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

by Verity Bright

  ‘Indeed, my lady. However, our suspect list isn’t that extensive, consisting only of the dowager Goldsworthy and her niece, Miss Cora Wynne, the Viscount and Viscountess Littleton, the Childs sisters, Prince Singh and Mr Seaton.’ He coughed. ‘Perhaps, on reflection, it is quite a list. We do, however, have some more information on that score already, my lady. Lady Fenwick-Langham rang while you were indisposed and informed me that Mr Seaton’s parents confirmed he’d been with them all day at a family gathering and that he left them around seven thirty in the evening. Unfortunately, however, Mr Appleby apparently died around one in the morning and Mr Seaton’s parents told Lady Fenwick- Langham that he hadn’t returned that night. They presume he had been out with his friends until the early hours as usual and then stayed at his apartment outside Oxford.’

  Eleanor sighed. ‘The trouble is, these blasted bright young things all party together and all provide alibis for each other, but you do not know who, if any of them, to trust. Even if they aren’t involved, they’ll cover for each other.’ She finished her brandy. ‘Clifford, what is your normal tipple?’

  ‘A mild porter in the good weather months and a ginger wine in winter, for its medicinal properties, naturally.’

  ‘Naturally. Nothing to do with the case, I just wondered.’

  They returned to the investigation and attacked it from every angle they could think of, but a much-needed breakthrough remained elusive. Slowly the warmth of the afternoon gave way to the chill of the evening. Gladstone heaved his squat frame off the rug and stretched first one stiff back leg, then the other. He stared at her and then at Clifford suggesting it must surely be dinner time. Eleanor was just about to suggest they move inside when Mrs Butters appeared on the lawn waving frantically.

  Clifford nodded in the housekeeper’s direction. ‘I believe a visitor has called, my lady.’

  ‘Who the drat is it, do you suppose? Why can’t people plan to arrive unannounced with better timing for the poor unsuspecting hosts? I shall send word that I am not at home.’

  Clifford turned to her. ‘I fear that may not be possible, my lady. The gentleman has himself appeared on the terrace.’

  Twenty-Nine

  The evening shadows stretched out across the floor of the study as Eleanor, arms folded, faced her visitor.

  ‘Inspector.’

  ‘Lady Swift.’ DCI Seldon turned his hat slowly in both hands. ‘I must speak to you. Alone.’

  She realised that at some point Clifford must have stepped noiselessly into the room. ‘I have no problem with Clifford hearing whatever it is you need to say.’

  DCI Seldon’s expression was hard. ‘I do.’

  Goosebumps raced up her arms. ‘Clifford.’ She continued to stare at Seldon. ‘We won’t require tea, thank you. The inspector will not be staying long.’

  ‘Very good, my lady.’ He left as noiselessly as he’d come.

  ‘Well?’

  DCI Seldon took a step forward, which brought him in front of her. Struck by the size of his frame, she felt a ridiculous urge for him to embrace her in his powerful arms. He ran his thumb and index finger along his jaw.

  ‘I am here to inform you that last night… Lord Fenwick-Langham escaped from jail.’

  Her jaw dropped. ‘What! How?’

  Seldon shook his head. ‘Young Lord Fenwick-Langham may be a fool, but it seems Sergeant Brice is an even bigger one! I take full responsibility. I should have moved him to a more secure jail.’

  ‘But… but why did you come here to tell me? Why—?’

  He held up his hand silencing her. ‘I won’t ask if you already knew of Lord Fenwick-Langham’s escape. I will, however, ask you this. Do you believe he is innocent, Lady Swift?’

  She hesitated. ‘My… my heart does.’

  ‘And your mind?’

  She said nothing, but held his gaze.

  He strode over to the window where the evening shadows stretched out across the lawn. ‘Then I offer my sympathies for the decision you must now make. I came here to warn you. If you intend to go to Lord Fenwick-Langham, you need to act fast. I wish I could guarantee your safety to him, and… with him. My men will find him by morning, of that I am sure. If you have any sense, you will be far away from him by then. If you aren’t, the minimum you will be charged with is aiding, abetting and or harbouring a criminal. Good evening, Lady Swift.’ He turned and walked out.

