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

by Verity Bright

  Lowe blushed at the mixed compliment and swung the door open.

  Eleanor stepped in and hovered over Lancelot. ‘Are you going to sit up at the table like a good boy?’ She put the tray down and held her hand out to him.

  He grinned up at her. ‘You’ve got to be the best surprise ever.’

  ‘Oh no, not at all. Prisoners are not allowed surprises, or visitors come to that matter.’

  ‘So you’ve broken all the rules, naughty girl! Anyhow, I think you’d look stunning in a policeman’s outfit. Those stubborn red curls sticking out of the helmet at all angles as you arrested some wretched beast for doing something fearfully juicy.’

  She slapped his arm. ‘Were you never taught manners, you oaf? You’re supposed to stand when a lady enters the room, not lounge about in bed. Especially in your…’ She gave a low whistle as he wrestled to untangle himself from the blanket. ‘Those are quite the fetching striped bed wear.’

  Lancelot bounced up onto his feet and gave her a twirl. ‘Now my secret is out. I really am the cat’s pyjamas, aren’t I?’

  She caught her breath as he took her hand. ‘Sherlock, it is so good to see you. I’ve… missed you.’

  She cleared her throat. ‘Your… your breakfast is getting cold.’

  ‘Let it rot. Who needs food when you’re here? Come, sit.’ He gestured to the iron bed frame and threw the tiny pillow against the wall to make space for two.

  She sat and stared at him. ‘You know, you’re not looking as good as last time.’

  He tutted and offered her the mug of tea. She shook her head. After a big swig, he smirked. ‘Now, that’s where you’re wrong, because I always look irresistible.’ He tilted his head. ‘And the blush that’s just run up your neck and set your face on fire means there’s no point pretending otherwise.’

  She slapped his arm. ‘Lancelot, we can play at teasing when you are out of here. Until then we need to work at making sure that day actually arrives.’

  ‘Well, I never did. Fancy a lady swearing like that in front of a gentleman? Gracious, what is the world coming to!’

  ‘What swearing?’

  ‘My dear Lady Swift, I distinctly heard you use the “w” word.’

  ‘What “work”?’

  He clapped his hands over his ears and groaned. ‘Sherlock, I thought you were more fun than that. Honestly, I let you out of my sight for a moment and you get corrupted by some frightful bunch of earnest dullards.’

  She slapped his arm. ‘You monkey, the only bunch I’ve been hanging out with are your blasted so-called gang.’

  ‘What? You’ve been out with Johnny and the others? I see.’ He rose and placed the mug back on the tray, fiddling with the handle.

  Eleanor’s confusion showed. ‘But what was wrong with me going out with them? They’re your best friends.’

  ‘Oh yah, quite. Nothing’s wrong, no nothing.’

  She joined him at the table. ‘Lancelot Benjamin Gerald Fenwick-Langham, I do believe you’re jealous.’

  He ruffled his already dishevelled hair. ‘It’s Lancelot Germaine Benedict actually, but it’s good to see you’ve been keeping notes. Have you got a cute little scrapbook with my photo on the front?’

  ‘Yes, and it’s full of lines about what an infuriating dunderhead you are. Look, I didn’t come here to bat my lashes at you.’

  He stepped to the bed and flopped backwards on to it, staring at the damp patch of plaster on the ceiling. ‘Shame! A dashedly, blasted, criminal bloody shame!’

  ‘I thought I’d do that once you got out,’ she whispered. ‘So help me to help you! For the first time in your life, Lancelot, there’s something that actually matters. Stop playing the privileged son of a lord and lady, will you? There must be something else you can tell me about the night of the murder.’

  He slumped against the wall. ‘You know, I’ve been racking my brains going over the evening of the ball, trying to work out who the jewel thief, and murderer, might be. I haven’t got your, or Mr Clifford’s, brain for this type of thing, but I’ve had a bash.’ He straightened up. ‘Right, to be clear I don’t know enough about any suspects you and Clifford might have dug up outside of the gang, so I’ll stick to them.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ she replied.

  ‘First of all, Brice told me about Albie, so he’s obviously out, poor blighter, so that leaves Lucas and Johnny in the trouser department. Of the two I wouldn’t know who to choose. They both had arguments with the colonel, but then again, so did I. Lucas is quite fiery so I could see him knocking the old coot on the head in a moment of rage, but then again Johnny’s certainly cool enough to be a jewel thief.’

