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

by Verity Bright

  ‘Tsk, ’tis no matter. Mrs Trotman is a whizz at dressing up late breakfast as elevenses with a fancy name.’

  A cough from the doorway interrupted them.

  Eleanor waved cheerily at Clifford. ‘It’s okay, I’m here. The search party can be called off now.’

  ‘As I see.’ He pulled out his pocket watch and peered at it. ‘And do you still require breakfast at this un-breakfast-like late hour, my lady?’

  She grinned. ‘All I require is that I don’t put you and these wonderful ladies to any more trouble. I’ll eat whatever is already prepared. Will you join me in the morning room, please? I want to pick your enormous brain for any ideas on the way forward.’

  Mrs Butters’ voice trailed off as Eleanor and Clifford left. ‘Mouth closed, Polly my girl. You look like a cow chewing the cud!’

  Once in the sunlit morning room, Eleanor waited for Gladstone to finish turning in circles before settling on her feet, then pulled out her notebook and looked at her scribblings. ‘Oh, Clifford! I laid awake all night, scratching about for an answer and all I managed was a headache and bags under my eyes. Where on earth do we go from here?’ She stared at him as he poured the coffee.

  He passed her a cup. ‘I fear, my lady, that without insider information about yesterday’s tragic death, we will be stumbling in the dark.’

  ‘Was it tragic though, Clifford?’

  He turned to her sharply. ‘My lady?’

  ‘I know that sounds terrible, doesn’t it? But we had Albie on our list as a suspect. Honestly, I felt horribly uncomfortable during my last conversation with him. Suppose he was the colonel’s killer and then couldn’t live with himself and took the easy way out.’

  ‘Drowning in one’s car is perhaps not the easy way out.’

  ‘But the newspaper made it clear the police are not treating it as suspicious. So if we suspect foul play, we’re going to have a devil of a job getting any info out of the inspector. Or even Sergeant Brice.’

  Clifford tilted his head. ‘We do, of course, have a secret weapon in that regard, my lady.’

  ‘Of course! Abigail, Sandford’s wonderful niece who works at Chipstone Police Station. She didn’t get into any trouble for helping us on the last case, then?’

  ‘None whatsoever. And she was quite overcome with your ladyship’s kindness in sending so generous a gift for her trouble.’

  ‘I know, she sent me the sweetest note. Shall I leave it to you to make the enquiries through the usual channel?’

  ‘I will call Mr Sandford presently and sow the seed.’

  After a moment’s silence punctuated only by the soft snores of a contented bulldog, Eleanor spoke. ‘In truth, you know, Clifford, I can’t see Albie actually biffing the colonel and then taking his own life. Unlike Lord Hurd, his real beef seemed to be with Lancelot and Johnny for persistently being mean to him. I know he had an artistic temperament and all that but he is… was the only one of all of Lancelot’s friends with a sense of reality. Not surprising perhaps, growing up as a miner’s son. Even with the obvious suspicion that he was desperately short of funds, I honestly don’t think Albie was the murdering type.’

  ‘Might one enquire in casting your eye over your suspect list who does strike you as being the murdering type?’

  Eleanor grimaced. ‘Fair point. That’s the problem with murderers, isn’t it? It’s never the obvious one. You know, the one with an eye patch and a hook for an arm.’

  Clifford smiled at the image. ‘Actually, I have news of Lord Hurd, my lady, and was waiting for a suitable point to mention it.’

  Eleanor laughed. ‘Why? Has Lord Hurd an eye patch and a hook for an arm?’

  ‘No, but he does have a prosthetic limb, having lost his left leg in the war.’

  ‘That is news, Clifford.’

  ‘Indeed, my lady, it is hard to believe that a man with such an impediment would be capable of being our cat burglar and jewel thief.’

  ‘And unlikely that he could whip up the stairs, open the safe, dispatch the colonel and get back down and mingle in such a short window of time.’

  ‘I would say almost impossible. I followed up on our conversation with Lord and Lady Fenwick-Langham and spoke to Lord Hurd’s valet. He informed me that Lord Hurd doesn’t mention his prosthetic limb, and in daily life one would hardly notice. However, his lordship is quite unable to hurry and his valet makes sure he has ample time to dress and get to any engagement he has.’

