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

by Verity Bright

  Eleanor tried to keep up. ‘Who is “we”?’

  ‘Lucas and me. Anyway, that’s when I overheard Albie. He was on the telephone on the landing. His landlady let him use it in exchange for teaching her nephew once a week.’ She shuddered.

  Eleanor frowned. ‘I thought you said you’d gone out to the car.’

  ‘Listen, will you? Lucas and I did. Albie said he’d follow us in some car he’d borrowed. He whined about having to be back early as he had some hideous work to do at stupid o’clock the next morning.’

  ‘What sort of work?’

  ‘More tutoring I suppose.’

  Eleanor considered. ‘So if you and Lucas were in the car, how did you overhear Albie on the landing telephone?’

  Millie waved her cigarette. ‘I left my ciggies on his stupid table and Lucas smokes some horrid brand so I went back up to get them. That’s when I overheard him trying to talk like he was a big shot gangster. He was threatening someone.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘How should I know? Look, I don’t want to hang around here any longer than I have to.’ She glanced around again. ‘I overheard him say, “You think you’re so clever but I saw you. So now I want a cut or I’ll go to the police.”’

  Eleanor’s eyes widened. ‘What happened then?’

  Millie laughed hollowly. ‘What do you imagine happened? I got out before he saw me!’

  Eleanor tried to digest Millie’s revelations. ‘So how does that fit in with the colonel’s death and the jewel robbery?’

  Millie sighed exasperatedly. ‘Because, you chump, I imagine the “cut” he was talking about was from the sale of Lady Langham’s stolen jewels. Why did I think you could help? I took a chance on coming to you, what a dumb idea!’ She turned and ran into the darkness.

  Before Eleanor could react, an engine roared into life. She spun round as a car screeched out of the barn heading directly for her. Blinded by the headlights, she couldn’t see who was driving. If she turned and ran, she would never make it back to the Rolls. Instead she stood her ground. When the car was only a foot or so from her, she jumped to one side. The driver had no time to swerve and the car ploughed into the pile of barrels where she and Millie had been standing moments before and stopped.

  The driver’s door swung open as Eleanor ran towards the car. Then a single shot rang out, followed by the sound of shattering glass. The car spun away, the driver’s door slamming shut as it swerved onto the road and was swallowed up by the night.

  Eleanor started after the car and then stopped as Clifford walked up to her, carrying a shotgun. ‘What the devil did you think you were doing?’

  Clifford stopped, his expression inscrutable. ‘I saw the driver attempting to get out of the car, my lady, and fearing he might be armed, shot out the window of the passenger door to discourage the gentleman from leaving the car.’

  Eleanor shook her head. ‘Really, Clifford, I could have easily reached the car and dealt with the driver before he could get out. Now, we don’t even know who was driving the car.’ She sighed, letting out her frustration. ‘I’m sorry, Clifford, that was probably rather rash of me in hindsight. Thank you for your quick thinking.’ She looked around. ‘And Millie?’

  ‘Gone, my lady. It seems she was prepared to run, hence the flat shoes.’

  Eleanor shook her head. ‘And you know what, Clifford? Without her ridiculously high heels, I was taller than her!’

  The storm had broken and rain lashed the windows and bounced off the roof of the Rolls. Inside Eleanor leaned back in her seat as they splashed through the fast flooding, deserted lanes back to the Hall.

  ‘How much brandy is there in the glovebox, Clifford?’

  ‘Sufficient, my lady.’

  They rode on, Eleanor sipping her brandy and Clifford fussing over her possible injuries.

  She peered at her arm and ran her hand over it to double-check. ‘It’s just a scratch. I must have scraped it on one of those barrels without noticing. Probably the adrenaline and all that.’

  He held out a clean handkerchief. ‘True, my lady. However, a scratch deep enough to bleed is in fact called a cut. That will require a proper dressing on our return.’

  ‘Nonsense. Anyway, if it does, Mrs Butters can sew me up when we get home. Her blanket stitch is most commendable.’

  He waved the handkerchief until she took it out of his hand and wrapped it around her forearm.

  ‘One must also be alert for the signs of delayed shock.’

  ‘Clifford…’ Her tone carried a warning.

  ‘Internal bruising can be very hard to spot.’

  ‘Enough!’

