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

by Verity Bright

  Clifford nodded, his eyes twinkling. ‘Spoken like a true Swift, my lady.’

  Lancelot looked from one to the other. ‘Sherlock! I’m the new boy in town here, help me out. What’s the plan?’

  ‘The hunted are about to become the hunters. Ready?’

  He held up his hands. ‘Whatever you say, Sherlock.’

  ‘Clifford, do you have a safe place we can go?’

  ‘Absolutely, my lady.’

  Once in the back of the car with Lancelot, Eleanor leaned forward. ‘By the way, Clifford, what exactly did my uncle use that device on the front of the Rolls for?’

  Clifford eased the battered car onto the road.

  ‘Squirrels, my lady.’

  Thirty-One

  The last twenty-four hours had taken their toll on Eleanor’s body, which made snuggling up to Lancelot all the more wonderful. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his strong forearms cradling her shoulders. Looking up, she realised he had been staring at her.

  ‘You alright, Goggles?’ she whispered.

  ‘No, I feel most odd. Never known the sensation before, it’s like I’m falling.’ He kept his voice low.

  ‘Probably a dash of vertigo from all the smoke.’

  ‘It’s not that. I’m definitely falling… head over heels for a quite incredible redhead with the most amazing green eyes. If I doze off, do you think she’ll be gone when I wake up?’

  ‘Most likely. She’ll probably have seen sense.’

  ‘Lady Swift, you are a shocker.’

  ‘Get used to it.’ She winked and snuggled back into his side.

  The hypnotic rhythm of the Rolls’ engine soon lulled her into a deep sleep, broken by Lancelot kissing her forehead.

  ‘Sherlock?’

  Eleanor sat up and rubbed her eyes, taking in the dark, overgrown brick arch above and behind them, before stretching the stiffness out of her limbs. They both stepped out of the car and looked around in the moonlight.

  ‘Clifford,’ she whispered, ‘where are we?’

  ‘In Northington, a hamlet west of Little Buckford, my lady. I believe we will be safe here. Several of your uncle’s more… colourful acquaintances hid out here. If you will wait a moment.’

  He reversed the Rolls into what appeared to be a solid earth bank, covered in ivy. In fact the car passed through the ivy curtain and vanished. The engine cut out and a moment later Clifford reappeared. ‘If you would follow me, my lord, my lady.’ He led the way down a rough track to a lone cottage swathed in darkness.

  Once inside, with the light illuminated, Eleanor looked around. Clifford pointed to the wicker basket on the simple, wooden table. ‘Perhaps you would like to take some refreshments.’

  ‘Rather! I’m beyond famished.’ Lancelot rubbed his stomach, opened the lid and cheered. ‘Ham and egg pie, a plate of cold meats, two enormous wedges of cheese, sandwiches, three flasks and more. Mr Clifford, I salute you!’

  Eleanor grinned. ‘Oh dear, the poor jailbird’s gone rogue. He does look pretty hungry.’

  Clifford poured two large glasses of sherry and handed them one each.

  Lancelot gave a thumbs up as he swallowed a hunk of cheese, wrapped in ham. ‘Honestly, I could eat a horse, or a large dog at least. I haven’t had a thing since yesterday. A chap can’t carry off that level of sustenance deprivation for long. What time is it now?’

  Clifford pulled out his fob watch. ‘Twelve twenty-seven, my lord.’

  Eleanor laughed. ‘I think there’s finally a chink appearing in your impenetrable butler armour, Clifford.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘How so, my lady?’

  ‘Because your perfect timekeeping has let you down. It’s not twelve twenty-seven, it’s only eleven fifty. See.’ She held up her uncle’s fob watch. ‘It was serviced only last month, so I know it’s right.’

  Clifford nodded. ‘Indeed, my lady, but I believe if you examine it again, you may notice that the second hand is not moving.’

  Lancelot leaned across the table and took the watch from Eleanor. ‘You’re right as usual, Clifford. The bally thing’s stopped. Why would it stop at eleven fifty? Ah! You must have bashed it when escaping from the barn.’

  Eleanor pouted. ‘I’m very fond of this watch. It reminds me of good times with my uncle.’

