‘Begged! You arrogant fathead.’ She slapped him on the shoulder, looking pleased.
He downed his glass and slid her arm through his. ‘Come on, twinkle toes, let’s show this place how to swing properly.’
Lucas clapped Johnny’s retreating back. ‘Thanks, old man, she’s a wildcat. I’m bushed!’
He plumped down next to Eleanor, much to Albert’s annoyance as he had half risen to slide into that very seat.
‘Too slow, Albie. Honestly, you wouldn’t last a minute in India, a tiger would have you in a blink. You’ve got to be watchful, fast, the hunter not the hunted.’ He looked at Eleanor, his dark eyes glinting.
‘Which part of India are you from?’ she asked.
‘The largest part,’ Albert muttered loud enough for both of them to catch.
‘Sour fruit, Albie my friend. My father is, as you well know, the maharaja of the demurely sized province of Malwar. It’s not all fun and playboy living. That’s why I’m making the most of being here. It’ll be a very different life back at the palace. I’ll have no choice but to… behave.’
Albert huffed at the word ‘palace’ and stared at Eleanor. She tried to divert his attention. ‘Ah, now you see I was disappointed to have missed out on seeing Malwar while following the Ganges and earlier, the Silk Road.’
‘Well, in that case you’ve missed the most beautiful part of India.’ Lucas frowned. ‘Hang on, the Silk Road? Ladies don’t just happen to follow Signore Marco Polo’s epic route.’
‘Oh, it was when I was travelling and working.’
‘Working?’
‘Yes, I was scouting out routes for Thomas Walker’s travel company. He rather fancied setting up some tours from Tibet and India that would deposit adventurous tour goers at the Bengal basin where they would take the steamer around the coast and up to Bombay.’
He looked at her with new respect. ‘Or Mumbai. That’s its Indian name. I’m awfully grateful for my English schooling, but underneath I’m an Indian Nationalist, I’m afraid. I wish for her to be returned to her own people.’
Eleanor nodded. ‘I understand. I often felt the people that were so hospitable to me while I was travelling in India had lost a big part of their identity, whatever they may, or may not, have gained in exchange.’
Lucas waved his drink. ‘Exactly!’ He stared at her for a moment. ‘You know, you’re a lot like your uncle, I imagine. Not the conventional British aristocratic lady at all.’
Eleanor gasped. ‘You knew Lord Henley?’
‘No, but my father did. He talked about him and the… help he gave to my father.’
Lucas paused and seemed to decide that he’d said enough. Eleanor tried to think of something to keep him talking. ‘I bet Colonel Puddifoot-Barton didn’t agree with your views on home rule. Did you ever talk to him about them?’
Suddenly his mood darkened. ‘Your uncle was the opposite of that blasted Barton oaf. Banging on about British rule, divide and conquer. I’d have divided him in half with a talwar if I’d had one!’
Eleanor caught her breath. As if he could read her mind, he looked abashed. ‘Seems someone beat me to it, though. And anyway, I shouldn’t speak ill of the deceased.’ He smiled and drained his drink. ‘Perhaps I haven’t quite mastered the English art of thinking one thing and saying another?’
Eleanor laughed uneasily. Up to then, she’d just assumed that the colonel had disturbed the jewel thief, and the thief had killed the colonel on the spur of the moment. She hadn’t really given any other theory credence. But suppose it was the other way around? Suppose the colonel had been the target all along and the jewel theft just a blind to throw the police? She needed to talk this over with Clifford as soon as possible. Until then, she needed to find out as much as she could about those who were becoming her two chief suspects: Lucas and Albert. She tried to draw Albert into the conversation.
‘Albie, tell me about your latest poem. I’ll bet you’re working on something meaningful.’
Albert rose and finished his drink with a shaking hand. ‘Indeed, I am. It’s a tragedy about a man who was entirely unappreciated and constantly put down by his so-called friends, but who finally got his revenge! Please excuse me.’ Slamming his glass down on the table, he pushed past Coco without a word.
‘Crikey, what’s got into Albie?’ Coco settled next to Eleanor.
‘The truth.’ Lucas placed his hands palms down on the table.
‘Oh, Lucas! You know what he’s like,’ Coco said. She bit her lip. ‘Honestly, without Lancelot here Albie was hoping for some respite from all the jibes.’