  He looked at Eleanor out of the corner of his eye. ‘Moving on to the skirts, I’m not being all Victorian, but I can’t see Coco having the strength to bash the colonel on the bonce hard enough to kill him. I assume you’ve seen her when you’ve been shifting some stolen goody or other on a treasure hunt, her arms are designed to lift cocktails, and that’s about it. Millie’s the same, but when she’s riled, well, that’s another matter. But really, I can’t see either of them being the jewel thief, though they’d both look jolly good in one of those catsuits.’

  Eleanor slapped his arm.

  ‘Ow!’

  Constable Lowe peeped round.

  Lancelot grimaced and whispered to Eleanor, ‘Totally forgot about him.’

  Constable Lowe called through the bars. ‘Lady Swift, apologies but I believe the sarge said I wasn’t to allow you any extra minutes?’

  ‘No need to apologise. I shall be sure to come to the door in exactly…’ She tugged out her uncle’s fob watch. ‘…six minutes.’ She threw him a winning smile.

  The young constable rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Another six minutes? Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure.’ Eleanor and Lancelot chorused.

  ‘Very good.’ Constable Lowe retired back to his post.

  Eleanor grabbed Lancelot’s arm and steered him to the back of the cell. ‘Listen, I need a breakthrough or I’ll… I’ll fail you.’

  For the first time, she saw a flash of fear in his eyes. ‘Darling fruit, you could never fail me. You’ve already done more than any chap could ask. I never intended for you to get caught up in this. I should have guessed that you wouldn’t be able to keep your fabulous sleuthing trunk out of it though.’

  His words were drowned out by a thunderous banging on the steel door out in the corridor.

  ‘Lowe! Lowe, you idiot! Let me in.’ Sergeant Brice bellowed through the peep hatch. ‘Get Lady Swift out! Chief Inspector Seldon will have our guts! What have you done with the key, man?’

  ‘I had it a moment ago, Sarge.’

  A second later, Eleanor jumped at Brice’s hand on her shoulder. ‘Lady Swift. If you say another word, I will be forced to arrest you for—’

  Lancelot stepped forward, his face contorted in rage, but she pushed him back.

  ‘Coming, Sergeant.’ She grinned. ‘That was fun, thanks so much for having me.’

  The cell door slammed behind her. She spun round, grabbing the bars and blew Lancelot a kiss. ‘Au revoir, Goggles.’

  Lancelot grasped the bars and whispered, ‘But not adieu, Sherlock.’

  Clifford was waiting for her by the Rolls. He held the door open and then walked round to the driver’s seat.

  ‘I took the liberty of topping up the brandy in the glovebox, my lady.’

  She wrenched the flap open and took a long glug. Her voice was emotionless. ‘Home, Clifford.’

  Mrs Butters ran out to meet them as Clifford swung the car up to the front steps.

  ‘Sorry to run straight out to you, my lady, but she said it was important you got the message the minute you were home.’

  Eleanor glanced at the paper in the housekeeper’s hand disinterestedly. ‘I’ve had enough of messages today, Mrs Butters. It can wait until tomorrow.’

  The housekeeper peered back at the house. ‘Yes, my lady, but the lady’s still on the telepho
ne. She’s hanging on because I heard the car.’

  ‘Well, I’m really not in the mood.’

  ‘The lady was most insistent. Sounded really agitated, she did. Frightened even. Said it had something to do with young Lord Fenwick-Langham.’

  Eleanor’s eye twitched.

  Clifford took the paper the housekeeper held out and scanned it quickly. ‘I think, my lady, you should take the call.’ He handed her the paper.

  Eleanor read the message and groaned. ‘Oh, what did I do in a former life that was so bad, Clifford?’

  ‘I do not know, my lady. However, I fear it was indeed most heinous.’

  Twenty-Seven

  The first of the sun’s rays peeping between the hills were a welcome relief after the restless night Eleanor had spent fighting with the covers and battling the dark thoughts in her mind. It was barely past five o’clock when she tiptoed down the stairs trying not to wake the house. As she reached the bottom stair, she screamed.

  ‘Agh! What are you doing here?’

  Clifford bowed, perfectly turned out in his morning suit and slicked-back hair. ‘I work here, my lady. Can I get you something?’