  Lancelot passed it back to her and grinned. ‘Just goes to show there’s no point in paying for all that expensive servicing, you might as well just wind it forward to the correct time and it will be as right as Clifford’s!’

  Eleanor slapped the table and jumped up. ‘That’s it!’

  Lancelot paused, a slice of ham and egg pie in his hand. ‘I say, old girl, what is?’

  ‘The answer, of course!’

  ‘To what?’

  She looked across to Clifford who was staring at her quizzically. Understanding dawned in his eyes. He turned to Lancelot. ‘To proving your innocence, my lord.’

  Lancelot looked from one to the other. ‘Er… sounds wonderful. Could someone just explain how old Lord Henley’s watch stopping proves me innocent?’

  Eleanor was too excited to sit down, so she walked back and forth as she explained. ‘The whole problem with proving that someone else killed the colonel is that the police believe they know the exact time of his death.’

  ‘Eight twenty-three.’

  ‘Exactly, Clifford. Eight twenty-three, because that was when the colonel’s watch had stopped, after being smashed on the fireplace.’

  Lancelot frowned. ‘So, you’re saying his watch didn’t stop when he died?’

  Eleanor shook her head impatiently. ‘No, of course it did, fathead! Oh, do explain it to him, Clifford, I need to think.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’ Clifford turned to Lancelot. ‘The colonel’s watch did indeed accurately record the time of his death, my lord. However, it wasn’t at eight twenty-three. The murderer, having killed the colonel, took the colonel’s watch and smashed it on the fireplace, breaking and stopping the watch at, near enough, the time the colonel died. He then wound it forward, thereby providing himself with an alibi and rendering yours, my lord, redundant.’

  Lancelot whistled softly. ‘By Jove, what a cunning blighter! So he killed the old colonel, broke his watch and set it forward say… fifteen minutes?’

  Clifford thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps, my lord, maybe slightly less. It would have to have been enough time for the killer to make sure he was back in public view when the body was found, but no more. For every extra minute would have increased the risk of someone other than your lordship finding the body.’

  Eleanor, still pacing, interrupted. ‘But the killer had to take another risk. You see, the colonel had a fob watch, I’ve seen him with it before, but it was the sort you could convert to a wristwatch by way of a strap.’

  Lancelot nodded. ‘I know the sort of thing, always thought it a bit old-fashioned myself, but then so was the colonel.’

  Clifford nodded. ‘Indeed, my lord, but such watches are very popular with officers of Colonel Puddifoot’s generation.’

  Eleanor waved her hand. ‘Whatever, the point is, at the start of the evening before he was killed, I was talking to him and he wasn’t wearing it on his wrist. I’d have noticed it, it was a cumbersome thing.’

  ‘Ah!’ Lancelot held up a finger. ‘So the killer had to take a chance that no one would notice the watch was now on the colonel’s wrist, rather than in his pocket?’

  Clifford nodded. ‘Exactly, my lord. Had the watch been in the colonel’s pocket when the police found it, they might have wondered how it came to be damaged so irreparably. Which means the killer must have known the colonel reasonably well to rely on him having his watch on him in the first instance. But then again, with a man of the colonel’s military background and punctual habits, it was fairly certain he’d never be without it.’

  Eleanor stopped pacing and spun around. ‘That’s it! Now we can work out who the murderer, and jewel thief, is.’ Eleanor glanced at Clifford. ‘Although,
to give Clifford his due, I imagine he’s already worked that out.’

  Clifford half bowed to Eleanor. ‘Thank you, my lady, but I feel you should claim that honour. After your brilliant deduction that the murderer wound Colonel Puddifoot-Barton’s watch forward, the identity of the killer, and as you say, jewel thief, is now a simple matter of elimination.’

  Lancelot looked from one to the other again. ‘Okay, I give up!’

  It was Eleanor’s turn to grin. ‘Look, we’ve actually always known that the colonel wasn’t killed at eight twenty-three because if he had been, then the only two people who could have done it were the two people in the room at that time. And that was me and you, Lancelot. And as I know I didn’t do it—’

  ‘And I know I didn’t.’

  ‘Exactly. Then the colonel must have been murdered earlier as we’ve said.’

  ‘We estimate around eight to thirteen minutes past the hour,’ Clifford clarified.