  Eleanor found Lord Hurd’s name and crossed it through. ‘Well, that’s one suspect we can cross off.’

  ‘I would say, two, my lady.’

  She looked at him sharply. ‘How?’

  ‘Even if Mr Appleby was murdered, and it might have been by a different hand from that that struck down Colonel Puddifoot-Barton, I feel it is a more likely scenario that it was one and the same.’

  She nodded her head. ‘So we can rule Albie out as the jewel thief and the colonel’s killer as well.’ She crossed his name through for thoroughness. ‘So that is indeed two suspects down.’ She sighed. ‘Fancy poor Albie’s parents having to endure the allegation that their son lost his life while being under the influence of alcohol, or worse, drugs.’

  ‘Although without being uncharitable, my lady, he may not have lost his life to it, but there is likely a strong amount of truth in the reporting, given your experiences at the Blind Pig Club.’

  She groaned. ‘I know. I really need to talk to the rest of Lancelot’s gang and find out what they were up to the night Albie died. Let’s just hope the inspector doesn’t find out and throw me in jail for sticking my nose into the case.’

  ‘Indeed, my lady, we will have to tread doubly carefully. I’ll make that call and put Abigail on the case immediately.’

  ‘Thank you. And then I’ll chance my arm in ringing the inspector. I don’t suppose he would have taken too much offence when I stomped off yesterday, do you?’

  Clifford shook his head. ‘I’m sure not, my lady. After all, you only accused him of perverting the course of justice in order to convict an innocent man.’

  As Clifford left the room Eleanor called after him. ‘Well, I was angry, what did he expect?’ She took a bite of cold toast, muttering, ‘Some people are just looking to take offence, what can you do?’

  After a replacement round of hot toast, kindly supplied by Mrs Butters and intently ogled by the now awake Gladstone, Eleanor was fortified enough to tackle her phone call.

  ‘Inspector… sorry, Chief Inspector – Start off on the right foot this time, Ellie! – Seldon, please. This is Lady Swift.’

  She tapped her notepad with her pencil while waiting for the call to be put through.

  A shrill, weaselly voice came down the receiver, making her wince and switch ears.

  ‘This is Detective Chief Inspector Seldon’s office. I have instructions, Lady Swift, from the Chief Inspector himself, not to connect your calls.’

  Eleanor stabbed the jotter with her pen so hard it broke in two. ‘Listen, I am ringing to further the course of justice, not engage in petty squabbling. I called Chief Inspector Seldon to report a possible crime, which, I fear, has so far escaped police attention. I believe a man’s life may have been taken and the police are not investigating the matter.’

  There was a pause, then the voice came back on. ‘One moment.’

  After what, to someone of Eleanor’s impatient temperament, seemed an age, DCI Seldon’s voice came down the line. ‘Lady Swift?’

  ‘Inspector, how wonderful to hear your voice.’

  A grunt came down the line. ‘I was told that a man’s life has been taken. Which man, for Pete’s sake?’

  ‘Albert Appleby.’

  ‘That name means nothing to me.’

  ‘His car crashed into a canal yesterday in the early hours.’

  ‘Oh, him! Now I understand. He was one of those bright young things, wasn’t he? Car went off the road, too drunk to get out, subsequently drowned. Probably drugs involved too. The local
police examined the car as a precaution, but there were no mechanical faults found, and no indication it had been tampered with, before you ask. The case is closed. And to be clear, wasting police time and perverting the course of justice can both be committed via telephone as well as in person. If—’

  ‘Inspector,’ Eleanor’s tone was icy, ‘are you threatening me?’

  She heard a weary laugh at the other end. ‘You know, Lady Swift, I should actually be grateful to those bright young things.’

  ‘Grateful? What are you on about?’

  ‘Well, if they carry on as they are, they’ll either all have killed themselves or got themselves locked up by the end of the year. And without any police time and money being wasted. Good day.’

  With that the line went dead.

  Eleanor slowly replaced the receiver. ‘Right!’

  She doodled for a moment with a spare pen, then marched back to the morning room.

  She was staring out of the window as Clifford appeared with a fresh pot of coffee.

  ‘Not good then, my lady?’

  ‘And why would you assume that, Clifford?’

  He held up the broken pen and a sheet from the telephone-table notepad. An ink-blotted doodle showed a head rolling under the wheels of an oncoming bus. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Seldon, perchance?’

