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

by Verity Bright

  ‘Kid gloves, Messrs Sleuthing Inc, what?’ Lord Langham said softly as they emerged on the terrace.

  Just as she did every time, Eleanor caught her breath at the sight of the exquisite rose garden before her. Each bed was separated by geometric lines of knee-high box hedging, a gently flowing stone path winding in intricate swirls between them. From underneath one of the many rose arches, Lady Langham appeared, seemingly busy selecting a few specimens from among those in her basket.

  Lord Langham put a thumb and forefinger either side of his tongue and gave an astonishingly loud whistle. Lady Langham jerked up and waved for them all to join her.

  ‘Morning, Eleanor, my dear. And welcome, Clifford. Harold, you could have sent Sandford ahead to tell me our guests had arrived instead of whistling as if I was one of the spaniels.’

  ‘But you’re my favourite leader of the pack. Loyal, shiny nose, wilfully disobedient.’

  Eleanor couldn’t help joining in with his chuckle. ‘Have we a few moments to enjoy your roses, Augusta? It’s such a treat to take a tour of the blooms.’

  ‘Ooh, yes. Let’s start with the epitome of all roses.’ She led Eleanor along several twists of the stone path to the central, circular bed, which was filled with translucent, single pink blooms intertwined with strikingly deeper pink, almost scarlet bushes. ‘“The Celestial”,’ Lady Langham said reverently. ‘This is my world, the one where I can create, celebrate and matchmake precisely as I see fit. I have “Cardinal Richelieu” rubbing velvet shoulders with the quivering “Queen of Denmark”, or “Koningen von Danemark” as she is known to us rose enthusiasts. Over there the “Marchioness of Lorne” is surrounded by “Gyspy Boys”, proclaiming to all that she renounces her royal connection. My little couplings, transcend centuries, propriety and religious boundaries to boot.’ She smiled. ‘I can play out any story I fancy.’ She looked away. ‘And be at peace.’

  They strolled on to one of three, pentagon-shaped beds grouped by an ornate rose arch spanning the cluster. Sinking onto the nearby scrollwork bench, she patted the seat next to her. The bench was hot from the sun and Eleanor had to arrange her dress carefully to make sure her bare legs didn’t come into contact with the metal.

  ‘This is… Lancelot’s bed.’

  Eleanor sat. ‘He doesn’t strike me as the gardening sort?’

  Lady Langham laughed gently. ‘Silly boy, he’d probably plant everything upside down. No, my dear child is definitely not the gardening sort.’ She looked up at Eleanor, her eyes very bright. ‘Sorry, my dear, I meant there is a rose bush planted in this bed to mark all the major events in Lancelot’s life. In truth, I’ve been sitting here most mornings, staring at the rose Harold planted for me the day Lancelot was born, the “General Jack”.’ She pointed to a tall bush of vibrant cerise covered in chaotically sprouting, flamboyant blooms. ‘Every petal that has fallen since he was taken away has torn another hole in my heart.’ She dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief. ‘And refute it all you like, but he adores you in his own, fatuous way.’

  Eleanor could think of nothing to say. Instead, acutely aware of the two quiet tears that ran down her face, she ran her sleeve across her cheeks.

  Lady Langham rolled her shoulders back and sat poker straight. ‘Now, to business. What, if anything, might I know that could be of help?’

  Eleanor composed herself. ‘Can you tell me more about Lancelot’s friends?’

  Lady Langham thought for a moment. ‘I have never witnessed anything particularly suspicious in any of them, if that’s what you mean. Plenty of silliness and capers, intense and deliberate disregard for propriety but never property. In truth, I would be fairly surprised to hear that any of them had actually stolen anything. I mean, they all have so much. And Lancelot can’t be that stupid, can he?’

  Eleanor hoped her face didn’t give away her thoughts.

  Lady Langham continued. ‘There is an odd one out, though: Mr Appleby, I think it is. Most peculiar fish out of water, batting way above his average financially Harold always says, but then my dear husband can only reference things in terms of cricket or hunting. Mr Appleby is the son of a miner, don’t you know? You must have noticed his homespun costume at the ball; stood out a country mile. How on earth can he keep up with the likes of the Lady Childs sisters and the prince?’ She shrugged. ‘Ironically, however, Mr Appleby has always seemed the most well-mannered and respectful.’

