‘Not a day over forty, I’d say he was.’
Eleanor shivered and mentally counted her blessings.
‘They’ve dismissed her, you know.’
‘I heard the police questioned her for an hour!’
‘But even if they don’t press charges, where’ll she ever find another position with that hanging over her?’
‘It must have been an accident. Who’d want Mr Aris dead?’
Eleanor had heard enough, but suddenly she froze. Had she misheard that name?
Johnny’s mother spoke again. ‘Mr Aris did a lot for our area, no question. His wife must be distraught.’
The voices moved away, leaving Eleanor shaking her head. She hadn’t known Aris well, but she’d been at a dinner party with him and his wife only a few days before hosted by her friends, Lord and Lady Fenwick-Langham. He’d seemed an odd mixture of bull-headed politician and sympathetic women’s rights supporter. His wife hadn’t said much. Eleanor had the impression that she was only there to support her husband. She sighed. Poor woman! Condolences needed to be at the very top of her list, just as soon as she had beaten the darkening clouds back to Henley Hall.
Two
On the pavement, Eleanor set to work weaving a ‘that’ll-do’ patch to her basket and lashing it more securely to her handlebars with the string Mr Penry had given her.
With everything as shipshape as it was likely to get, she gave a mighty heave and backed her bike onto the cobbled street.
From behind, she heard the unmistakable rattle of milk bottles bouncing in their wooden crates. She straightened up and turned to see twinkling hazel eyes under a mop of red-brown curls.
‘Good morning, Lady Swift. What a fine day we’ve not been promised.’
Eleanor smiled. ‘Good morning. Mr Stanley, isn’t it?’
‘Close enough, Stanley Wilkes, m’lady, at your service.’
‘Forgive me, I’ve only met you once at the back door of Henley Hall and I have a terrible memory for names.’
‘No matter there. Most folks call me Milky.’ He grinned and thumbed the collar of his blue and white overcoat as he leaned in to whisper, ‘Not very imaginative, but ’tis a tiny village.’
She whispered back, ‘You’re not a Buckford man then?’
‘Me? I’m not even a Buckinghamshire man!’
She gave a mock intake of breath. ‘Don’t you fear being burned at the stake one dark Lammas Eve by an angry rabble waving pitchforks?’
Stanley guffawed. ‘’Tis a worry every August first, but I’ve made it through another year unscathed as the offcomer from afar. Mind, there’s always Bonfire Night to watch out for. I’ll be sure to lock my doors come dusk on November fifth.’
Eleanor smiled at his effortless charm. ‘What nonsense! I’m a total interloper and yet we’ve both been taken in wonderfully by the Little Buckfordites, haven’t we?’
‘That we have, m’lady.’
Two ladies passed them, their heads bent together conspiratorially. Eleanor just caught their words.
‘Reckon they’ll have another election soon now poor old Aris is gone. How are we going to vote?’
‘What do you mean? You know as well as I do, if you bother to vote, you’ll vote the same way as your husband, and so will I. Anyway, that’s not what I meant. I heard Aris’ death might not have been entirely natural, if you get my drift…’
They faded out of hearing. Ellie shook her head. Gossip! Although she was partial to it, she was trying to stay away from anything that might get her mixed up with any more murder cases. She held her hand out and watched a few fat drops of rain fall into it.
‘I imagine the weather is better for you, Mr Wilkes, now that we’re out of that scorching summer? For your milk deliveries, I mean.’
He nodded. ‘There’s less worry of it curdling, for sure. Less trouble for my customers with the birds too, of course.’
She had grown up in the wilder, woolier parts of the world, with most of nature trying to eat her, so this sounded rather quaint. ‘The birds?’
Stanley’s eyes twinkled. ‘Can’t blame the kids, really. Those cardboard tops on the milk, “pogs” they call them, keep the birds off, but the kids creep up and take the cardboard tops for their collection, see. That’s when the birds have a field day. Blue tits, they’re the main culprits, just mad for the cream they are.’
‘I had no idea of the peculiarities of nature you have to contend with, Mr Wilkes.’