  She flopped in a chair. ‘Okay, you got me. He shot me down at the first sentence and has banned me from talking to him. At all. About anything, even the blasted weather I gather. And if I so much as stroll past the police station, I am to be arrested on any spurious charge he can come up with. Agh!’ She covered her eyes with her hands. ‘I feel another murder coming on, Clifford, and this time it will be me holding the murder weapon.’

  ‘Understandable, but far from advisable, my lady. Perhaps waiting for Miss Abigail to report is the best approach? There is, however, one bright point on the horizon neither of us has mentioned.’

  She peeked through her fingers. ‘And that is?’

  ‘Young Lord Fenwick-Langham was still incarcerated at the time of Mr Appleby’s demise. If it does transpire that Mr Appleby’s death was neither suicide nor an accident, it is clear that young Lord Fenwick-Langham could not have been the perpetrator of the crime.’

  ‘That would be a good point, Clifford, if anyone were treating Albie’s demise as a crime. I need to see Coco and try to get a few answers about Albie from her.’ She sighed. ‘You know though, Clifford, we haven’t considered the biggest problem of all.’

  ‘Which is, my lady?’

  ‘Suppose we pursue the matter of Albie’s death, assuming it is murder and connected to the colonel’s death, or the jewel thefts, and then we find it isn’t?’

  ‘Then we shall remove the egg from our faces and continue investigating. You are indefatigable when you have the bit between your teeth, if you’ll forgive me comparing you to a horse.’

  Eleanor dropped her hands and laughed. ‘Forgiven, Clifford. I’ve been compared to much less agreeable animals.’

  ‘I’m sure you have, my lady. But if I can get back to our conversation, I am not following your train of thought it seems.’

  Eleanor sighed. ‘The biggest problem, Clifford, is if we investigate Albie’s death and it turns out to have nothing to do with the case, it will have been time wasted. It will have delayed us in solving the colonel’s murder… and Lancelot’s trial is…?’

  ‘Ah!’ He nodded slowly. ‘Next week.’

  ‘And we will be…?’

  He looked down at his hands. ‘Too late!’

  Twenty-Two

  If the speeding car didn’t stop lurching Eleanor felt sure she would part company with the oysters and cocktails she had eaten only an hour before. She’d wanted a more substantial meal, but the others had pooh-poohed her suggestion, claiming there was no time for eating until they’d honoured Albie’s memory by winning the treasure hunt.

  ‘Albie loved treasure hunts,’ Lucas explained. ‘He almost always came up trumps with working out the clues. This is how he’d want us to remember him.’

  Ellie appreciated the sentiment, but would have preferred Lucas to have kept his eyes on the road while telling her.

  ‘So,’ Millie said, ‘you’d better concentrate, as in the absence of poor Albie you’ve been voted our clue master.’

  ‘Voted? When?’

  ‘By me, just then.’

  Lucas laughed. ‘Sorry, Eleanor, but that’s a bagsy, alright. You’re now officially our clue master.’

  Eleanor groaned inwardly. She wanted to honour Albie’s memory too, but felt a more conventional manner might have been a better, and safer, idea. However, having been brought up unconventionally herself, she understood that this was their way of coping with loss. The gang had told her tonight’s treasure hunt involved working out clues set by a mysterious ‘Mr X’, who Eleanor figured was probably just another bright young thing who organised the whole affair. Apparently, there were teams from all over Buckinghamshire and Oxfordshire hunting these clues. What Lancelot’s gang hadn’t mentioned was that once you’d worked out what object a clue referred to, you then had to dash across the countryside and steal the wretched thing.

  Clifford was right, Ellie, why did you ever think this was a good idea?

  In front of her in the passenger seat, Millie was mixing cocktails. She slapped Lucas’ arm as the car lurched violently again. ‘Lucas, you imbecile, you’ve made me slop double the amount of cognac in the shaker!’

  Lucas pushed her back. ‘Excellent, my co-driver extraordinaire, then we’ll have double the fun finding the next clue.’

  Millie giggled as she screwed the shaker cap on. ‘Right on cue, here comes Johnny.’ She turned and waved out of the window as Johnny roared alongside with Coco in the front seat.

