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

by Verity Bright

  ‘Welcome, welcome, Lady Swift. We’re so delighted you’ve come to join our little amateur dramatics group.’

  ‘Thank you for the invitation,’ Eleanor said. ‘I do have to warn you though, I haven’t been in anything like this, well, not since the enforced drama production at my hideous girls’ school.’

  She climbed up on stage where a semicircle of wooden chairs had been arranged around a large table on which balanced a precarious pile of scripts.

  ‘Good afternoon, everyone.’ Eleanor smiled at the ring of expectant faces.

  ‘Welcome, Lady Swift,’ Morace Shackley beamed, his shoes leaving a telltale trail of baker’s flour as he stepped forward and offered her a chair.

  ‘Always happy for a new recruit,’ said Dylan Penry, the butcher, with his singsong Welsh lilt.

  Thomas Cartwright nodded curtly. ‘Lady Swift.’

  Eleanor and Cartwright, a local farmer, had met, and instantly fallen out, during the recent quarry murder affair she had found herself caught up in.

  ‘Delighted to have you aboard.’ John Brenchley doffed an invisible cap, then absentmindedly tried to slide his hands into the shopkeeper’s overcoat he’d left back at his general store.

  Elizabeth gestured to a greying, bespectacled man wearing a dog collar under a garishly striped shirt.

  ‘I’m sure you know Reverend Gaskell, Lady Swift?’

  ‘Regrettably not,’ Eleanor said. ‘I fear I have been the most dreadful new girl in the village, Reverend. Each time you called I had unfortunately been anywhere but at home.’

  The reverend pumped her hand exuberantly. ‘No matter, Lady Swift, no matter. How fortuitous that our first meeting should be here as we prepare to tread the boards in this fine little theatre of ours.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ She turned to the heavily lined face on her left. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Pearl Brody.’ The woman smiled thinly. ‘But everyone calls me Pearly.’

  Elizabeth turned so only Eleanor could see the face she pulled. ‘Pearly runs the Reading Room in Chipstone. She joined us when she used to live in the village.’

  ‘Ah!’ the reverend exclaimed. ‘“Happy is the man who finds wisdom, and the man who gains understanding.” Proverbs Chapter three, verse thirteen.’

  ‘Adversity brings knowledge and knowledge wisdom,’ Penry added.

  ‘Lady Swift,’ another female voice piped up, ‘so nice to see you again. Who knew that we share a love of the theatrical? Imagine that.’ Mable Green, the sub-postmistress in the local village of West Radington, smiled at her.

  ‘Indeed, Miss Green,’ Eleanor said. ‘Tell me, how is your mother? Keeping well, I hope?’

  Elizabeth shuffled her chair next to Eleanor’s and whispered, ‘She’s over there. She can’t be left for a moment. The poor old coot is as mad as a bucket of frogs.’

  Eleanor managed to turn her chuckle into a cough. Shackley stood and clapped his chubby hands together.

  ‘Now then, we should make a start, seeing that our full cast is here.’

  ‘Starting the work is two-thirds of it.’ Penry moved to the pile of scripts. Cartwright scratched his head. ‘Don’t see as how that works. Being at the start can’t be anywhere but the start.’ Shackley hastily intervened before Cartwright and Penry started one of their regular arguments. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I propose we each have two minutes to put forward our suggested play, offering both the merits and the deficits for balance and fair judgement by all.’

  ‘Splendid!’ the reverend beamed.

  The mid-meeting tea stop couldn’t have arrived at a better moment. Eleanor was amazed at the ferocity with which the am-dram members had each defended their preferred play. She was finding it great entertainment, but the vicar had stepped in and declared it, ‘High time for tea and a truce, dear folk.’

  Elizabeth and Mabel appeared at the top of the stairs each bearing a large tray.

  ‘Let me help.’ Eleanor pulled the chairs out of their way and made space on the table among the scripts. ‘I say, those fruit buns look absolutely delicious. Mr Shackley, are they of your fair hands?’

  The baker nodded proudly. ‘Extra fruit and extra honey glaze for the hardworking entertainers of our local community.’

  The reverend picked up a small wooden box from under his seat. ‘Perhaps, this is as good a time as any to pop our subs in?’ Pockets and purses were opened and coinage dropped into the slot.

  Eleanor fumbled in her bag hoping to have the right change, but having no idea what that was, scooped out a random amount.