  Eleanor’s mind whirled. He could have waited and tailed her if he thought she knew where Lancelot was, but instead he’d tried to protect her by warning her from being caught alongside a fugitive.

  She ran to the hall, but he was already walking out the front door.

  ‘Inspector! Wait!’

  He called over his shoulder. ‘I don’t believe in fate, Lady Swift. I have, however, learned that some things are just not meant to be.’

  Standing by the window she sensed Clifford’s presence.

  ‘It is rather ironic, is it not, Clifford, that the inspector assumes I know the whereabouts of his escaped jailbird, when I have no idea.’

  Wordlessly he held out a piece of paper. She took it and looked up in confusion. ‘It’s an address. I don’t… What is this?’

  ‘Young Lord Fenwick-Langham is waiting for you, my lady.’

  Her hand flew to her mouth, the paper fluttering to the floor. ‘He’s… waiting?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘How did you…?’

  ‘It transpires young Lord Fenwick-Langham rang Miss Abigail from a public phone box and asked her to pass the address on to Mr Sandford. Mr Sandford passed it on to Lord and Lady Fenwick-Langham, who sent their chauffeur around with it concealed in a brace of pheasants. I assume they feared the phone wires to the Manor and, indeed, here, might be tapped, as did his young lordship, I presume.’

  She hesitated. Don’t do it, Ellie! You don’t really love that clown. He’s the one playing you for a fool, just like your husband, just like…

  Clifford stepped closer. ‘My lady, I assume you are hesitating about whether to go to young Lord Fenwick-Langham?’

  She stared out at the growing gloom. ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘Do you love him?’

  Of course you don’t, Ellie!

  He voice was quiet. ‘Yes. I do.’ She turned to Clifford. ‘But… but suppose I’m wrong, and he doesn’t…’

  ‘Love you, my lady?’

  ‘Yes. Suppose he’s just been using me… and he doesn’t really have any… feelings for me.’

  ‘Then, my lady, we’ll go to young Lord Fenwick-Langham together’ – he adjusted his cuffs – ‘and I’ll kill him myself.’

  Thirty

  ‘We are nearly there, my lady,’ Clifford broke into her reverie.

  She sighed. ‘I wish it hadn’t had to come to this. I’ve only been at the Hall such a short while but it feels… well, it feels like home.’ She leaned forward and squeezed his arm. ‘Thank you for that, Clifford.’ A pang of guilt hit her. ‘Will you say goodbye to the ladies for me? And… and Gladstone? I couldn’t face the farewells. Tell each of them I wish I could scoop them up and squeeze the life out of them. And I’m sorry that you’ve all been caught up in this… this craziness.’

  ‘It has been a pleasure from the very outset, my lady. And will be to the end.’ He pointed to the glove compartment.

  Inside, a brandy bottle lay with two glasses wrapped in a fine red velvet jacket. She poured a hefty measure into the first glass. As she picked up the second, something clinked against the side.

  She held up an emerald locket on a delicate gold chain. ‘What the—?’ She clicked open the clasp and caught her breath at the photo inside. ‘Clifford! Gracious, that’s me on my uncle’s knee.’

  ‘It was your fourth birthday, my lady. Your parents had managed a rare gap between their work projects and spent a delightful fortnight at the Hall.’

  She ran her finger over the photo and then read the inscription, engraved on a double-sided inset: It takes courage to grow up a
nd become who you really are. Your ever loving Uncle Byron.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. ‘Oh, Clifford!’

  He took out a clean handkerchief. ‘Forgive me, perhaps I should have given it to you earlier. Your uncle entrusted it to me in his final hours. He said I would know the right time to pass it on to you. This, I think, is that time.’

  She handed him the first glass and poured a liberal glug into the second. ‘To my uncle, Clifford.’

  They clinked glasses. ‘To his lordship!’

  He eased the car off the road and onto a track. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Nope.’ She glugged the brandy down in one. ‘So let’s go!’

