited for him to send in the next of the staff, she closed her eyes and tried to relax. Any tension she exhibited would be picked up by those she was interviewing.

  The door opened and Sandford announced, ‘Mr Andrew Parsons, footman, my lady.’ He left, leaving her alone with the extraordinarily tall servant.

  ‘Ah, Parsons. Thank you for coming. Please do sit down.’

  He perched like a giraffe on the edge of his seat.

  ‘I wish to ask you a few questions, as I’m sure Sandford explained.’

  ‘Indeed, my lady.’

  ‘Please, tell me, what was your principal duty on the night of the ball?’

  ‘I was charged with the serving of champagne in the ballroom. I remained at my post as instructed throughout the evening.’

  ‘You weren’t called away for any little hiccups that Lady Fenwick-Langham mentioned as having occurred during the ball?’

  ‘No, my lady. Mr Bates is in charge of such things. I am part of the butler’s pantry staff. As the first footman, I am Mr Sandford’s second in command. There were no hiccups in the catering department.’

  ‘Right-oh.’ Eleanor continued, ‘Were you aware of the colonel’s whereabouts in the half hour leading up to his demise?’

  ‘Yes, my lady, but only for a brief period. There were a great many influential guests to attend to. My only encounters with the gentleman were on his arrival in the ballroom and then later in the proceedings when he declined a second glass of champagne before he went upstairs.’

  ‘Not a man for bubbles, then?’

  ‘The gentleman was most vehement in his negative response, my lady. I fear it is not something I could repeat.’

  ‘Gracious, how rude can one be about a sparkling wine?’

  His face flushed. ‘The gentleman’s comment was not directed at the beverage, but at another guest.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  The footman blushed again. ‘I cannot repeat exactly what the colonel said in your presence, my lady, but basically he said, “There goes the cad!”’

  Eleanor kept her voice even. ‘And did you happen to see to whom the colonel was referring?’

  He nodded. ‘To a guest dressed as a—’

  ‘Pirate?’ she finished for him.

  He looked at her oddly. ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘And did you, by any chance, tell the police of this?’

  ‘Of course. I told the Detective Chief Inspector himself. He congratulated me on the assistance I had given to the investigation.’

  Eleanor groaned inwardly. ‘And when do you think this was?’

  The footman flushed. ‘I believe it was shortly after you… fell, my lady. I think just after eight or so, I can’t be sure.’

  She frowned. She’d estimated that she’d fallen around eight fifteen, but it could have been a few minutes earlier. Either way, that meant the colonel would have been upstairs for ten minutes or so before he was killed. What was he doing for that time? Looking for her pirate, perhaps?

  ‘Thank you so much, Mr Parsons, that will be all.’

  As the door closed behind him, Eleanor flopped back on the settee. She sighed. Unless someone had seen the colonel upstairs, there was no way to find out his movements. She shivered. Obviously someone had seen him up there – his killer.

  ‘Are you alright, my lady?’ Sandford enquired from the doorway.

  She shot up and smoothed her hair. ‘Quite alright, thank you.’

  ‘A restorative coffee, perhaps? I can bring you up a pot.’

  Eleanor smiled. ‘Do you know, that would be just the ticket. Thank you, Sandford. In the meantime, do keep them coming.’

  ‘Very good, my lady. Miss Lillian Glew, head housemaid,’ Sandford announced.

  The maid took a few tentative steps into the room and halted by the tallboy, her hands clasped in front of her. Her dark wavy hair, almost tamed by her white lace headband, set off the deepest blue eyes Eleanor had ever seen. She looked to be in her mid twenties.

  ‘Miss Glew, please do not be anxious.’ Eleanor gestured to the seat. ‘I wish only to ask what you remember from the evening of the ball.’

  ‘Yes, my lady,’ the maid whispered.

  ‘Excellent, then let’s begin with Colonel Puddifoot-Barton. I assume you knew who he was since he was staying at the Manor?’

  The girl bit her rosy bottom lip. ‘I did, my lady. The gentleman didn’t bring a gentleman’s gentleman with him, so I was given to take care of his things somewhat.’

  ‘I see and was the colonel stationed in one of the guest suites in the east wing?’

  The maid shook her head. ‘The colonel, God rest his soul, after his first night requested that he be put up in one of the rooms in the west wing.’

  ‘Why the west wing?’

  ‘On account of the birds, my lady.’

  ‘What birds? I didn’t know his lordship kept birds?’

  ‘Oh no, my lady, he doesn’t, well only the game birds, of course, for shooting. The birds the colonel argued with were the crows.’

  Smiling inwardly at the idea that the belligerent colonel had even managed to pick a fight with nature’s feathered friends, Eleanor nodded for the girl to continue. ‘Crows?’

  ‘Yes, my lady, huge great family of them living in the old oak tree. Cook says they’ve been there generations, longer than the Manor itself.’

  ‘And what was the colonel’s objection?’