  Elizabeth set down the tray. ‘We agreed on four shillings each to cover the tea and refreshments, but we get it back from the ticket proceeds.’

  ‘Of course, of course.’ Eleanor dropped her dues into the box.

  Pearly took her cup with a sniff. ‘I still can’t comprehend why you all don’t see what I see! We’ve got the opportunity to do the village the service of educating them on women’s rights and—’

  Elizabeth folded her arms. ‘Honestly, Pearly, Little Buckford isn’t ready for more suffragette shenanigans. Some women have got the vote now after all, though why they want it, I shall never know. I leave all that sort of thing to Morace and I’m happy to.’

  Pearly crossed her arms. ‘He and She is a modern play highlighting the inequalities—’

  Cartwright glared at her. ‘Next time you’re out cantering your feminist hobbyhorse up and down the byways, Mrs Brody, be sure to stop by the farmhouse and discuss it with my good lady wife. She’ll put you straight.’

  Eleanor shot a glance at Shackley, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He cleared his throat. ‘I say again that we need to do another comedy, like last year. That Baby Mine farce went down a storm.’ He glanced around the group.

  Elizabeth nodded and patted her topknot. ‘It was so fun to do something silly. I don’t often get to let my hair down.’

  Brenchley waved the script in his hand. ‘But what about my choice? The Bad Man has got everything going for it. A dash of drama with a slice of comedy. And easy sets to build too. With Thomas’ help, I could easily recreate a cattle ranch here in the hall.’

  The reverend smiled round the group. ‘Personally, I do like the sound of a comedy. Not sure I’d make much of a cowboy though. Never so much as set foot on a horse.’

  ‘None of you have said ’owt about my choice,’ Cartwright said. ‘Ladies’ Night was a smash hit in the West End.’ At everyone’s silence, he added, ‘Come on, give me one good reason why not?’

  ‘Because I’d rather dress as a Mexican bandit than parade around the stage in a bathing suit, you animal!’ Pearly cried.

  ‘Shh, you’ll wake mother,’ Mabel hissed. ‘You know she’s easier when she’s asleep.’

  ‘If you want to see ladies’ legs, Mr Cartwright, I suggest you go to the penny movies!’ Pearly choked.

  ‘Oh lighten up, Mrs Brody. You and your so-called progress, you’d have us all shackled in the prim and proper eighteen hundreds.’ Cartwright rose and moved towards her, seeming to delight in her squeal of fright. ‘Ooh, do cover up, my dear lady. The very idea of the glimpse of an ankle is making me come over all giddy.’

  Eleanor jumped in. ‘Leaving aside Mr Cartwright’s choice for the moment, can you tell us about your suggestion, Mr Penry? I think I may have missed it.’

  Penry grinned. ‘It’s called The Bat and, well, I think it’d be perfect. It’s a comedy with suspense thrown in. It’s still running up in London. I’m happy to direct.’

  Elizabeth frowned. ‘And is there a good part for each of us?’

  Penry nodded. ‘It’s set in a country house. There’s a maid, a devious niece, a no-good doctor, a policeman, a country lady…’ All eyes turned to Eleanor who shrugged. Penry continued, ‘There’s the villain, obviously, a love-struck fiancé, a lawyer, even a Japanese butler which the crowd will love.’

  ‘Oh, it’s perfect!’ Elizabeth cheered.

  ‘I’d rather like the part of the no-good
doctor, he sounds a right rascal.’ The reverend grinned at the shocked faces. ‘Just think of the extra impact my Sunday sermons will have after the villagers have seen me playing a baddie.’

  Penry pulled out a piece of paper. ‘No problem, Reverend.’

  Elizabeth gave a light cough. ‘Please can I be the maid? I bet she has less to say and I’m not that good at remembering too many lines.’

  ‘Of course, my dear. I pencilled you in as just that.’

  He ran down the list of parts and called out his suggested colleagues’ names.

  ‘So I’d be the gardener and the fiancé, right you are.’ Brenchley nodded.

  ‘Oh, the devious niece for me. That sounds quite a large part. I will, of course, rise to the challenge, Mr Penry.’ Mabel patted her hair.

  ‘And I’ll play a great dead body.’ Shackley laughed. ‘That’s right up my street. You say he’s not on stage that much so I can do the curtains and be the prompter as well, how’s that?’