  At the track’s end, the headlights illuminated a farm building that appeared deserted and bordering on derelict. Clifford brought the Rolls to a stop and cut the engine and lights. They stepped out, Clifford staying close to Eleanor. They looked around in the moonlight.

  ‘I suspect, my lady, young Lord Fenwick-Langham is not in the farmhouse that looks ready to fall at any moment.’

  ‘Here!’ The voice came from behind them.

  Eleanor spun around. ‘Goggles!’

  ‘Sherlock, you came. I knew you would.’ His soft stubble made her tingle with delight.

  ‘Did you? Were you sure I would, because I wasn’t.’

  She smiled as he tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

  ‘Darling, fruit, I never doubted you. You’ve already chased me all over the county, what was an extra few miles for a girl as smitten as you?’

  ‘Few miles? We’ve been driving for hours. You are impossible! And you look dreadful. This being on the run doesn’t suit you, you know.’

  ‘Nonsense! My appearance is distinctly roguish, I imagine. No real clue, haven’t seen a mirror in days. Tried a peek in the pond over there but you should see the pike, nearly lost my head. Huge beast it was.’

  She pulled him up. ‘We need to escape, there’s no time.’

  ‘I know. Dashed exciting, what?’

  ‘Lancelot…’

  ‘Sherlock, I can’t tell you how glad I am that you came. Europe sounded horribly dull without you.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope it’s ready for us.’

  He ran his hand along her chin and brought her face up to meet his. ‘What a dashing pair of glitterati we shall be. Those Europeans won’t know what’s hit them.’ He leaned in, his lips just brushing hers.

  A cough interrupted them. ‘My lady, the man I called before we left will meet me on the main road in a few minutes. You should be safe here until then.’

  As Clifford drove off, Lancelot gave her a quizzical look.

  ‘Fake passports, I think.’

  He whistled. ‘Mr Clifford certainly has some useful contacts.’

  He spun round and waltzed her into the hay barn, pulling the door shut behind him. Inside, shafts of moonlight illuminated bales of hay and…

  ‘Florence! How did you get her here?’

  The plane stood in the middle of the barn like a gilded dragonfly.

  Lancelot grinned. ‘Actually it isn’t Florence. Same model, though. I came here by motorcycle. It was too dangerous to try and get Florence, and anyone could have heard, or seen, me landing here.’ He sighed. ‘I will miss her.’

  Eleanor shook her head. ‘But where on earth did you get another plane from?’

  ‘Ah, well, us pilot johnnies are frightfully pally, you know, like a private club. There aren’t many of us, so we help each other out with repairs and parts and so on. This belongs to Hugo Fotherington, a chum of mine, known him since school.’

  ‘And he’s given it to you?’

  ‘Good lord, no! The plan is to fly across to the continent under cover of darkness to a private landing strip another chum owns and hide it. Then Hugo’ll pop over some time later when all the fuss has died down and fly it back. A plane’s like a…’ He looked Eleanor up and down. ‘A bewitching girl. You just couldn’t part with her. It broke my heart to leave Florence behind, but…’ He shrugged. ‘So what do you think of my bijou pied-à-terre away from home?’ He gestured around the barn. ‘Delightful what? Mind, after that wretched cell, it seems rather a palace.’

  ‘Delightful.’ She took a step back. ‘What on earth are you wearing though?’

  ‘Dapper, eh?’ He gave a mock twirl. ‘I borrowed these britches.’

  ‘Who the heck from?’

  ‘From a most helpful washing line.’

  She rubbed her forehead. ‘Lancelot, listen, I need to know something before I agree to leave with you.’

  He pouted. ‘Sherlock, is this going to be that dashedly awkward thing girls do about needing to hear, like, a declaration of undying love, because, well alright, but—’

  She leaned across and clapped her hands over his mouth.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about anything like that now, you total monkey. We’re on the run, you fool. I just need you to be honest with me. I know you tried to steal your mother’s jewels, but… the colonel?’

  Lancelot took her by the arms gently. ‘No, I didn’t kill the colonel. Cross my heart and hope not to die.’

  Her shoulders sagged in relief. She believed him.

  He stroked her cheek. ‘Sherlock, I don’t know how this will… pan out. You still game?’

