Eleanor raised her hand. ‘I’m sorry, Clifford, I didn’t mean to suggest you’d been withholding the information, it’s just that this might be the breakthrough we’re looking for.’
Lord Langham waved his fork. ‘Hurrah!’
Clifford turned towards him. ‘If I might request Lady Swift and myself visit the scene of the crimes, your lordship? It is possible it might jog her ladyship’s memory as to the events of that night.’
Lord Langham nodded. ‘Splendid idea! Help yourselves. I’ll stay here with Augusta. She hasn’t been in the room since that dreadful night.’
Upstairs, Sandford unlocked the door and left Eleanor and Clifford alone in the study where the colonel had been murdered.
Apart from the absence of a corpse, and a pirate, the room looked the same as it had the night she’d heard a noise and walked in and discovered… She ran her hands down her arms to try and quell her goosebumps.
‘Feels horribly cold, Clifford. And… creepy.’
He nodded. ‘Death does tend to leave its signature, my lady. But if you can keep your head—’
She cut him short. ‘It’s not my head I’m worried about, it’s Lancelot’s neck! Small consolation that beheading was banned some years back.’
‘A great many back, my lady. In 1757, in fact.’
‘Wonderful!’ she said sardonically. ‘Anyhow, let’s re-enact the events of that night. That’s what they always do in those police novels.’
She hunched over by the door, then tiptoed into the middle of the study. ‘Right, I’m Lancelot creeping in, focused on stealing the jewels.’ She paused mid creep and peered over at Clifford. ‘First question, then. When I see the safe already open, why don’t I turn and fast tail it out of there?’
‘Because you see the unfortunate Colonel Puddifoot-Barton lying on the floor?’
‘Of course. So despite not that long ago having had a fierce row with the old duffer in the garden, according to Cora, I slide over to see if he needs help. I realise he’s dead, or at least seriously injured. Before I can go for help, I hear a noise. Is it the attacker returning? In a panic I seize the first thing that comes to hand to defend myself—’
‘The candlestick.’
‘Exactly.’ She straightened up. ‘You know, Clifford, most of the evidence now points to the colonel being onto the thief and following him into the study. But if that’s what actually happened, why didn’t the colonel go to the police or the Langhams rather than tackling the criminal himself?’
He tapped his nose. ‘One last hurrah, perhaps?’
‘Gracious, yes! Military pride and all that.’ She puffed out her chest and snatched up a long tapered candle, swinging it under her arm like a military baton. ‘“I say, Pudders,” he says to himself, “there’s the bounder sneaking up the stairs. Let’s go give him what for!” And the colonel then follows and is bashed on the back of the head by the thief.’
She re-enacted the colonel’s final moments.
Clifford applauded. ‘If you give as good a performance at the am-dram, my lady, you will bring the house down.’
‘Thank you, Clifford, but there’s something bothering me… and I can’t think what.’
‘It will doubtless come to you in time, my lady.’
From the doorway, Lady Langham’s voice made them both jump. ‘Maybe, but time is the one thing we don’t have.’
Eleanor jumped up and brushed her skirt. ‘Lady Langham, who else knew your jewel safe was located in here? Aside from Lancelot, of course.’
Lady Fenwick-Langham stared into the room, not crossing the threshold. ‘Only him and Daphne. What looks like the main safe is located in Harold’s study, but it’s a dummy. This is the main safe. This room is set up to look like a small study for writing odd correspondence and such like. But Daphne will be seventy at her next birthday. She can wield a croquet mallet for a few minutes at a time, but stairs affect her heart enormously. Had she made it up here, she would have needed to lie down for a good hour.’
‘And Cora?’
‘Fit as a fiddle. Why? Are you suggesting Daphne told Cora about the safe being in this room?’
Eleanor hesitated, but there was too much at stake to talk around the subject. ‘Given Cora’s feelings for Lancelot, which I witnessed first-hand at the croquet match…’
‘And given young Lord Fenwick-Langham’s refusal to marry her,’ Clifford added.
‘Exactly, Clifford. It’s possible that she followed Lancelot up here to seek a few minutes alone with him.’