  ‘Well done, luv,’ his wife said.

  ‘And if Lady Swift is happy to play Miss Cornelia Van Gorder?’ Penry cocked an eyebrow. ‘She is quite… elderly.’ He blushed.

  Eleanor laughed. ‘Somehow I fear that learning and perfecting my part might age me considerably so we should be fine.’

  ‘So, two male roles left, I see.’ The tone was icy.

  ‘Now, Pearly, don’t get your women’s rights flag all in a tangle. I thought you played a man most convincingly last time. You’d do the lawyer chap equally well, I’m sure of it.’

  The others nodded in agreement.

  ‘So Mr Penry, what have you saved for me?’ said Cartwright.

  Penry smiled. ‘The villain, naturally.’

  ‘You know, Clifford, the play we’ve chosen has the perfect role for you. How well can you do a Japanese accent?’

  He walked round to the driver’s side and opened the door. ‘Japanese? A butler role, perhaps? And is Mr Cartwright to play the bat?’

  Once again, Eleanor marvelled at Clifford’s perception. Maybe he really is a wizard?

  ‘Well, what about it?’

  ‘I think not, my lady. To be frank, I would rather lie in a frozen ditch and be trampled by pigs. Would you care to drive?’

  Eleanor settled into the driver’s seat as quickly as possible.

  ‘This is going to be great. The sooner I can drive, the sooner you won’t need to interrupt your precious Thursday evenings. I am awfully grateful at you coming out tonight, by the way.’

  Clifford nodded and then pointed to the ignition. ‘Perhaps we’ll arrive home more swiftly with the engine running, my lady.’

  Eleanor had never heard a motorcar make those kinds of graunching noises before. ‘I believe it’s time to send the old beast off to the mechanic, Clifford. Sounds shocking.’

  ‘Indeed, but I’m sure Johnson’s the coachbuilders will have a shrewd idea what the cause is. The shearing of metal teeth tends to lessen when the left pedal is depressed when changing gear.’

  She shot him a look and put her foot down.

  His gloved hand reached out and pushed the steering to the right. ‘The road itself is so much easier to drive on than the steep roadside banks, I often find.’

  At the top of the lane, the village hall was still clearly visible in the rear-view mirror. She threw the indicator switch with gusto and heaved the wheel right. ‘Homeward driver… ouch!’ She clutched her forehead where it had smacked against the windscreen as the Rolls lurched to a stall halfway across the junction.

  ‘Are you alright, my lady?’ Clifford offered her a clean handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket.

  ‘Quite fine, thank you. No damage done.’

  She pressed the ignition button and yanked her hand back as the car seemed to bite her.

  ‘The engine is already running, my lady. One press usually suffices.’

  ‘There’s quite a bit to master here, Clifford,’ she admitted as the engine stalled again.

  ‘No rush. There is only the one steam truck approaching at speed.’

  More by luck than anything else, Eleanor cleared the crossing just in time to avoid the truck as it passed in the opposite direction.

  ‘Congratulations, my lady, the Little Buckford Amateur Dramatics Society will not have to find another leading lady this year after all.’

  Back at the Hall, the housekeeper was waiting.

  ‘There is a message for you, my lady.’

  ‘From whom?’

  ‘Chief Detective Inspector Belton… wait, that’s not right.’

  ‘You mean Detective Chief Inspector Seldon? What did he want?’

  ‘For you to call him back. He told me to say that there’s been a…’ The housekeeper scratched her nose. ‘Ah, that’s it, a development in the case, my lady. He left his home number as I said you would be back late.’

  After only two rings, the exchange connected her.

  ‘Abingdon three-two-five-five.’

  ‘Inspector, it’s Lady Swift. I do hope it’s not too inconvenient a time for me to call.’

  ‘Not at all, Lady Swift. I felt you ought to know. Lady Fenwick-Langham’s jewels have been recovered.’

  ‘Fantastic!’

  ‘Lady Swift. This is in strict confidence, this information won’t be released to the public until the trial.’

  She let out a frustrated sigh. ‘I won’t tell a soul, I promise. Now, where did you find them?’

  ‘They were found… in Lord Lancelot Fenwick-Langham’s plane.’

  She closed her eyes.

  Seventeen

  ‘Oh, look at that unusual duck!’