‘Makes for interest, as they say, m’lady.’ He nodded at her trailer. ‘Now, at the risk of speaking out of turn, that’s a fair bit of weight there you’ll be needing to haul up the hill. Can I play the role of gentleman and take it for you?’
‘Gracious, that is kind, but I’m quite self-sufficient, really.’
‘So I’ve heard, m’lady.’
His comment surprised her, but his smile was genuine as it reached up to his twinkling eyes. He lowered his voice. ‘If you can keep a secret, I have a date with your wonderful Mrs Butters on the back step of Henley Hall in about forty minutes. Can you believe your own housekeeper left me a billet-doux in a milk bottle?’
Eleanor’s curiosity got the better of her. ‘Gracious, really! Whatever did it say?’
Stanley leaned in. ‘Six pints and a large pot of cream.’
Eleanor laughed. ‘Outrageous! I shall have words with Mrs Butters. And as to your kind offer, do you know I would be most grateful. I have purchased rather a lot and been given more and… well, the details don’t matter.’
‘Fair play to you. I can put your trailer over there by shifting the empty crates and I’ll deposit it all safe and shipshape with the notorious Mrs Butters, how’s that sound? There’s room for yourself and the bicycle too, if you wish.’
‘Just the trailer would be perfect, thank you. I definitely need some fresh air to blow away the cobwebs.’
Eleanor waved as she rode off, unencumbered, determined to get to the Hall ahead of him and leave a gift with her housekeeper to give him for his kind gesture.
She wondered if she ought to have given some sort of hand signal as she’d pulled away. The government had just made hand signals compulsory for all drivers and she figured it wouldn’t be long until they introduced them for cyclists. Honestly, Ellie, once those politicians start legislating, they don’t know where to stop!
Setting a steady pace, she soon rounded the end of the high street and took the right fork that ran alongside the village common. Lines of beech, the county’s favourite tree, added swathes of autumnal yellow, gold and bronze to the otherwise green vista. A single quack from the pond made her look over. She noted the wilting bulrushes that had stood so proudly throughout the hot months, their velveteen ends looking so soft and inviting. Now the clumps had a forlorn and bedraggled air. The season had definitely turned. Summer was through for another year.
The overheard conversation in the shop came back to her: ‘Not a day over forty, I’d say he was.’ The shiver that ran down her spine made her handlebars wobble. Today of all days, she had been determined not to think about death, or the passing of time. For today was the 18 October 1920, the twentieth anniversary of her parents’ disappearance. The grief had finally eased as she reached her twenties. The regret of not knowing what had happened, however, stayed with her, even though she was now twenty-nine.
Come on, Ellie. You’ve dealt with this before! Giving her legs an extra turn of speed, she began the long, tortuous three-mile climb up to Henley Hall. Here, she knew one of the staff would make a greatly exaggerated display of his disapproval at her state and the others would fuss over her scratched arm and mend her torn clothes as much as her mother used to.
Eleanor shook her head to dislodge more unwanted thoughts. Her mother’s nightly words leaped into her mind: ‘Don’t forget to count all your silver linings as you fall asleep, darling.’ The memory brought a smile to Eleanor’s face and banished the icy chill creeping in with the rain. She set to cycling up the steep hill with renewed
energy as she resolved to do just that.
But where to start? Compared to only last year, life was looking so much better. She nodded and mentally ticked off the lengthy list of blessings as she crawled past the hedgerows. Her staff were loyal and caring. Henley Hall was a beautiful, if enormous, home. Clifford, the butler she had also inherited, kept everything running in impeccable order, which she was grateful for. And then there was that restless feeling that had driven her to distraction, the one that had told her for years that putting down roots would only lead to heartache. That had diminished, and she had managed tentative steps at building relationships.
Ah, that thought conjured up an image of another silver lining, a certain dashing gentleman. Despite breathing hard over the steepness of the rise, she felt her face split into a wide grin. Lancelot, or ‘young Lord Fenwick-Langham’ as Clifford referred to him, had caught her eye and awoken a longing. One she had buried ever since her ex-husband had turned out to be as trustworthy as a jackal. She was even on first-name terms with Lord and Lady Langham, Lancelot’s parents.