Lady Langham looked confused. ‘But what has that got to do with the colonel’s death?’
Eleanor sighed. ‘It’s very unlikely, but we have to examine every possibility if we are to save Lancelot. The dowager countess and Cora both had reason to… to want revenge on Lancelot. Cora, with the dowager countess’ help, could have… killed the colonel and set Lancelot up in revenge for him refusing to marry her. Or—’
‘Or Cora could have lain in wait and killed old Pudders, mistaking him for Lancelot.’ Lord Langham stepped into the room.
Lady Langham put her face in her hands. ‘Oh, Harold!’
Twenty
‘Well, whereabouts in Oxford is he, Sergeant Brice? Do you suggest I wander around the entire city on the off chance of bumping into him?’ She held the receiver away from her ear and waved at Clifford to bring her a pen and paper. ‘Blue what? Bore! Oh, boar, like the pig. What a peculiar name. And where is that exactly?’
She held up her scribbled paper for Clifford to see. He nodded.
‘Thank you, Sergeant Brice.’ A snort escaped from the receiver as she hung it on its hook.
She tapped her fingers on the ornate walnut telephone table. ‘So, you know where this Blue Boar Street place is then?’
‘Yes, my lady. Did Sergeant Brice say why the Detective Chief Inspector had returned to Oxford?’
‘Mmm, yes, he said something about a new case that needs his attention.’
Clifford nodded. ‘I see, and you intend calling on Detective Chief Inspector Seldon unannounced?’
She nodded back. ‘Of course. I have to talk to Lancelot again. I’m sure he holds the key to all this, even if he doesn’t realise it. If I call the inspector on the phone and ask to see Lancelot, he’ll simply say no, whereas if I’m standing in front of him…’ A glint of steel came into her eyes.
Clifford nodded. ‘It is indeed much harder to say no to someone in person than on the telephone. Especially if that person is somewhat—’
‘Stubborn? Bloody-minded?’
He coughed. ‘I was going to say strong-minded, my lady.’
Eleanor smiled. ‘Right, a trip to Oxford it is. How long will that take us?’
‘Most likely an hour and a quarter. As you know, the lanes are steep and narrow to begin with and the centre of Oxford itself can be surprisingly congested even when the university is on summer recess.’
‘Marvellous! I can also ask the inspector whether they’ve found Lancelot’s fingerprints on the stolen jewels. And he’s gone far too quiet about me being an accessory. I need to find out what he’s up to.’
Eleanor was first to the Rolls. She climbed in the driver’s seat and patted the passenger seat. ‘All aboard, look lively.’
Before Clifford had finished closing the door, she put her foot down hard on the accelerator. The back wheels spun on the gravel, sending a shower over Joseph, who lurched sideways, tipping his wheelbarrow into the stone pool at the base of the ornamental fountain.
She waved through the open window. ‘Sorry, Joseph! The beds are looking lovely.’
He returned a wary waft of his cap and offered a sympathetic nod to Clifford. ‘Good luck, Mr Clifford.’
The Rolls roared along the drive and jerked on to the road.
‘Mind that horse, my lady!’
She waggled a finger, her hand still fast on the wheel. ‘Don’t try and persuade me to stop looking at the road. Gosh, what a thing for a driving instructor to encourage in
his pupil, tsk, tsk.’
Clifford’s lips pursed. ‘A most laudable observation, my lady. Only the animal was on the road.’ He indicated the line of horse spittle that ran diagonally along the previously spotless side window.
She shot him a look. ‘Clifford! I am in no mood for horses that have scant regard for the rules of the road.’
‘There are rules are there, my lady?’
‘This is England, there are blasted rules for everything!’
‘Indeed.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Forgive the suggestion, but you might wish to try changing down? That intense juddering can be an indication that the gear you have selected is perhaps unsuitable for the speed of the vehicle.’
Eleanor tutted and then grunted as she wrestled with the ‘blasted gear stick!’
‘Shall I?’
‘Leave it!’ She grasped the gear stick with both hands. ‘Get. In! Yes, yes!’
Suddenly aware that Clifford was holding the wheel, she coughed. ‘Thank you. And does the expert recommend returning to top gear on the way down the other side?’