  Lancelot frowned, trying to follow the events. ‘I understand that means anyone who wasn’t in public view, as it were, around that time could be the murderer now, but how do we narrow that down? We can’t waltz round asking for new alibis from everyone, can we?’

  A cough interrupted them. Clifford was holding out her notebook.

  Eleanor smiled. ‘Thank you, Clifford.’ She opened the notebook and quickly scanned the pages to refresh her memory. She looked at her list of suspects, skipping Lancelot’s name. ‘Right, Lord Hurd we’ve already ruled out. Our first real suspects are the dowager countess and Cora. However, they came over just after I fell, which is about when the murderer would have had to have lured the colonel up…’ She stopped, her hand flying to her mouth.

  Lancelot looked at her quizzically. ‘What’s up, old girl?’

  ‘I’ve just realised that the murderer was probably looking for an opportunity to draw the colonel upstairs and my face planting in front of the entire ballroom was probably exactly what he needed! In fact, the inspector said it had distracted everyone, including his men.’

  She looked at Clifford who nodded, and Lancelot, who looked on eagerly, his mouth full of Mrs Trotman’s ham and egg pie.

  She sighed. ‘Oh well, nothing we can do about it now. Where was I? Oh, yes, that eliminates the dowager countess and Cora. Also Viscount Littleton helped me up, and the viscountess was there too, though she, like the dowager countess, wasn’t exactly sympathetic.’ She looked down at the notebook and put a line through the four names.

  Lancelot finished his slice of pie. ‘So who does that leave?’

  ‘Well, we’ve already cleared you.’ She grinned at him. ‘So that leaves your bright young things gang. We’ve suspected all along that the jewel thief, and then the murderer, was one of them. And another thing, I’ve just worked out what’s been nagging at my mind. It’s something the inspector said. He told me another reason the jewel thief had to be you, Goggles, is that the safe hadn’t been blown and there simply hadn’t been time for anyone to pick the lock.’

  Clifford and Eleanor looked at Lancelot, who flushed at their accusatory gaze. ‘Look here, do you think I’m…’ Comprehension dawned in his eyes. ‘I say, I have been a chump. I told the gang I was going to steal Mater’s jewels and one of the girls, I can’t remember which, started ribbing me, saying I couldn’t do it because I probably didn’t even know the safe code. Well, of course I did, the parentals trust me, you know, so I repeated it from memory just to show them.’ He shrugged.

  Clifford coughed. ‘Which means they all knew the code.’

  Eleanor held up a finger. ‘Ah! But as we discussed, neither Coco nor Millie are strong enough to bash the colonel over the head, so they can be discounted. That leaves us with Albie, Johnny and Lucas. That’s right, isn’t it, Clifford?’

  ‘Yes, my lady. And if we assume that the person who murdered Colonel Puddifoot-Barton also murdered Mr Appleby…’

  ‘Exactly, we can exclude Albie, which leaves Johnny and Lucas. Now, Pickerton, the second coachman, told me that Lucas had to leave early to attend to some emergency. However, Pickerton didn’t actually see him leave, so he could have had time to kill the colonel before he left.’

  ‘Or doubled back, snuck into the house again and killed him?’ Lancelot said.

  Clifford nodded. ‘That might have been tight on timing, my lord, but also possible.’

  Lancelot looked back and forth between them. ‘Look, here, don’t keep a chap in the dark. Which one is it?’

  Eleanor ignored him. She paced the kitchen. ‘The killer has been one step ahead of us at every turn. We need a plan, Clifford.’

  He frowned. ‘I have a rudimentary idea, my lady. However it has two potentially serious flaws.’

  ‘Well, what are they?’

  He coughed. ‘The first is that it would place you in a possibly dangerous, if not perilous, situation.’

  Lancelot jumped up. ‘Hold on, Clifford! I think she’s been in enough danger.’

  She turned to him. ‘Do you have a plan, clever clogs?’

  ‘Er, no.’

  She waved him down and turned back to Clifford. ‘And the second flaw?’

  ‘It relies on us procuring an elephant gun, as sadly your late uncle did not feel the need to include one in the equipment kept here.’

  She slapped her leg. ‘Dash it!’

  ‘I can get you one,’ Lancelot said without looking up.