  ‘Very funny. I meant what on earth are you doing here at this hour, like that?’

  ‘It is a butler’s duty to always be ready and presentable should the lady or gentleman of the house require anything.’

  She looked at his immaculately pressed uniform. ‘Have you been there all night, Clifford?’

  ‘Of course not, my lady.’

  ‘I, I think I’ll have a few more hours’ sleep.’

  ‘Very good.’

  As she reached the landing at the top of the stairs leading to her bedroom, she glanced back over the balustrade. Clifford had vanished.

  She drifted off to sleep wondering how on earth the staff knew when she had woken up. Were there secret peepholes in the bedrooms?

  Polly’s head poked round the door. ‘Good morning, your ladyship.’

  ‘Good morning, Polly.’ She struggled up, smiling at the sight of Gladstone barging past her maid, his favourite leather slipper hanging from his jowls. ‘Please tell Mrs Trotman I am ravenous this morning.’

  Her maid nodded and then whispered, ‘I’ve been thinking wheels and buttons and it’s worked. Thank you, your ladyship.’ With a skip, she was gone.

  Eleanor was still smiling when Clifford entered the sunlit morning room where Gladstone had sprawled on the deep-pile rug in a particularly long shaft of warm sunshine.

  ‘Good morning, again, my lady. Might I make an enquiry before you breakfast?’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘Mrs Trotman is unsure how to prepare the rebellious fayre you have requested via your maid?’

  ‘What? I… ah! I told Polly I was ravenous, not rebellious. Oh bless her, Clifford, she is a treasure. And you know, I have such a good feeling about today. Amazing really, everything seemed so bleak when I first woke this morning, but one or two extra hours’ sleep…’

  ‘Four.’

  ‘Whatever. The thing is, to start I couldn’t get past the idea of Lancelot’s trial being so close and us seemingly no nearer to solving the case. He looked quite dreadful yesterday.’

  ‘Lord Fenwick-Langham will have been dining very differently since his incarceration and likely exercising very little.’

  ‘Hmm, yes, fair point. But listen, nothing is going to mar my mood today, so let’s review the clues we’ve found so far. Ah, thank you, always one step ahead, Clifford.’ She picked up the notebook on the tray next to her tea. ‘I tell you, Clifford, nobody can upset me today.’

  ‘An excellent attitude for your meeting with Lady Millicent Childs.’

  Eleanor groaned. ‘Blast! I’d completely forgotten. I take it all back. Quick, find a box of bullets engraved with my name and shoot me.’

  ‘I seem to recall you insisted Lady Childs sounded genuine last night.’

  ‘Y-e-s, but that was last night. Although, I do admit I’m fairly sure she wasn’t faking the fear in her voice.’

  Clifford coughed. ‘Uncomfortable though it is, I confess to still having one leg straddling the fence, my lady. Lady Childs has proven herself to be somewhat—’

  ‘Merciless? Malicious?’

  ‘Neither are the word I was searching for.’

  ‘Evil?’

  Gladstone let out a whimper in his sleep.

  Clifford tutted. ‘More like—’

  ‘A total witch?’

  He peered at her as though she were a small child requiring a carbolic mouthwash. ‘Emotional, my lady.’

  ‘Emotional? You see Millie as a crier? Cripes, I can’t see how you could ever wring tears out of stone.’

  ‘I was referring more to Lady Childs’ tendency to wear her heart, however cold, on her sleeve. Unless, of course, she is merely a very accomplished actress.’

  ‘I really don’t see that we have a choice, do you?’

  ‘Indeed. If Lady Millicent Childs is on the level, she may well lead us to a vital clue.’

  ‘Or a bullet, fresh from the engravers.’

  Eleanor’s words were still with them later that evening as they arrived at the Pike and Perch, the agreed meeting point. An inn on the busy road that led to Oxford, it had seemed safe enough, normally being open until ten, an hour later than their rendezvous with Millie. The weather had started to close in during the afternoon and the air was charged with electricity. An occasional whispered rumble warned of an approaching storm. Eleanor pulled her shawl around her and peered across the empty car park. ‘Clifford, why is the pub in darkness?’

  ‘I am unsure, my lady, but I fear we should leave as all is not as we imagined.’

  ‘No, look there’s Millie.’