  ‘Very good, my lady.’

  She stared blankly out of the misted window seeing nothing of the shadowy hedgerows whizzing past. Her hand crossed to the handkerchief bandage. ‘It was dashedly lonely at times though, you know, Clifford. All that intrepid adventure stuff is great in doses but in between, it is awfully nice to be…’ She tailed off.

  ‘The staff are delighted to have you at home, my lady.’

  She felt her eyes well up. It must be the adrenalin, she told herself again. ‘Thank you. And thank you for the handkerchief… and, well, your concern for my wellbeing with this cut… and, as I said before, for shooting out the driver’s window. Caution probably would indeed have been the better part of valour on this occasion. Live to fight another day and all that.’

  ‘Exactly, my lady.’

  Her brain was still churning a few minutes later. ‘Can you ride a bicycle, Clifford?’

  ‘It has been a while, but the adage one never forgets is accurate in my case. Actually, I used to race when I was younger.’

  ‘Excellent! Then, when I set off on my next adventure, you can accompany me.’

  ‘You are too kind.’ He smiled.

  Twenty-Eight

  Eleanor trailed her finger through the water, looking up at the figure of the little girl in a pinafore that overlooked the lake. It was the following afternoon. Eleanor, having slept in, had taken the morning at a relaxed rate to recover from the previous night’s drama. The storm had moved away in the night, leaving a bright morning with just a few clouds dotted about.

  ‘You know, Clifford, I spent hours staring at this statue on the few holidays I came to stay at the Hall. If I’m honest, I felt as lost then as I do now.’ She sighed. ‘Back then I wondered if my uncle might have been around more if he’d had a nephew instead of a niece. One who relished catching frogs and newts, who loved fishing and would hurrah over the cricket score.’

  ‘Unlikely, my lady. Your late uncle was a staunch fan of amphibians remaining in their own habitats, not charging about the Hall let loose by grubby young relatives.’

  She laughed, then paused. ‘But he might have taken more to a ward who shared his interests?’

  Clifford tilted his head and stared at her for a moment. ‘If you will permit me, my lady, Lord Henley was a gentleman of courageous spirit who lived for adventure. He applauded the bold, young person with the courage to carve her own path. And follow her own heart.’

  She dried her hand on her skirt. ‘Well, he wouldn’t have applauded my affairs of the heart, they’ve all been quite the disaster.’

  ‘I believe Thomas Aquinas would have challenged your statement, my lady. The famous theologian was noted to have said, “Love takes up where knowledge leaves off.” Your uncle also greatly admired another trait in others, that of having the attitude of never giving up hope.’

  She grinned. ‘And a penchant for dressing as a cowboy and adventuring with their butler?’

  Clifford gestured to the wicker picnic basket by her side. ‘And for eating, my lady.’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course. What has dear Mrs Trotman conjured up for us today?’

  They both turned at the sound of huffing, followed by a breathless Mrs Butters. ‘Master Gladstone, you terror! Oh, my lady, I’m so sorry, he just bolted. For a lummock, he can fair pelt along.’

  Eleanor jumped up and laughed a
s the panting bulldog nuzzled her outstretched hands. ‘No trouble, he’s welcome to stay.’ She scratched him under the chin.

  Mrs Butters straightened her dishevelled apron. ‘Joseph is in the greenhouses behind the box hedge if Mr Wilful here starts being a bothersome nuisance, my lady.’

  Eleanor watched the housekeeper cross the neatly edged lawns and disappear through the French doors into the morning room. She turned in a slow circle, taking in the Hall, the grounds and the rolling English countryside.

  ‘Gosh, this really is a beautiful spot, Clifford.’

  ‘Indeed, the Hall is in a privileged position.’

  ‘Actually, I rather think that is a better description for me, I’m the one in the privileged position.’

  ‘If you will permit me, my lady, I would include myself and the rest of the staff in that group also.’

  She beamed. ‘That is genuinely heart-warming to hear, Clifford. I am delighted all the staff agreed to stay on since I arrived.’

  ‘The situation is proving palatable enough at present, my lady.’

  She peered at him. Yes, there it was, that barely perceptible twinkle again. It had taken her a long while to fathom his relentless dry wit and unwavering deadpan persona. Finally, however, she was beginning to understand him and, better still, to enjoy his company.