  ‘Have you any idea how Mr Appleby affords to hang around with them?’

  ‘Absolutely no idea.’

  ‘Did you ever witness Mr Appleby having an altercation with the colonel?’

  ‘Honestly, not wishing to speak ill of the dead, but whenever I saw the colonel it appeared that he was deep in an altercation with whomever was unlucky enough to be standing in front of him.’ She appeared momentarily lost in thought. ‘Whether one of them retorted in kind though, you ask? Hmm, gracious yes! I had quite put it from my mind, so scandalous it was. You’d think he of all people would know better than to argue with an elder and a better.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘The prince.’

  ‘Lucas!’ Eleanor breathed.

  ‘My dear, it was shameful. It was at a musical soirée affair, just before you arrived at Henley Hall actually, otherwise we’d have invited you. I couldn’t hear the words because the orchestra were rather enthusiastic. The prince though squared up to the colonel, gesticulating wildly, his face flushed as what I can only describe as a tirade erupted from him.’

  Eleanor grimaced, thinking back to Lucas’ version at the Blind Pig Club of what she assumed was the same heated discussion over British rule in India. ‘How did the, erm, argument end?’

  ‘Shockingly, as I said! On both sides, I might add. The prince poked the colonel in the chest, right in the middle of his medals.’

  ‘The colonel wouldn’t have taken kindly to that at all.’

  ‘Quite. Hence him cuffing the prince smartly across the ear.’

  ‘Bad show all round, that. Not the only time either,’ Lord Langham said, joining them with Clifford.

  Eleanor turned to him. ‘Did you ever see any of the others in Lancelot’s gang row with the colonel?’

  Lord Langham hesitated, then glanced at his wife. ‘No secrets you commanded, old thing?’

  She shook her head wearily. ‘No secrets.’

  He sighed. ‘Only Lancelot.’

  Eleanor looked hopelessly at Clifford. He adjusted his meticulously aligned cuffs. ‘Might I enquire if your lord or ladyship ever observed any particularly… odd behaviour amongst his young lordship’s friends, aside from what I respectfully refer to as hijinks?’

  ‘We did indeed. The elder of the Childs sisters, Lady Millicent, behaved disgracefully at the Worthingtons’ Ruby Anniversary ball last year!’ said Lady Langham.

  Lord Langham let out a low whistle. ‘She was definitely more than several sheets to the wind. Danced like a crazy thing for about forty minutes and then simply slid down the wall like someone had let all her air out. Went from chin chin to bottoms up in a blink. Caused the lady of the house a fierce blushing.’

  Lady Langham tutted. ‘Harold dear, I am quite convinced alcohol was not to blame. I fear it may have been something… stronger than champagne.’ She turned to Eleanor. ‘Children, my dear, they cause nothing but worry.’

  Lord Langham snorted. ‘Nonsense! Our boy has brought us years of laughter and happy days.’

  ‘And a head of grey hairs!’

  He stifled a chuckle. ‘Perhaps, but they set off a tiara beautifully. And speaking of sparkly bits and Lancelot’s friends, what about Prince Whatnot always being so complimentary about your necklaces and other twinkling trinkets?’

  ‘What about it?’ his wife replied. ‘It’s to be expected. His father owns half the gem mines in their region of India. I always took it as a safe topic he felt he could make polite conversation about with Lancelot’s rather fusty mother. I’m under no illusion that’s how they all view me, de
ar, hence Lancelot’s less than becoming expression for us.’

  ‘Fusty, eh?’ Lord Langham grinned. ‘Not from where I’m sitting. But back to the prince. Strikes a fellow as dash rummy now though, given the turn of events, his being so interested in talking to you about your jewels.’

  Eleanor and Clifford shared a look.

  ‘I think, Harold dear, that our pair of sleuths have already had that thought.’

  Eleanor nodded. ‘Yes, but we didn’t realise he’d been so bold as to highlight his interest to you directly, or to scrutinise your jewellery up close.’

  Their conversation was interrupted by the clamour of a gong reverberating from the terrace.

  Lady Langham held up a finger. ‘Ah! Breakfast.’

  Lord Langham offered each of the ladies an arm. ‘Food ahoy, I’m positively starved!’

  ‘Me too. I think I prefer the man’s half hour as a prelude to eating,’ Eleanor whispered to him.