  ‘My lady, I am a dedicated fan of caution, and of staying alive. I repeat my suggestion that we retreat.’

  But his words were lost as Eleanor slammed the passenger door behind her. You’ve no choice, Ellie, Lancelot’s running out of time. She walked towards the other woman who continually looked around like a terrified rabbit, scouring the inky shadows cast by the moon over the nearby barn cum barrel store and the sprawling pub itself.

  Eleanor heard the driver’s door of the Rolls click open behind her, the engine still purring.

  She called across the gravel. ‘Millie, where is everyone?’

  ‘Shut up, you fool! We could be overheard,’ her date hissed back in the gloom.

  As the two women got closer, Eleanor stared at Millie’s make-up-less face and flat shoes, unheard of for one so fashion conscious. Millie grabbed her arm and dragged her into the shadows at the edge of the parking.

  ‘Listen, it’s too dangerous to stay here long.’ She opened her handbag and pulled out a cigarette. She lit it and took a long drag, eyeing Eleanor through the smoke. ‘First up, this has to be between just you and me, but I’m not convinced I can trust you.’

  Eleanor stared at Millie, the ghost of her past hovering in the air. They were the exact words her husband had used before he had disappeared on a ‘secret mission’ for the army. Except, of course, there had been no secret mission, just a secret liaison with another woman. The irony was, it was the other woman who had turned him over to the authorities for selling arms to the enemy. Eleanor had never had the chance to thank her. She eyed Millie coolly.

  ‘Thanks for your vote of confidence.’

  Millie looked at her with pure hate. ‘For the life of me I cannot fathom what Lancelot sees in you!’

  Eleanor had had enough. ‘You know, you may not have anything better to do tonight, but I certainly do. I only came here because I hoped you had some information that might help Lancelot, but, silly me, you just wanted to fight.’ She turned to leave.

  ‘Wait!’

  Eleanor turned back. ‘Why should I?’

  Millie eyes betrayed her struggle. ‘Because… look, you’re the only one who seems to be… trying to help Lancelot. The others are a total waste of space. They’re just carrying on partying
, saying it’s what he’d want us to do. He’ll hang and then they’ll weep that he’s gone. It’s pathetic!’

  Eleanor’s stomach lurched at the word ‘hang’. She fought down a wave of panic and counted silently to three. ‘Millie, have you found out something about the night the colonel was killed that could help Lancelot or not?’

  Millie shook her head. ‘No. I called you… about Albie, the stupid fool.’

  Eleanor blinked. ‘Albie?’

  Millie hesitated. ‘I believe… Albie was murdered.’ She stubbed out her cigarette on one of the empty barrels piled around and instantly took out another and lit it. Eleanor waited, her mind racing. Millie took a drag and continued. ‘I overheard Albie on the phone trying to blackmail someone.’

  Her words rattled Eleanor. ‘Are we talking about the same man? Albie? Artistic, melancholy, poetic Albie?’

  ‘Money-grabbing, desperately social climbing, get-me-out-of-the-hellish-life-I-was-born-into Albie, yes. He was so out of his league, so out of his depth financially. I can’t imagine what Coco was thinking when she invited him to join us that first night.’

  ‘But he kept up though, didn’t he?’

  ‘After a fashion. He was disgustingly tight when it came to buying his rounds. Lucas often got Albie’s in for him, he’s far too soft. It didn’t do Albie any favours.’

  Eleanor reeled at Millie’s lack of compassion. ‘Maybe he was just trying to make a better life for himself, what’s wrong with that?’

  ‘I’m all for ambition, but he tried to do it purely on the back of knowing us. He imagined we would be his meal ticket, offer him connections.’

  ‘So you weren’t his number one fan, I get that. Why do you care if he was murdered then?’

  ‘Because, stupid, his death is linked to the colonel’s.’

  Eleanor’s stomach churned again. Did Millie really have a clue that linked Albie’s death to the colonel’s and… don’t dare hope, Ellie… and proved Lancelot innocent?

  Millie looked around and then leaned forward. ‘The night Albie died Lucas and I were round at his disgusting apartment.’ She brushed her hands as if mentally washing them. ‘It’s such a dive. Anyway, we decided to leave and go to Johnny’s instead, where you can breathe and move about without fearing you might catch something. So we trooped out to the car.’