Eleanor was confused. ‘Does Lancelot rib him especially?’
Coco nodded. ‘Yes, but he’s worst when Johnny’s around. They’re like a pair of jackals forever circling poor old Albie, waiting to pounce with a comment or a dig, usually about his terrible poems. Or the fact that his father is’ – she grimaced – ‘a miner.’
Eleanor took a sip of her drink, mulling this new information over in her mind.
Millie arrived back at the table, leading Johnny by the hand. ‘You boys are pathetic, you have absolutely no stamina.’
‘Whatever you say, Millie old gal.’ He flopped into the seat opposite Eleanor.
Millie looked at the glasses, all empty except Eleanor’s. ‘Lucas, it seems no one has bothered to follow up on your round.’ She stared pointedly at Johnny, then back to Lucas. ‘Come and whizz Coco and I round the floor together. We’ll do that one, two, three move, it’s hilarious.’
Lucas groaned but rose.
Coco grinned. ‘It is rather fun actually.’
‘Well, just watch my toes,’ Millie said. ‘I nearly lost half of them last time.’ The three disappeared.
Johnny smiled at Eleanor. ‘Would you like another drink?’
She stared at her glass. It seemed two thirds full, yet she was sure she’d finished it. Had someone bought her another? ‘I’m okay for a while, thanks. What about you?’
He winked and pulled a hip flask from his pocket. ‘I’m more of a fine cognac man than these made-up cocktails.’ He tipped a hearty measure into his glass and held the base with both hands, swirling the golden liquid in delicate circles. ‘Bad business about Lancelot, what?’
She stiffened, struck by the fact that none of the others had mentioned the matter.
‘It’s far from ideal,’ she replied, more tersely than intended.
‘I hope he’s being a good boy and cooperating.’
‘Why do you say that?’ She leaned across the table.
Johnny relaxed back in his seat. ‘Because he’s an impossible, fat-headed clown.’ He grinned at her. ‘You must have noticed that, what with all the chasing you’ve been doing?’ At her huff, he held up a hand. ‘I’m just pulling your leg. I assumed you’d be missing his relentless gags.’
More than I can tell you.
He lit a cigarette, inhaling slowly and letting out an impressive smoke ring. ‘Millie told me that you and your… butler fellow were going to get him out of jail.’
‘Millie said that? But I haven’t spoken to her about it. Actually, she hasn’t really spoken to me at all.’ Eleanor made a face.
Johnny grinned. ‘Don’t worry about her, she’s a mean cat but her claws aren’t as sharp as her tongue.’
‘What are you spouting on about, Johnny?’ Millie appeared behind him. ‘I came for a cigarette. Give me one of yours.’
He waved his cigarette case at her. ‘Here you are, old chimney pot.’
‘This is your last ciggie, better get yourself some more.’ She threw the empty pack on the table and sashayed back over to the others on the far side of the dance floor.
Johnny watched her go and turned back to Eleanor. ‘So is Lancelot playing ball with the boys in blue down at the police station then?’
Eleanor sighed. ‘No, he isn’t. He’s his own worst enemy.’
Johnny took another long drag from his cigarette. ‘Of course, there are a few things that don’t look goo
d for poor old Lance, besides being found with the body and the murder weapon, that is.’
She stared at him. ‘Like what?’
He leaned across to her and said with a serious tone, ‘Just between you and me, right?’
She nodded, her pulse quickening.
‘Thing is, it’s his plane.’
‘What about it?’
‘The question should really be, what about them? This current one…’
‘Florence.’ Eleanor smiled at the memory of the day she had met Lancelot and found out that he called his plane ‘Florence’.
‘Precisely.’ Johnny waved his cigarette at her. ‘Well, he’s had two others. Delores and… Daria, I think it was before her. The man’s a terrible pilot, you know. Amazing he’s still here, keeps crashing. Anyway, after he totalled Delores his mater pulled the plug on funding any more of his “circus antics” as she called them.’
‘So how did Lancelot afford to buy his third plane, Florence, then?’
‘No idea. It’s probably completely legitimate, but it does look suspicious, what with all the jewel thefts that have happened at so many of the parties he’s been at. I hope he ends up with the best lawyer in the land because I think otherwise…’ Johnny ended with a low whistle.