  ‘What ho, slow coaches!’ He lent over between the two speeding cars and ran a finger along Millie’s silk-clad arm. Her diamond-and-pearl collar bracelet glinted in the late afternoon sun. ‘Where are the drinks? I’m parched.’

  Coco leaned forward in the passenger seat next to Johnny, and shouted across to Millie, ‘You’ve got to shake it to make it!’

  The rest of Lancelot’s gang took up the chant: ‘Shake! Shake! Shake!’

  ‘Ready?’ Millie said. ‘Johnny!’ and with that she threw the cocktail shaker through the window to the other car. Johnny steered with one hand and deftly caught it with the other. She cheered. ‘Slick Seaton, as always!’

  ‘Coco, you’re it!’ He threw the shaker to her. It landed at Coco’s feet, who picked it up and took aim.

  ‘Millie!’

  Millie missed, but Lucas caught it, skilfully saving the shaker from crashing onto the road.

  ‘Johnny!’ Lucas said. Johnny nodded and stamped alternately on the brake and the accelerator making the gap harder for him to aim for.

  ‘Seaton you’re a rotter!’ Lucas turned in his seat to get a better aim and then hurled the shaker past Millie. Everyone watched it sail through the window and into Johnny’s lap, which earned Lucas a raucous round of applause.

  Johnny gave the cocktail a good shake before hurling it through the rear window of Lucas’ car. ‘Eleanor! Oh, good catch… for a girl.’

  Millie leaned out of the window. ‘Beast! Keep it up, we love it.’ She blew Johnny a kiss and reached down to grab a basket of cocktail glasses. ‘Name your waitress!’ she yelled to both drivers.

  Lucas and Johnny shared a look and chorused: ‘Coco!’

  Eleanor threw the shaker back to Johnny with surprising accuracy, accepting his nod of praise with a smug grin. He grinned back.

  Coco laughed. ‘Hurrah! This is my favourite part.’ Lucas and Johnny brought the speeding cars even closer together. Clambering past Johnny, shaker in hand, Coco lay across his lap. ‘Glass, please, sis.’

  Millie hung her arm out of the window, glass in hand.

  ‘Here goes.’ Coco began to pour the cocktail. Most of the drink streamed out behind the two speeding cars and splashed on the
road.

  ‘Bravo, what a barmaid you would make.’ Johnny peered past her prostrate form to try to see the road. ‘First glass goes to Prince Almighty, Lucas of India-Masala-Biryania.’

  Millie handed Lucas the cocktail. He raised the glass. ‘Here’s to Albie! He loved fast cars and cocktails, despite all that poetry nonsense, so let’s honour him that way!’

  The others all chanted ‘Albie!’ except Millie, Eleanor noted, who kept silent, a look of faint disgust on her face. At Lucas’ choking, Millie giggled. ‘Obviously just right. Next glass is for our green guest!’

  This time a good deal of the contents ended up over Coco and Millie and down the side of the cars, which the sisters found hilarious.

  After toasting the departed Albie again, and reeling from the cognac burn of the first glug, Eleanor waited for a suitable moment and discreetly tipped the rest of hers into the ashtray.

  After a brief stop where first the men, and then the girls disappeared into the trees, Eleanor took the opportunity to change cars. Once back on the road, from the back seat, she casually turned to her new driver. ‘Speaking of poor old Albie, I can’t really understand what happened. Were any of you with him the night he… died?’

  Johnny shook his head. ‘I wish we had been. Unfortunately I had to spend the day at the family pile, attending some dreadful affair. I managed to escape in the evening. I picked up Coco around nine and then met Lucas and Millie at that fabulous new club in Cowley, The Hole in the Wall, around ten. Millie said Albie was supposed to be coming along later in a car he’d borrowed for some reason, something distasteful like work in the morning.’ He looked at her. ‘We often party till dawn and beyond as you know.’ He turned his eyes back on the road. ‘Anyway, Albie never turned up. Next thing we hear is the silly fool’s gone and got himself drunk and ditched himself and the car in the canal. Poor sod.’

  Eleanor sat back and digested this information. ‘Did you party? Until dawn, I mean?’

  Johnny grinned. ‘You bet. We left the Hole in the Wall around midnight and hit Madame Bella’s and stayed until three and then went back to my place until dawn.’ Eleanor knew she should follow this up, but in her heart she didn’t believe anyone would make up such an easily checkable alibi.