  She bit her lip. ‘This isn’t a game, Goggles.’ Her eyes searched his face. She started. Something was wrong.

  A tongue of flames licked through a gap between the wooden boards. ‘Lancelot, move!’ She ran to the door and hurled herself at it. It stood firm, throwing her to the ground.

  He yanked her up by the arm. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  ‘Fire! Someone’s set fire to the bloody barn!’ She hammered against the door again. ‘Jammed. They’ve jammed it.’

  She spun round, looking for another way out. The flames quickly spread inside, forcing them to retreat. The beam above the door gave way, bringing half the hayloft floor with it. Overcome by the heat and smoke, they ducked behind the plane as the tinder-dry bales burst into flames.

  ‘There’s no way out, Sherlock, we’re trapped.’ He cupped her smoke-smudged face and kissed her. ‘Dash it, Sherlock, I thought we might have had a future together.’

  She revelled in his kiss, but then pushed him back. ‘It isn’t over yet!’

  She scrambled out from behind the plane and grabbed a metal post from the barn floor, swinging it at the rear wall with a ferocious yell. As it hit the thick planks it bounced off, just missing her head.

  At that moment the barn doors splintered inwards, sending a shower of sparks over them. The flaming bales were shunted apart by what looked like a scaled-down snowplough blade attached to… her Rolls.

  The car jerked to a stop. Clifford leaned out of the window. ‘Get in!’

  The central beam finally surrendered and the last of the roof caved in. Lancelot pushed Eleanor out of the path of the falling timber and into the car. Before he could jump in after her, the Rolls lurched forward, crashing through the rear wall.

  A safe distance away from the funnel of black smoke and clumps of burning straw flying through the air, Clifford pulled over.

  She struggled up from the floor. ‘Lancelot!’ Scrambling out of the Rolls, she started running back to the flaming building.

  ‘Sherlock! Where are you going?’

  She spun round. Lancelot was standing on the rear bumper, his hands gripping the roof. He hopped off, his grinning face covered in soot, and covered her body with his.

  A discreet cough broke the spell. Clifford was standing next to them.

  Lancelot looked up and shook his head. ‘Clifford, you are simply the limit and beyond! I do believe all those yarns Sandford used to entertain me with about you and Lord Henley were actually true. He told me about a snowplough-cum-ramming device Lord Henley had invented, but I thought it was just another tall tale. And now’ – he slapped Clifford on the shoulder – ‘I’ve seen it in action. Nice one.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord, but I do
apologise for moving off when I did. I felt I could delay no longer.’ Clifford brushed the ash off his suit.

  ‘Clifford, bless you, we will be forever in your debt.’ Eleanor leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

  For once, words seemed to fail him.

  Lancelot chuckled and pulled Eleanor close to him again. ‘I do believe you are blushing, Clifford. She really is a terrible mistress, what?’

  ‘However.’ She pointed at Clifford. ‘Don’t ever scold me for graunching the gears again!’

  The remainder of the burning barn collapsed behind them with a terrible groan. They all turned and stared.

  Lancelot sighed theatrically. ‘Well, there goes our chance of a flying escape.’

  Clifford nodded. ‘Indeed, my lord, without a plane your escape will be that much more hazardous. There is the possibility of catching a fishing boat out of Aberdeen, however.’

  Lancelot grinned. ‘We’d better get a move on if we’re going to make that boat then.’ He tried to get in the Rolls but Eleanor blocked his path. ‘I say, old girl, we really need—’

  ‘No!’ The flames of the burning building reflected in her eyes. ‘That’s it. No more running!’

  He took her hand. ‘Sherlock…’

  She shook him off. The fire was reflected in her eyes and something had changed. ‘Listen, for all the thrill of my so-called adventures, the truth is I’ve been running away from my problems ever since my parents disappeared. But now I’ve finally found a place I can call home and people’ – she looked at Clifford – ‘I can call friends and’ – she took Lancelot’s hand back – ‘more, much more, so… no one, NO ONE is going to take that away from me! Much less try to kill me and my new pals.’ She caught Clifford’s eye. ‘Now we turn the tables!’