Lucas’ arrival with Millie draped around his neck and Coco with her arm through Albie’s interrupted Eleanor’s musings.
‘I’m sorry,’ Johnny said. ‘I have to go. Some obscure old relative has turned up at the family pile and I need to dutifully welcome her. Catch you later.’
Once he’d left the table, Eleanor checked her fob watch. Two forty-five. A little late for seeing a relative, old or not.
‘Bored, bored, BORED!’ Millie seemed strangely more animated than before.
‘Me too.’ Coco looked at her sister and giggled. ‘Come on, it’s time for some proper fun.’
Albert blew his nose repeatedly and stared at Eleanor until she felt decidedly uncomfortable. Even Lucas appeared to have lost some of his composure.
‘We’re going to quit this dump and P.A.R.T.Y.’ Millie’s eyes flashed as she pouted at Eleanor. ‘Do come along, you’ve been such great company tonight.’
‘Oh, thanks.’ Eleanor rose. ‘But I’ve got a whole heap on tomorrow. I’m going to head off.’
‘I do believe, Eleanor, that you are a lightweight,’ Coco said.
Eleanor smoothed out her waistband beads. ‘Another time I’ll show you all what I’m really made of.’
Lucas took her hand. ‘I’m sure you will. And I’m sure we’ll all be in awe. Come on, rabble, let’s go!’
Albert hung back. ‘Will you get home safely?’
Eleanor smiled at this awkward square peg. ‘Thank you, Albie, you are a gentleman. I will indeed.’
He scuttled after the others and held his arm out stiffly for Coco, who pushed him jokingly and ran on ahead, looking back over her shoulder at him.
‘Right!’ Eleanor said to the empty table. ‘Time to find my ride, as the Americans would say.’
In the lobby, the blonde-curled coat-check girl passed her her shawl. ‘Had fun, miss?’
‘Honestly, I’m not sure.’
‘Shame, another time perhaps? There’s no car waiting for you outside. Would you like me to call you a taxi?’
Eleanor called over her shoulder. ‘No, thanks, I’m hoping the air will help me think.’ She stopped. That voice! She quickly checked no one else was in the lobby and crossed back to the desk.
‘Have you forgotten something, miss?’
There was no time for a subtle approach, someone could come at any moment. She was sure she was right. Eleanor leaned on the counter, uncharacteristically serious, her face only inches from the young girl. ‘Listen, I know about you providing certain guests, particularly Lady Millicent Childs, with, shall we say, substances. If I were to tell the manager, or even… the police…’
The girl turned pale. She furtively glanced around the reception area. ‘I-I-don’t know what—’
Eleanor stood upright. ‘Okay, the police it is.’ She turned to go.
‘Please, miss!’
Eleanor turned back. The young girl looked close to tears. ‘Please don’t tell anyone. I don’t have a choice. Lady Childs says she’ll get me sacked if I don’t. I need this job, my mum’s not well and I have to pay for her doctor’s appointments and medicine. Please, miss!’
Eleanor felt for her, but Lancelot’s liberty – and possibly life – was at stake. ‘So, as long as you pass Lady Childs certain… drugs, she doesn’t make up some tale and get you sacked?’
The girl nodded.
‘Does Lady Millicent ever ask you to get her anything else… illegal?’
The girl shook her head. ‘No, never.’
Eleanor took the girl gently by the shoulders. ‘Go to your manager and hand in your notice.’ The girl opened her mouth, but closed it again at Eleanor’s look. Eleanor let go of the young girl’s shoulders and fished in her bag for a card. ‘Then ring this number tomorrow. Either I, or my butler, will answer. We’ll have you a better job in a few days where you don’t have to get mixed up in that sort of thing.’ Lady Fenwick-Langham had mentioned that they were short of a maid when they’d visited. She hoped they still were. If not, she’d employ the girl herself.
Before the girl could respond, the doorman admitted a couple, who strolled up to the desk, chatting animatedly. Eleanor smiled at the girl and left her with the new arrivals.