  The maid swallowed hard. ‘The colonel got a terrible fright. ’Twas early in the morning. I met him rushing along the corridor just as I was going down the back stairs to check that Molly had lit the ranges in the kitchen.’

  ‘Did the colonel say anything?’

  ‘Yes, my lady, he kept mumbling, “Six, six of the blighters.” Oh, pardon my language.’

  Eleanor flapped a hand to dismiss the maid’s concern. ‘But six what?’

  ‘Crows. Six crows. That put more than the wind up him, especially after one of them tapped on his window.’ The girl shivered and crossed herself. At Eleanor’s confused look, the maid explained, ‘You know, my lady, ’tis a sign of… death. Naturally, the colonel marched into th
e breakfast room as soon as her ladyship was up and demanded to be moved.’

  ‘So he took to a set of rooms in the west wing?’

  ‘He did. The birds, they go mooching in the woods on the far side so he would have been fine. That is’ – she crossed herself – ‘if he hadn’t already been jinxed. Can’t believe some folk say ’tis a myth.’

  ‘Quite.’ Eleanor tried to think what else to ask. ‘Moving on, Miss Glew, have you noticed anything amiss in the study since… that night?’ Apart from an empty safe and a missing candlestick, she thought.

  The maid’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘I… I haven’t been in there since the colonel was… you know. He mightn’t have passed over yet. Only been a few days, could be that his spirit is still there. That policeman asked me to have a look on the night and I begged him not to make me go in there.’

  Eleanor could see she had worried the girl. ‘That’s quite alright, my dear, forget I asked. Last question, do you remember anything else unusual about that night?’

  ‘No, my lady.’ She paused. ‘Except that gentleman what’s a prince left early. Oh, and I thought I was seeing double, like.’

  ‘What do you mean? Seeing double?’

  The girl blushed. ‘Well, it was nothing really. Just I saw a guest dressed as some sort of pirate, I think it was supposed to be. And then later I sees another dressed identical, like.’

  ‘So there were possibly two guests dressed as pirates?’ Eleanor tried to keep her expression relaxed, but her heart was racing. Hadn’t Sandford said a few of the guests had come dressed in the same costume?

  The maid interrupted her thoughts. ‘Actually, now I come to think of it, it could have been the same guest, couldn’t it?’

  ‘But something made you think it might have been two guests dressed identically, rather than the same guest twice?’

  The girl looked as if she wished she’d never mentioned it. ‘’Cos I saw a pirate going up the stairs twice, but I didn’t see no pirate come down the stairs, so I figured it must have been two pirates going up once each, if you get my drift?’ She frowned. ‘But he could easily have come back down one of the other stairs and then gone back up. There’s a lot of stairs at the Manor.’ She sighed. ‘And all of them need cleaning.’

  It was close to an hour and a pot of coffee later when Sandford announced the last of the staff.

  ‘Mr Nathaniel Pickerton, second coachman.’

  The man stood in front of her in his shined boots and grey fitted waistcoat. His boyish features and tufty blond hair made it hard to deduce his age.

  ‘Pickerton, I would appreciate your help with anything you can remember of the night of the ball.’

  ‘Of course, my lady. It’ll be a pleasure if I can help the young master. What a terrible business.’

  ‘Indeed.’ She tried to stay focused. ‘Now, on the night of the ball, you would have looked after the guests’ cars, I imagine?’

  ‘Yes. There were some absolute beauts. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many Rolls Royces, Alvises, Austins and even an Alfa Romeo.’

  ‘So you were kept busy then?’

  ‘Well, once everyone had arrived it quietened down, course.’

  ‘But surely Jenkins, the chauffeur, was there to help you?’ Eleanor realised he hadn’t appeared in the line-up of staff Sandford had arranged.

  ‘Mr Jenkins wasn’t at the Manor on account of his mother passing. Her ladyship said the timing was awfully off what with the ball and everything but she supposed he’d better go and see to things. He’s back now, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Sandford mentioned that one of the guests left early.’

  The coachman blushed. ‘Truth is, I left my station for just a moment, my lady, to answer…’ He blushed again. ‘I did tell Mr Sandford, as I was so sorry and all that. Wasn’t expecting anyone to leave so early.’ He stared at his boots.

  ‘So you didn’t actually see the guest leave?’

  ‘No, my lady, but the Rolls that foreign prince came in was gone when I’d returned.’

  Eleven

  ‘My compliments to Cook if you will, Sandford, the pheasant pie was delicious. And please thank her for the most restoring pot of coffee I’ve ever had too.’ Eleanor patted her stomach.

  Sandford nodded. ‘Cook is a strong advocate of the use of Madeira in such a dish for both its taste enhancing and medicinal purposes. Likewise, with the brandy in the rhubarb tartlets. Would you like more coffee before you begin your interviews again?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, thank you, Sandford.’