  They both stared at him in surprise.

  He winked at them and grinned. ‘Who’s the lynchpin now then, eh?’

  Thirty-Two

  Somewhere out in the elegant entrance hall, a mantel clock softly chimed two. A light breeze rustled the floor-to-ceiling silver curtains, letting in a wisp of cool, pre-dawn air. The chesterfield sofa creaked as Eleanor adjusted her position. She’d sat there long enough to take in every inch of the room from the central spiral staircase to the open galleried bedroom. The country mansion, set in its own parkland, had been converted into luxury flats for gentlemen of independent means and normally Eleanor would have admired how tastefully it had been done. Tonight, however, she had more pressing matter on her mind. This is taking forever, Ellie!

  The click of the front door made her freeze. The sound of a man’s dress shoe on the black-and-white marble hall flooring followed. The steps paused, then crossed the thick circular rug of the adjacent reception room.

  Johnny Seaton stopped in the doorway, surprise on his face. He quickly recovered his composure, sliding his white silk scarf from his neck and hanging it over the gold stand of the floor lamp beside him.

  ‘This is a surprise, Lady Swift.’

  Eleanor nodded, her face grim. ‘I had to see you urgently. The night porter wasn’t sure when you’d return, so I asked him if it would be okay if I waited for you.’

  He slid off his jacket, leaving his bow tie hanging loosely around his neck. ‘I see. Good evening, by the way, I do believe I missed that bit. And apologies for keeping you waiting. I was catching up with a couple of chums from Oxford. A fine steak and an even finer Romanee-Conti.’ He grinned. ‘Quite the bachelor night, you might say. Now, I’ll knock up the cocktails and you tell me to what I owe this delightfully unexpected pleasure.’ He took a slow waltz across the room, taking an extra turn around the central gold inlay table. ‘What’ll it be?’

  ‘Look this is really important, but, okay, I’ll have an Angel Face.’

  ‘Well there’s a thing, an angel on my sofa. But tell me, dear girl, you didn’t come here to drink cocktails, did you? What are you really doing here at two in the morning?’

  Eleanor leaned forward. ‘I know who the jewel thief, and Colonel Puddifoot-Barton’s murderer, is.’

  He turned and flipped the stopper from a decanter with his thumb. ‘Good lord, it seems Lancelot was right about you, you really are quite the sleuth. One Angel Face, one Hanky Panky.’ He passed her a glass and then sat on the adjacent chesterfield and slung one leg over the other. ‘Now, spill the beans, who is it?’ He raised his gl
ass and she raised hers in return. ‘And why have you come here to tell me? Flattered though I am.’

  She placed her drink on the table. ‘Johnny, this is serious. I believe you’re in danger.’

  He took a swig of his cocktail. ‘Why me in particular?’

  ‘Because he knows you’re on to him. Just like Albie was.’

  Johnny’s casual manner deserted him. He leaned forward. ‘Albie? You think Albie was… murdered?’

  She nodded. ‘Not think, know. By the same person who stole the jewels, killed the colonel and framed Lancelot.’

  Johnny looked visibly shaken. ‘Poor old Albie,’ he muttered. ‘I should have said something, but…’ He looked up at her. ‘It’s Lucas, isn’t it?’

  She nodded. ‘You knew, didn’t you?’

  He nodded wearily. ‘I wouldn’t say knew, more suspected. And only recently, really. Things just didn’t add up. The jewel thief always seemed to strike when the gang was around, and Lucas and his old man know so much about gems. What clinched it was—’

  ‘When you saw him climb that church steeple?’

  He nodded again. ‘Everything just sort of fell into place. But I had no idea he’d killed Albie, I genuinely thought it was an accident.’

  ‘Well, I realised that you suspected Lucas, and I’ve seen the guarded looks Lucas has been throwing your way, so I’m sure he knows you’ve rumbled him. And there’s more.’ She leaned forward. ‘Lucas mentioned something to me. He told me that he suspected you of somehow being mixed up in the jewel thefts and colonel’s murder—’

  ‘Why the—?’

  Eleanor held up a hand. ‘Listen, Johnny, we haven’t got time. The police found jewels hidden in Lancelot’s car and Lucas—’

  ‘Don’t you mean his plane?’