She stood up out of the saddle, pushing hard on the pedals to conquer the bend where she had fallen off on her way to the village. Despite the steep incline, without her trailer and shopping she felt like she was flying up the hill. Oh, don’t forget Gladstone in your list of blessings, Ellie! She now shared her wonderful new home with the silliest, soppiest bulldog that had ever been born. Ball-mad, sausage-obsessed, ‘Master Gladstone’ was loved by all the staff and already devoted to her. Whoever said diamonds were a girl’s best friend clearly hadn’t received happy bulldog kisses in bucketloads. She pictured him lying on his back on his quilted bed next to the kitchen range, the ladies working round him, his contented snores filling the room.
The image of the driven young woman who had travelled solo across some of the harshest terrain imaginable popped into her head. Was that really ‘Old Ellie’ as she now thought of herself back then? ‘Back then’ being only a matter of ten months.
She laughed. One thing remained the same: she was still no good at doing nothing. She loved her new life, but since inheriting her uncle’s estate, she really had no need to do anything except play at being Lady of the Manor. That ignited something that had lain dormant for years, the excitement she had shared with her parents over their projects to support struggling communities around the world. Their work had taken them to dangerous places, yet young as she was when it all stopped so abruptly, she’d recognised even then how it had fulfilled them.
She nodded to herself. That’s what’s missing, Ellie. You need to do something that matters, like my mother and father did. Something that changes things for others.
‘Yes!’ she wheezed aloud, grinding up the last cruel rise of the hill. What a wonderful epiphany to reach on the anniversary of her parents’ disappearance and one that dissolved her wistfulness for what might have been, had they still been around. She blew a kiss heavenwards.
Three
The wind seemed to be at Eleanor’s back as she flew under the arch of Henley Hall’s imperious gates. She sped on down the half-mile driveway, delighting in the lines of rustling London Planes, their now-russet leaves no longer reminding her of the end of summer. It was a new season, a new beginning. New Ellie was ready to burst forth! Thus it was that she arrived at the entrance to Henley Hall in great, if rain-soaked, spirits, her cheeks flushed with more than just exertion.
As if by an unseen force, the front door opened as she whizzed across the semi-circular drive with its central fountain.
‘Ah, Clifford, good timing.’ She braked hard, sending a small shower of gravel over his impossibly shiny shoes as he closed the gap to her front wheel.
‘My lady.’ Eleanor’s butler gave his customary half-bow and took the handlebars of her bicycle as she dismounted. ‘Forgive my observation, but perhaps you have returned with less than you set out with this morning. Was your shopping trip entirely unsuccessful?’
‘Not a bit, actually. Aside that is from returning minus a patch of skin on my arm, a trifling section of my skirt and some unnecessary attachments for my bicycle basket.’
Clifford’s gaze went from the bicycle to her dishevelled appearance. ‘My error, my lady, I erroneously thought you had also left with some decorum this morning.’ He winked.
Eleanor tried to hide a smile. The only thing more unorthodox than her at Henley Hall was her late uncle’s butler. As much at home handling an armed assassin as uncorking a vintage bottle of the rarest Romanée-Conti, he’d been her uncle’s batman, servant and friend for over thirty years. Tasked by her uncle on his deathbed with looking after his beloved niece’s happiness and safety, he fulfilled his duty with a mixture of impeccable butlering, dry wit and steel resolve.
She pulled a face. ‘Very droll! I may have had a slight altercation with a hawthorn hedge, that’s all. And it came off worse, I assure you. Now, let’s get out of this rain. I’m already soaked, but there’s no point in you being the same.’ He half-bowed and wheeled her bicycle towards the garages. ‘Sorry about the shoes,’ she mumbled.
Inside, Mrs Butters, her housekeeper, bustled down the hallway to meet her. With her diminutive frame and homely figure, topped off by plenty of smile lines and a motherly air, Eleanor invariably wanted to hug her on sight. She refrained, however, as she had already crossed the line between the lady of the house and the servants on numerous occasions.
‘My lady, I hope your ride was enjoyable? Oh, but you’re soaked. And you’ve been fighting with the spikiest of hedgerows again, it seems. And perhaps His Majesty’s jury might be out on who won this time?’