  He chortled and called behind him. ‘Fall in, Clifford. No dallying at the back, you’re off duty, remember.’

  ‘Very good, your lordship.’ Clifford took up the right flank beside Eleanor, but still managed to arrive a step behind as they reached the house.

  Nineteen

  Sandford waited until the rose garden party rounded the top of the wide balustraded steps to the terrace and then led the way into the grand drawing room with its lavish blue drapes and floor-to-ceiling portraits in gilded frames, and on into the adjoining, smaller dining room.

  Lady Langham took Eleanor’s arm and led her to the table set at one end with four place settings.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind my choosing the family room, rather than the main dining room. It feels more conducive for our discussion. Sandford, we will serve ourselves. Thank you for laying everything out so beautifully.’

  With a bow, Sandford left.

  Lord Langham waved at the five silver serving dishes in the centre of the table. ‘Dig in, what.’

  He then led the charge in unveiling the first offering. The waft of griddled bacon and herby sausages made Eleanor cry out. She cleared her throat.

  ‘Sorry, they’re my favourite.’

  Lady Langham smiled. ‘I believe Cook has undertaken a departure from our usual accompaniments this morning. This I believe’ – she held up a decorative gravy boat – ‘is paprika relish. A new recipe, apparently.’

  Eleanor flashed Clifford a ‘thank you’ smile. He was, however, busying himself arranging the starched linen napkin on his lap.

  Lady Langham clapped her hands. ‘At the risk of being so gauche as to talk business, and murky business at that, over food, I am anxious to continue our conversation. If that is alright with you Eleanor, and with Clifford?’

  ‘Absolutely!’

  ‘Without reservation, your ladyship.’

  ‘Good. Where shall we pick up from?’

  ‘Actually,’ Eleanor said with a sideways glance at Clifford. At his nod, she continued, ‘We do have a question but it might seem frightfully impertinent.’

  Lord Langham rapped the table with his knife. ‘Nonsense! The walls don’t have ears in here. Fire away, dear girl, only pass the eggs first, there’s a sport.’

  She did so. ‘Ah yes, how well do you know Lord Hurd, the renowned textile tycoon?’

  ‘He was at the ball,’ Lord Langham said. ‘Had to invite him, of course, one of the great and the good and all that.’

  His wife peered at him over the rim of her coffee cup. ‘I didn’t find much good to report in the man. Why do you ask?’

  Eleanor gestured to Clifford to elaborate.

  ‘If I may explain, my lady. I was investigating the possibility we touched on briefly before, that Colonel Puddifoot-Barton’s death was premeditated, and the theft of her ladyship’s jewels a blind. Therefore I travelled to London yesterday to meet with Mr Leonard Burkett.’

  ‘The colonel’s valet?’

  ‘One and the same, my lord. Mr Burkett was most forthcoming in his conversation with me, with impeccable regard for propriety, of course. I was rather surprised, however, to learn that Colonel Puddifoot-Barton had underwritten Mr Burkett a comfortable pension into his will.’

  Lord Langham threw Eleanor a mischievous look. ‘Bet you were surprised too, Eleanor old thing. To hear that Pudders had set up a generous pension for his manservant?’

  ‘Initially yes, forgive me,’ Eleanor said.

  Lord Langham waved his sausage filled fork at her. ‘No need, old fruit. Pudders was a peculiar mix, alright. The whole world found him damnably hard work, but the real Pudders, the one underneath his uniform, was hewn from good clay.’

  ‘I wish I had realised earlier,’ Eleanor said truthfully.

  Lord Langham shrugged. ‘Burkett is a good example, you see. He was injured while under Pudders’ command at Tanganyika during the final throes of the Abushiri Revolt in 1891. Dashed bad business all round, senseless waste for both sides. Afterwards Pudders took Burkett in and made him his valet.’

  Clifford nodded. ‘Particularly generous, my lord, given that Mr Burkett’s injury meant he was no longer able to negotiate stairs or move at speed.’

  ‘Now I understand,’ Eleanor said. ‘Miss Glew told me the colonel came without his valet.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Lord Langham nodded. ‘Burkett rarely left the colonel’s London digs, too difficult for the poor blighter.’