  ‘It is a cormorant, my lady. They are not uncommon here on the River Thames.’

  ‘They’re all ducks to me, Clifford.’

  It was a perfect summer’s day with not a cloud in the sky. A light, cooling breeze wafted scents of honeysuckle across the water as the rowboat seemed to slide effortlessly along. She smiled at Gladstone’s legs dangling over the bow, his stare fixed firmly on the waterfowl gliding past and placed a protective hand on his collar.

  ‘Gladstone’s certainly enjoying the birdwatching element of our jaunt. Though I doubt he’d be up to a swim.’ She watched Clifford give another expert pull on the oars. ‘Come on, it really is my turn now. My ribs are fine after that last murder case business. I need to regain some strength and I’ve been so mind-numbingly good about being careful for two whole months.’

  ‘It is fortunate that you did not sustain more serious injuries.’

  ‘It was fortunate I wasn’t shot by the killer sitting next to me, Clifford. A few minor… scratches are hardly—’

  ‘I do not think the injuries you sustained could be called “minor”, my lady.’

  ‘Well, I’m fine now, that’s what counts.’ She grabbed the oars and peered over the side. ‘You know, I don’t much like the look of that weed. What if we fell in? I’m not convinced Gladstone would dash to my rescue, or that he’d be much good if he did.’ She shivered. ‘Goodness only knows how many dead corpses are caught in that.’

  ‘I believe all corpses are dead.’ Clifford adjusted his cuffs. ‘Are you sure that taking part in a murder play whilst investigating an actual murder is a good idea, my lady?’

  Eleanor groaned. ‘Possibly not, I’m not doing very well at learning my lines either.’ She threw him her battered copy of The Bat script. ‘Start me off from where we stopped, please.’

  He picked up the script and cleared his throat. ‘Cornelia Van Gorder arises from her chair as the lights flicker and threaten to go out.’

  Eleanor imagined herself an elderly lady and croaked, ‘Lizzie! Lizzie! Where are the candles, girl? We’ll be plunged into darkness in a breath.’

  Clifford frowned trying to get into character as Lizzie, Van Gorder’s maid. ‘Oh my lady, I is terrified those icy fingers will be upon us if the lights go out.’

  ‘Lizzie, I will hear no more! There is no ghost of Mr Fleming floating about the corridor
s.’

  ‘Drifting, my lady.’

  ‘Oh, okay, there is no ghost of Mr Fleming drifting about the corridors.’

  Clifford tightened his grip on one side of the boat and grabbed hold of Gladstone with his free hand. ‘No, my lady, our boat actually is drifting towards that rather elegant slipper launch to your right. I fear a collision would put a fearful dent into those painstakingly varnished teak boards and likely deposit us both in those corpse-filled weeds you mentioned.’

  ‘Crikey!’ Eleanor grabbed the oars lying slack in her lap and rowed with all her strength. ‘Ha! You see, ribs are fine.’

  ‘But not the gentleman’s jacket, I fear.’ Clifford doffed his bowler hat at the man standing up in the launch waving his fist.

  ‘What a fuss!’ She called over, ‘Water’s beautifully clear, won’t leave a mark at all!’ With an extra heave she sped off down the river. ‘Maybe a break from the script for a moment, Clifford, you know, to concentrate on rowing.’

  ‘As you choose, my lady. There is, of course, the matter of Mrs Trotman’s picnic. Perhaps, given the amount of water sloshing about our bilges, it might be prudent to partake before her kind efforts are floating about inside the basket?’

  ‘Rather! All this rowing gives one quite an appetite.’

  With the boat secured and Clifford having shaken the worst of the water from his trouser turn ups, they set up on the bank with Gladstone seeming to do everything he could think of to get in the way. She gasped as Clifford unveiled the picnic. He unfurled a striped parasol and erected it over the picnic rug providing much-needed shade.

  ‘That really is an incredible spread. Mini pork pies, sandwiches, baby tomatoes, breaded ham, fresh rolls… ooh, have we got some of that amazing red stuff Mrs Trotman conjures up?’

  ‘Port and red onion chutney? Of course, my lady. And a half of sherry, same of ginger wine, plus mignon cinnamon and vanilla pastries with coffee to finish. Master Gladstone has his own version, a serving of dog food and a knuckle bone for afters.’ He set the offerings in front of the bulldog who instantly leapt on the bowl.