  A waft of something simply delicious interrupted her thoughts. ‘Oh I say, are those mini scotch eggs?’

  ‘Freshly made this morning, with a parsley and thyme breadcrumb, another speciality of Mrs Trotman’s.’

  ‘Yummy! Two, please, Clifford. Sorry, Gladstone, old friend, you’re not getting the merest morsel of these. But I have a feeling Mrs Trotman has included something for you.’ She extracted a bone for the dog. ‘Thank goodness murder doesn’t ruin our appetites, eh?’

  ‘Most fortuitous, my lady.’

  ‘Do you know some people can’t eat when they’re anxious? What a nightmare!’

  ‘And some find it affects their sleep…’

  ‘Yes, okay, well spotted, so that’s my stress barometer. You, I suppose, don’t have one?’

  ‘It is my experience, my lady, that if events take a downturn there are usually a corresponding number of boots and shoes that require polishing.’

  She recalled him, brush in hand in the boot room. That was his personal slice of solace, his bolthole. She’d unwittingly intruded into his sanctum before and was aware she was doing so again now by prying into the workings of his very private mind.

  ‘Down to business then, I guess. There’s a killer on the loose, and a mountain of confusing clues and a fabulously comprehensive picnic to work through. I can’t decide which is going to take longest.’

  ‘Time is not entirely on our side, my lady.’

  ‘I know, the eggs will get cold,’ she said, wincing as she picked up another with her injured arm. She caught him scrutinising her. ‘It’s fine, Clifford. Anyway, whoever was driving that car got frighteningly close to hitting Millie as well as me. Good thing she’d already scarpered… I suppose.’

  At his disapproving look, she sighed and accidentally dropped the last half of her scotch egg. ‘No!’ She tried to grab it but Gladstone was quicker, gulping down the unexpected treat in one swift lunge. ‘Dash it! I was enjoying that enormously.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I suppose then the next step is to work out who could have known Millie was meeting me at the Pike and Perch? And whether Millie was in on that stunt with the car trying to run me down or not.’

  Clifford reached into the wicker basket. ‘Perhaps your notes will aid us.’ He handed over her notebook.

  She held up the scribbled notes and hastily drawn doodles, one for each suspect, the whole page crisscrossed in a myriad of lines and arrows. Then she pointed at the picnic basket.

  ‘See the difference? Each piece of cutlery, beautifully polished and clipped neatly into its individual place, arranged according to height. The plates all stacked just so. The sherry bottle, label outward, the glasses nestled together and the food packed with infinite care. I know Mrs Trotman made this delectable feast, but she didn’t pack it, did she? This has your meticulous hand all over it.’

  He nodded.

  ‘You see, your ability to create order out of chaos is mind boggling to me. I think you might actually be a wizard.’ She waved the notebook at him. ‘I’ve got all the people and facts here, save for the events of last night. But now when I look at it, it’s as though someone has taken all my thoughts and tipped them onto the paper from an aeroplane and then landed so the pilot could run over and kick them all into even more of a muddle. Everything is just a rambling… confusion.’

  ‘And yet you are the one who has made the connections clearer to me.’

  ‘Really? As I said, I’m so lost, Clifford. Honestly, cycling across the world was a…’ She looked around. ‘… a picnic compared to solving this case.’

  ‘Indeed, my lady. However, if a woman on her own is able to circumnavigate even part of the globe, and on a bicycle at that, it shows she has sufficient grit and belief in herself to solve any number of mysteries. And besides’ – he brushed an imaginary speck from the row of knives with a soft linen tea towel – ‘you are not alone.’

  He reached across and turned the basket towards her. He pressed the back corner and a silk-lined, triangular drawer slid out bearing two brandy miniatures and quarter-size crystal-cut balloon glasses.

  ‘Wow! Did my uncle design that?’

  ‘Among many other items we can explore as and when the situation necessitates.’ He poured her a measure. ‘Tonic, ginger ale, lemon?’

  ‘Neat. And thank you. For the brandy, but mostly for the not alone bit.’

  He nodded to the notebook. ‘Shall we?’

  She stared at the scarf drawing at the top of her page. ‘You know, I can’t fathom how even Lancelot could be daft and trusting enough to get himself caught up as the scapegoat, or the… what is that term the Americans use?’