  The splendid lunch had done nothing to boost her enthusiasm for more interviewing. The sunshine outside beckoned her. All she wanted was to drive back to Henley Hall, collect Gladstone and go for a soul-reviving tramp through the woods. Instead she followed Sandford as he led her down the steps to the edge of the lawn. ‘There are jugs of iced lemonade, lime wedges and a sun hat for yourself in the Arabian tent, my lady.’

  She consoled herself that at least the next round of interviews would be held outside. Her heart skipped at the sight of the ornate cream-and-gold striped marquee, its pointed roof and scalloped edging adding a magical hint of the Orient.

  ‘What ho, Eleanor!’ Lord Langham’s voice boomed behind her.

  ‘Afternoon, Harold. We’re up for croquet, I see.’

  He offered his elbow, which she took, nodding to Sandford as they walked towards the tent.

  ‘Clever ruse of the old gal’s, eh? This way you can interrogate the enemy without them knowing, what?’ He winked and lowered his voice. ‘Just between ourselves, croquet is a frightful game, my dear. Spending one’s day hitting a small wooden ball at a stick should have one labelled as the village idiot. But, add some elegant ladies in posh frocks and gentlemen in blazers and bally heck, it’s a British institution!’

  She laughed out loud, causing Lady Langham to poke her head out of the tent. She gave them both a cheery wave and ducked back inside.

  ‘That is a beautiful tent. Did it come from one of your previous travels?’

  He stopped and patted her hand. ‘Many years ago,’ he said wistfully. ‘I used to do the whole camping out thing.’

  ‘With Lancelot?’ she asked quietly.

  He nodded. ‘Got no sleep at all, of course. High jinks at night, you know. We had to sneak away from his mother in the afternoons and get some shut-eye. Something about a boy needing a routine or else he’d something or other. Didn’t understand a word of it.’

  He spotted his wife waving frantically from the tent entrance.

  ‘Oops, the fire-breathing hostess is calling. Best look lively to avoid the full roasting.’

  As Eleanor approached the tent, she groaned inwardly as she recognised the cranky Dowager Countess of Goldsworthy, her limp niece Cora Wynne and the pretentious Viscountess Delia Littleton, the self-titled American guru of Parisian fashion.

  Turning to the group, Lady Langham spread her arms wide and announced, ‘Three a side, dear friends. Let the game begin!’ She called across to Sandford. ‘Now, we will require an adjudicator. Sandford, if you will?’

  He nodded and pulled a small notebook and pencil from his waistcoat pocket.

  Eleanor smiled at the dowager countess. ‘Are you a keen croquet player, Lady Goldsworthy?’

  ‘Three times winner at Craiglockhart,’ came the tart reply.

  Cora sidled up to Eleanor. ‘Aunt Daphne is very proud of her trophies from the oh-so-eminent championship in Edinburgh. Although,’ she lowered her voice, ‘it’s best not to enquire exactly where she was placed in the finals.’ She held up four fingers behind her back as she wandered over to rejoin her team members.

  As Lady Langham declared the game underway, it struck Eleanor that she hadn’t prepared for interviewing on the move. Suddenly, Viscountess Littleton appeared at her elbow.

  ‘It was good of you to stay on… afterwards,’ Eleanor said, thinking on her feet. ‘It must have been quite the shock on the n
ight of the murder.’

  ‘Absolutely! That inspector fellow was too much! I’d like to see the likes of him trying the pompous act back where I grew up. Governor Coolidge stamped on the police getting uppity only last year. They won’t try their shenanigans again. The other night, your English inspector seemed to be obsessed with the state of my and Cuthbert’s marriage, the wretch!’

  Eleanor tutted aloud, secretly smiling inside. ‘Did you know the colonel well?’

  Lady Langham interrupted their conversation, calling across to their group, ‘Ladies, red and yellow balls for you. Black and blue for us. Do be first striker, Daphne dear.’

  Viscountess Littleton rolled her eyes and turned back to Eleanor. ‘Did I know the colonel well? Only through Lady Langham. That guy was one mean snake. He took every possible opportunity to insult Cuthbert.’

  ‘But why would the colonel be so rude to your husband?’

  Viscountess Littleton raised her eyebrows. ‘You’d be better off asking who the colonel wasn’t rude to!’ She turned back to the other players. ‘Oh, ducky shot, Lady Goldsworthy!’

  A rousing round of applause followed. The dowager countess turned to the two women. ‘Lady Swift! You’ll learn more from my expertise if you adopt a position near to where the game is being played.’

  Feeling like a scolded child, Eleanor hurried across the lawn, taking a spot near enough to Cora to continue her investigations. Looking down at the girl she noticed a thin, black lace ribbon poking out of her dress sleeve.

  ‘A tribute to the colonel?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Gracious no, has it slipped down?’ Cora hurried to tuck it back under the cuff. ‘I know one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead and all that but honestly, Lady Swift, he was… well, I shouldn’t say.’

  ‘Go on, I shan’t say anything.’

  Cora shook her head. ‘Forgive me, that was terribly indiscreet. Look, Viscountess Littleton has missed the green altogether.’