At the top of the steps, she looked about for the spires Clifford had pointed out. Ah, there they were! Somewhere a bell tolled three a.m. Pulling her shawl tighter round her bare shoulders, she set off thinking about what she’d learned. So many questions, but no real answers. Why was Millie so mean to her? Was it really just because of Lancelot, or was there more to it than that? And Albie’s grudge against his fellow gang members, how deep did that really run? And how far was Lucas really willing to go to break the rules while he could? And, most disturbingly, where did Lancelot get the money for Florence, his plane?
The clip of her feet slowed as her thoughts drew her up short. She looked around. She was in a small park. She felt more than tired… woozy. How much had she drunk? Surely not enough to feel so light-headed. Had one of them spiked her drink, or were the cocktails that lethal?
A flash of movement to the left caught her eye. She peered into the darkness. That hunched shape wasn’t a bush, it was a person, wasn’t it? Or was it the effects of the Angel Face? No, they were definitely eyes staring back at her!
In different circumstances she might have stood her ground, but with her head befuddled and the streets deserted, she retreated. Cursing the dancing shoes she hadn’t needed all evening, she ripped them off and ran to the streetlight. Scanning the empty road in front of her, she raced unsteadily across it and swung left past the wide stone bridge over the river. The mist swirled in, obscuring her vision. Where was Clifford’s dratted club? The tap of muffled footsteps behind drove her forward, her stockinged feet smarting.
Abingdon Street? Yes, there was the sign! She stumbled right and ran along the smart, three-storey terrace. The club, what was it called?
There! The hurried footsteps behind again!
On she sprinted. A bowler hat disappeared down a side alley. Bingo! That had to be it. She followed. On the door a brass sign read ‘The Carlton Club, exclusively for Butlers and Gentlemen’s Gentlemen’.
She pushed the door. Tripping over the step, she fell into the tiled reception. Jumping up, she spun round. No one. Then footsteps came from behind. She whirled round, knee raised and kicked out instinctively.
The man doubled over, wheezing horribly. Before she could lash out again, her eyes adjusted to the light. ‘Gracious, I’m so sorry. Are you the night porter?’
‘Yes… ma… dam.’ The man leant against the desk, eyes watering.
‘As I said, I really am most dreadfully sorry. I was being chased… gosh, that doesn’t matter. I’ll fetch someone to help you.’
She reached for the door that led into the club.
Wincing, the porter stumbled in front of her, keeping himself more than a kick away. ‘Madam… you cannot go in… there. It is strictly… against club rules.’
‘Next time I’ll come dressed as a man, then,’ she replied tartly, and then felt bad. ‘Look, I am most awfully sorry. Can I do anything for you?’
‘It’s alright, madam,’ he said, coughing. ‘I’ve had worse. Who are you here to see?’
‘I’m looking for Mr Clifford. He’s expecting me.’
The porter stopped wheezing and straightened up as much as he could. ‘Ah… apologies, you must be Lady Swift. I wasn’t expecting…’ He looked down at her ripped stockings and blackened feet. ‘Please… take a seat.’
A moment later, Clifford appeared. He gave his customary half bow, looking her up and down. ‘How delightful, my lady, you’ve enjoyed a wonderful evening, I see. Shall I take you home?’
She gave the porter a large tip and hurried out into the night.
Sixteen
Oh dash it, you’re late already, Ellie! She hurried through the lobby of the village hall. The wooden floor wore the scuffs of a thousand boots beneath a patchy layer of polish. Mismatched sashes hung from the hooks either side of the thick, red velvet stage curtains and the walls were clearly awaiting a paintbrush. The heat of the afternoon sun hadn’t penetrated the hall and she shivered at the change in temperature.
In a moment of weakness (‘madness’, Clifford had called it) she’d joined the local amateur dramatic society, or am-dram as they abbreviated it. It met on a Thursday night, which happened to be Clifford’s night off, which meant the Hall was horribly quiet, but, she insisted to herself, that had nothing to do with her decision. As she was now the lady of the manor in the pretty little Buckinghamshire village of Little Buckford, she simply wanted to do the job properly and immerse herself more in local life.
‘I say, where is everyone?’ she called.
The stage curtains parted and Elizabeth Shackley’s soft brown curls piled in a topknot poked out. The wife of the local baker, she smiled warmly at seeing Eleanor.
Death at the Dance: An addictive historical cozy mystery (A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 2) Page 11