  ‘I believe the phrase you are searching for is “fall guy”, my lady.’

  ‘That’s it.’ She rubbed Gladstone’s neck. ‘Only that is a sobering thought because Lancelot won’t fall Clifford, he’ll swing if we don’t manage to find out who the killer is. Oh gosh! And I’ve been waffling on about how tasty the scotch eggs were. I really am a monster.’

  He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a neatly folded paper bag, which he unravelled carefully and held out to her.

  ‘Sherbet lemons!’ She popped one into her mouth and closed her eyes, shuffling backwards to give Gladstone enough room to sprawl with his head in her lap. ‘Now I can concentrate. So, Millie said they, that’s her and Lucas, had been at Albie’s flat. Which was so cramped and insanitary in her view that they decided to head to Johnny’s more palatial and hygienic apartment. She overheard Albie on the phone threatening to go to the police if he didn’t get a “cut”. A cut of what we don’t know, but Millie assumed a cut of the money from selling Lady Langham’s jewels.’

  Eleanor took a breath. ‘Millie left with Lucas to go to Johnny’s flat, even though he wasn’t there, which seems a little strange. Later they meet Johnny and Coco at this new club, the Hole in the Wall or some such. Apparently Albie was supposed to follow them in a borrowed car, but never did. Instead he stayed at home and got drunk and then decided to drive, by then fully intoxicated, into a canal it would seem. Why?’

  ‘Well, my lady, people do the most illogical things when under the influence of alcohol, so Mr Appleby driving, and crashing, in that state is not so surprising. What is odd, is that he should agree to go out drinking with his friends, but stay home and drink instead, and then go out.’

  Eleanor nodded. ‘That does seem odd. Then again, we know how easily he was upset. Maybe one of them made a remark and he took umbrage? Or maybe he’d run out of money and couldn’t afford to drink out and didn’t want to say. I mean, I know I’m not financially challenged, Clifford, but the prices at the clubs that lot party at, are steep t
o say the least. Vertical, in fact!’

  ‘Very true, my lady.’

  ‘Anyway, if Albie was trying to blackmail someone for a cut of the stolen jewels once they were… what’s the word?’

  ‘Fenced?’

  ‘Fenced, that’s it. If he was stupid enough to try and pull off blackmailing whoever stole the jewels, it seems likely that it backfired on him horribly and they either got him drunk, or forced him to drink, and then shoved him in the car and ran it into the canal.’ She took comfort in running her hand over Gladstone’s soft warm belly.

  ‘My limited knowledge of Mr Appleby suggests he was a strong scholar but perhaps not best suited to strategy. Do you trust Lady Millicent? After all, she instigated the meeting to confide in you and furnished us with the details of Mr Appleby’s seemingly fatal attempt at blackmail.’

  ‘Well, she seemed genuinely agitated about telling me. In her usual charming manner, she let me know that she wasn’t sure she trusted me.’ She chewed her bottom lip. ‘Honestly, though, I’m not sure. I do believe she is so infatuated with Lancelot that she would risk breaking the loyalty of “the gang”, as they so love to call themselves.’

  ‘Unless I am mistaken, the younger Lady Childs is unlikely to have been wildly keen on Mr Appleby being part of “the gang” though?’

  ‘Perceptive, as always. No, but I agree with Millie in some ways. She made the point that he was forever out of his depth. But what was he to do? He was bright, academically at least. However, there aren’t many lucrative opportunities for the son of a miner, after all. And he was desperate to improve his situation.’

  ‘Desperate enough to resort to blackmail?’

  ‘I wish I knew for certain. He didn’t seem the blackmailing type, but then who ever does? Here we are again with more clues and yet even more confusion. I guess our only consolation is that if Albie was murdered, it was likely to have been, as we said before, by the same person who murdered the colonel. It’s just too unlikely that there are two killers running around, I feel, and unless we have evidence to that effect, let’s assume there’s only one. And as you rightly pointed out’ – she waved a finger at Clifford – ‘that can’t have been Lancelot because he was locked up when Albie died. We just need to verify the movements of all our other suspects the night Albie died. That’s a huge task, Clifford, and one I don’t think we can get done before Lancelot’s trial.’