  ‘Which means,’ Clifford said, ‘that Mr Burkett had a possible motive for killing his employer, id est to access his pension early, as it were. However, my lord, as we have already mentioned, he was not at the ball the night of the theft and murder. He was back in London spending the evening at his valet club, which I confirmed.’

  Lady Langham stared at Clifford. ‘So Mr Burkett is ruled out as a suspect. But what has all this to do with Lord Hurd?’

  ‘Mr Burkett mentioned Lord Hurd to me. It seems his lordship and Colonel Puddifoot-Barton had been engaged in an ongoing battle over their divergent views on how to restore the economy. Mr Burkett was privy to clashes between Lord Hurd and Colonel Puddifoot-Barton over this issue.’

  Lord Langham nodded. ‘Pudders had a holding in Hurd’s company.’

  ‘A substantial one, my lord?’

  ‘Substantial enough, I imagine, to derail Hurd’s plans if Pudders disagreed with him.’

  Eleanor whistled. ‘Okay, so we can be certain Lord Hurd and the colonel had a long-standing dispute. And if the real crime was not to steal the jewels but to… er, remove the colonel, then Lord Hurd is a definite contender. We need to trace his movements the night of the ball.’

  Lady Langham put down her fork. ‘I remember Lord Hurd was one of the last to arrive. Excluding you, Eleanor, of course. It must have been around seven thirty when he put in an appearance.’

  ‘Clifford,’ Lord Langham said, ‘check with Sandford after breakfast, would you? I recall him saying Hurd was indisposed part way through the festivities, said he was resting up in the drawing room for a bit. Suffers from gout. Maybe he’d had one of his flare-ups. Don’t remember seeing him again until the blasted police herded us all back into the bally ballroom last thing.’

  His wife placed her hands on the table. ‘Clifford, I detect that you learned something more from Mr Burkett, but hesitate to relay this in our company. However time is against us, as you are aware.’

  ‘Very good, my lady. Putting Lord Hurd aside for a moment, my investigation then led me to the colonel’s gentlemen’s club where I was able to call in a small favour. Let us say that the doorman confided that I might better enquire at number twenty-three Dawson Street.’

  Lady Langham shrugged. ‘What’s at twenty-three Dawson Street?’

  ‘A different sort of club altogether.’

  Lady Langham gasped. ‘A brothel!’

  ‘That is indeed the reputation of the establishment, my lady, although it is one considerably removed from the facts.’

  ‘I’m confused. Is it a house of ill repute, or not?’
>
  ‘Not, my lady. You see, it is not against the law to pay a lady for the service of sharing an afternoon tea or an innocent game of mahjong, although two-hand mahjong does require a slight deviation from the classic form. Instead of…’ Clifford caught Eleanor’s eye. ‘Apologies. In essence, the ladies at twenty-three Dawson Street offer a companionship service only.’

  Lady Langham shook her head. ‘If I’ve understood correctly, the colonel would rather have it assumed that he frequented a house of… of prostitution than one of congenial companionship?’

  Lord Langham nodded sagely. ‘Makes perfect sense, my dear. Pudders never found his life’s love, like I did. And you know the pressures on a fellow in his position to secure a wife. Chaps of the colonel’s age, if they’ve remained single, well there is a tendency in some circles for certain allegations to be made against the gentleman’s… proficiency in certain areas.’

  Clifford nodded. ‘Or indeed his… leanings, my lady.’

  Lady Langham tutted loudly. ‘And they say children are cruel! Clifford, did the colonel have a favourite companion perhaps, who might have known something of import?’

  ‘Yes, my lady, a pleasant woman of middle to late years who was genuinely mystified that anyone would wish to harm the colonel. She divulged his particular fondness for lemon tea cakes and rounds of the card game Old Maid at each of his weekly visits.’

  Lady Langham seemed to be trying to hide a wry smile and Lord Langham busied himself offering another salver to Eleanor.

  Clifford waited a moment, and then continued. ‘The lady also informed me that Colonel Puddifoot-Barton had been boasting that he was close to unmasking the notorious jewel thief who had been plaguing London and the Home Counties. She thought he was just “talking out of his pipe” as she put it. But given the events that followed…’

  Eleanor looked sharply at him. ‘You didn’t mention this before, Clifford?’

  ‘I’m sorry, my lady, but I left the Hall’s number and asked the lady to ring me if she remembered anything more that might be of use. She rang this morning just before we left and furnished me with this piece of information.’