‘Only if your ladyship wishes to join the ducks in the river.’
Childishly she stuck her tongue out at him. ‘Perhaps it would be better if you drove the rest of the way to Oxford. I’m not sure the inspector will still be there at this rate!’
Eleanor’s brain was too full to enjoy the scenery en route to Oxford but as Clifford manoeuvred the Rolls up a particularly steep, winding hill, she looked out. ‘That is quite the view, isn’t it?’ All around them rolling green hills dotted with cotton-wool sheep stretched to the horizon, where a broad blue sky dotted with cotton-wool clouds met them.
Clifford nodded. ‘Indeed it is, my lady, it is the highest point in the county and the original site of the gibbet where they hanged highwaymen and mu—’ He tailed off.
She closed her eyes but could only picture Lancelot swinging from a gibbet. ‘I’m really feeling the pressure on this, Clifford. If we don’t get the answer we’re hoping for from the inspector, I’ve no idea where to turn next. What kind of a woman am I anyway, taking advantage of the inspector’s apparent interest in me to obtain information to save another? That’s the scandalous plot of a penny dreadful novel, surely?’
‘Undoubtedly so.’
She spun in her seat and stared at him before noticing the twinkle in his eye.
‘Very funny!’
The rest of the twenty-three-mile trip passed in a blur of green until the edge of Oxford itself elbowed out the hedgerows. Streets of terraced houses turned to ornate spires, which grew into rows of monolithic buildings festooned with gargoyles peering down from every corner.
‘Good job you know your way around, Clifford. All these buildings look far too similar to me. They’re enormous, any one of them could be the town hall.’
‘Actually, at present we are passing the prestigious Magdalen College. The Great Tower is the site of the May Morning rituals. For over five hundred years the Magdalen Choir have made the precarious climb of one hundred and forty-four feet to the top of the tower and then performed “Hymnus Eucharisticus”. And now on your right is Brasenose College, famous for its rebellious student door-knocker incident of 1333.’
‘You know, Clifford, I really think you missed your vocation in life, you should have been a tour guide. Now where is this wretched Blue Boar Street?’
DCI Seldon greeted the news of Eleanor’s arrival unenthusiastically. His voice penetrated the glass partition door like a bullet.
‘Oh, for Pete’s sake! Go and tell her I can’t see her.’
A softer, country voice answered. ‘I tried, Chief, honest, but she’s one of them force of nature bird… ladies.’
‘Oh, show her in. I’ll deal with her myself.’
The saggy-middled sergeant who’d been on the reception desk waved to them. With a deep breath, she entered the inspector’s office, followed by Clifford.
Eleanor smiled sweetly. ‘I intended to make an appointment, Inspector, but—’
DCI Seldon raised a hand, silencing her. ‘Lady Swift, whatever the reason is you came here, I suggest you stop wasting police time. Now kindly leave.’
Eleanor forced herself to keep smiling. ‘Wasting police time? I simply came here to ask for one more short audience with Lancelot before… it’s too late.’
Seldon was staring at her. She stared back and he held her gaze. ‘Lady Swift, not only are you the accused’s friend but you are also a suspect in this case, possibly his accomplice in these reprehensible crimes.’
Eleanor’s eyes flashed. ‘His accomplice? How dare you!’
DCI Seldon rose from his desk, his face flushed. ‘Lady Swift, if you erroneously believe you can influence the outcome of this case, you are wrong. Do you think this is the first case I’ve dealt with involving over-privileged wastrels believing that wealth can set them above the law? That their status will protect them? Times have changed, the country is sick and tired of your blasted bright young things running amok and getting away with murder, while ordinary folk are striving to make ends meet and raise a decent, God-fearing family.’
Eleanor heard Clifford’s discreet cough before she could respond. Clifford’s right, Ellie, stay calm for Lancelot’s sake. She stared at him coolly.
‘I may be a privileged wastrel, but I’m the privileged wastrel who will find out the truth and see justice done!’
Seldon sat down wearily. ‘Justice?’ He laughed without humour. ‘What does someone in your privileged position know about justice?’