Eleanor chuckled. ‘Well, looking on the bright side, I shan’t need to apologise for causing you more work as I’ve done on occasion.’ She gestured at the long tear in her skirt. ‘My favourite member of my wardrobe is no more. Silly of me to wear it on my bicycle.’
‘Oh, I don’t think we will send out the funeral cards for it quite so soon, my lady. Shall we get you dried off and your arm fixed up and then I’ll see what we can do with your poor skirt? By tomorrow, no one will know you and the hedge ever came to blows.’
‘Except every member of the village who has just trailed me in and out of the shops, offering sympathy and safety pins.’
Her housekeeper chuckled and took Eleanor’s hat and coat.
‘Oh gracious, Mrs Butters, I almost forgot two very important things! A small task for you, if I might ask, and one for Clifford.’
‘Anything at all, my lady, what is it I can do for you?’
‘A half bottle of brandy, please, to be given to the milkman.’ She watched her housekeeper’s eyebrows rise to her hairline.
‘Milky Wilkes?’
‘That’s him.’
‘Very good.’ She turned to go, but paused. ‘Forgive me, but I think tongues might begin to wag.’
Eleanor winked at her. ‘I do believe, Mrs Butters, that they already have.’
Fifteen minutes later, Eleanor had changed into comfortable trousers and a matching cosy, sage cardigan with three-quarter-length sleeves over a cream silk blouse. There was a clatter of a tray being set down outside the morning room door and the sound of muttering. Ah, that would be her maid bringing the tea. Eleanor smiled. She appreciated her staff enormously and constantly marvelled at how so few kept the Hall running to such a high standard.
‘Come in, Polly,’ she called.
The door swung open, banging against the wall and bouncing back onto Polly’s head as she bent to retrieve the tray from the floor.
‘Morning again, your ladyship.’ The young girl gave an awkward curtsey on her gangly fifteen-year-old legs. ‘I was going to knock, honestly.’
‘Thank you, Polly. Gosh, those pastries look delightful!’ Eleanor clapped her hands. ‘I’m quite famished after my bicycle ride.’
‘Mrs Trotman said as to tell you,’ the maid stared at the ceiling for a moment, ‘that the twists are pear and walnut with sultanas and the turnovers are brandied a
pple and elderfl— No, elderberry.’
Eleanor gestured to the coffee table between the two cream damask sofas, adroitly moving the framed photograph of her late uncle with his beloved bulldog from harm. ‘There, a little more room. How’s that?’
‘Just wonderful, thank you.’ Polly set the tray down and then stared in dismay at the splash of spilt tea on the tray. Her chin fell to her chest, her voice a tiny whisper. ‘I am trying really hard, your ladyship, really, really hard.’
Fearing tears, Eleanor patted the girl’s shoulder. ‘I know you are, Polly. That is why I asked that you be charged with the very tricky task of bringing my tea. I think you’ve done a wonderful job.’
Polly peeped up, looking somewhat unconvinced. Eleanor noticed her eyes settle on the bandage poking from her sweater sleeve. ‘You’ll never guess what happened this morning, Polly? My shoelace betrayed me and caused me to fall off my bicycle into a hawthorn hedge with…’ she leaned in ‘…my skirt up over the saddle of my bicycle!’
The maid’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘Your ladyship, you must have been all of a show, with everything out for all the world to see!’
Eleanor nodded. ‘It was very unladylike, Polly. I was hanging over my bicycle with my behind stuck out like an archer’s target.’
The young girl’s horror switched to hysteria as she giggled behind her hands. ‘So sorry, your ladyship, but that is a funny picture, isn’t it?’ She tailed off, eyes wide with fear she’d overstepped the line, again.
‘No, Polly, it wasn’t funny, it was hilarious. Thankfully, there was no one to see, just the hedgerow birds.’
‘Poweee! You were born lucky this morning, your ladyship.’
Eleanor smiled as the young girl left, appreciating her delightful innocence and genuine wish to do her best.
In the morning room, Eleanor caught up with Mrs Butters.
‘Ah good, so Mr Wilkes made it up with all my shopping then. Was the brandy well received?’
A Witness to Murder: An unputdownable cozy murder mystery (A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 3) Page 2