Eleanor opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, DCI Seldon’s words transported her back twenty years.
Her mother was leaning over her bed, her father waiting in the doorway. She could picture that loving smile and those piercing green eyes that always seemed to know what Eleanor was thinking. Her mother brushed a hand across her cheek and kissed her. ‘Good night, God bless, sweet dreams.’
And then she was running into a police station. The building was filthy, with peeling paint and dirt floors. She ran from room to room shouting, ‘Where are my parents?’ Laughter followed her down the corridor until she reached the end and turned round. At every door men stood, guns on hips, staring at the funny little girl.
A calmness came over her. The laughter stopped. She slowly walked past the men back to the entrance, all eyes on her. One stepped forward to grab her, but she spun round, the look on her young face making him step back…
DCI Seldon was staring at her. She looked up and spoke quietly.
‘It seems I misjudged you, Inspector. Everyone deserves justice, whether they are privileged or not. Good day.’
Picking up her bag, she walked out of the office.
The purr of the Rolls’ engine had been the only sound on their return journey, save for Eleanor’s fingers drumming the inlay wood of the car door. Now back in the drawing room at Henley Hall, Mrs Butters tiptoed in with a tea tray and left silently. When Clifford knocked fifty minutes later, the tray was untouched and the rug decidedly flatter in a singular path to and from the window.
She cleared her throat. ‘Clifford, I know that wasn’t my finest hour in the inspector’s office. I… I let my emotions get in the way.’ She turned to him. ‘In consequence it was a wasted trip, we learned nothing and I came away without seeing Lancelot. My fault entirely, so let’s not say any more about it and move on.’
Clifford bowed. ‘Very good, my lady.’ He held out the afternoon edition of the County Herald.
‘Whatever it is, Clifford, I’m not interested.’ She half smiled. ‘Unless it says the inspector’s head fell off and rolled under a bus.’
He continued to hold the newspaper out to her. ‘Except on this occasion I fear you may be. Page seven, my lady. Bottom story.’
She scanned the article and gasped. ‘Clifford!’ She dropped to the chaise longue and slowly read back through the piece. ‘Road accident… one fatality… local man.’ She let the paper drop and stared at him. ‘I can’t beli
eve it. I was partying with him just a few days ago!’
Twenty-One
‘Good morning, m’lady,’ a disembodied voice called.
Eleanor spun round. ‘What? Who’s that? Show yourself!’
The gardener appeared high above her in the tall box hedging. ‘Sorry to make you jump like that, m’lady. I thought you must have seen my barrow below.’
‘Oh, Joseph. My apologies for the drama. I slept very badly. How are you?’
‘I’m grand, thank you, m’ lady. Rushed off me boots though. Season’s been so busy, having to trim the box hedge early it’s put on such a spurt.’
‘You know, I am sorry, Joseph. I’ve been so caught up since I arrived, I’ve been remiss in seeking you out to thank you for the extraordinary way you care for the gardens.’
She looked around, her hand shielding the fiercely bright sun from her eyes. Like the rest of the grounds, the view back to the house had clearly been crafted by a passionate master hand. On each side of the immaculate lawn, flower beds of meticulously selected shades blended as perfectly as a seamless quilt, looking every inch as soft and inviting. A balmy breeze ran through, making the whole scene dance a shimmering rainbow sway.
‘It’s simply beautiful, Joseph.’
‘’Tis a pleasure. Has been for nigh on twenty year. By the by, if you’d care for a tour sometime? Place is so big, seems a crime no one sees it half the time ’cept me, and Master Gladstone, of course.’
She chuckled. ‘It’s a date!’
‘Consider it in me diary. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get on.’
They parted company, Eleanor letting herself back into the house via the kitchen to a rapturous welcome from Gladstone with the gift of a soggy leather slipper. Mrs Butters heaved a relieved sigh. ‘Ah, there you are, my lady. Breakfast’s been ready a fair while so as Mrs Trotman’s stressing on it going cold.’
Eleanor held up her hands. ‘My apologies. I have been horribly distracted and regrettably thrown the whole meal schedule out the window.’
Death at the Dance: An addictive historical cozy mystery (A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 2) Page 15