A Witness to Murder: An unputdownable cozy murder mystery (A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 3)

by Verity Bright

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ Eleanor said. Then she caught on. That was the dinner where Aris died, Ellie.

  Lady Langham waved her hand. ‘Oh, he’s fine now, it’s Manet, that French chef of ours. He insists on cooking that rich, continental food. That’s fine for dinner, but for luncheon! I’ve told him he can prepare simpler food during the day, but he just sniffs and tells me that’s not what he studied for ten years for.’

  Eleanor laughed. ‘Why don’t you just get a cook who will prepare what you, and Harold’s gout, wants?’

  Lady Langham put her hand on Eleanor’s. ‘I keep forgetting you were brought up abroad and have only been in this country a short time. You simply have to have a French chef these days. And the sniffier, the better. We couldn’t possibly get rid of him. What would we do when we entertain?’ She shook her head. ‘Anyway, it was rather a good thing we cancelled. By the sound of things, we got off lightly.’ She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Where was I? Oh, yes, Baron Ashley and his new wife. Harold and I believe Lady Wilhelmina is a delightful young woman. Her father is, well, I forget what her father does, something manual, I think. Or he runs a company or two, where they do manual things. Anyway, I shall be most grateful for your support at luncheon as I know you take the modern view on all things and approve of marrying for love, above all.’

  Eleanor thought back to her own brief, disastrous marriage six years previously. She had indeed married for love after falling for a dashing officer in South Africa. Only it turned out he wasn’t dashing, or an officer. Everyone believed he had been killed in the war, which was true. It was naturally assumed, however, that he died at the hands of the enemy, whereas he’d been shot by his own side for selling arms to the enemy. She shook the memory out of her head. ‘Of course you have my support, although I may not be the best example for them!’

  Lady Augusta laughed. ‘Nonsense! We’ll also have Harold’s support. If he can tear himself away from the shoot, that is. I’ve sent Parsons out to snare him and drag him back.’

  Harold, better known as Lord Langham, was devoted to three things: his wife, his son, and his hunting, not necessarily in that order. Eleanor found his unpretentious company most congenial.

  ‘Has the shooting season started again then?’

  ‘Pheasant season opened just days ago, my dear, but oh, bother of bothers, partridge season started on the first of September. We are simply drowning in the wretched things! I took the liberty of asking Cook to wrap several braces for Clifford to take back to Henley Hall. I do hope you don’t mind?’

  ‘Of course not, what a kind thought, it will be an absolute treat! I haven’t had partridge for ages. Lancelot isn’t joining us then?’ She tried to sound casual.

  ‘Oh, don’t, he’s such a terror! He said something about needing to work on his plane.’

  Eleanor laughed to cover up her disappointment at the news. Then again, he would only have made her inquiries into Aris’ death so much harder with his constant jokes and ribbing.

  Lady Langham clapped her hands. ‘Come, my dear, we’ll meet the four of them on the terrace.’

  Outside, the lightest of breezes brushed Eleanor’s face with a warmth rarely experienced on such an autumnal day. By the time they arrived at the sweeping, balustraded terrace the first couple had finished the tour of Lady Langham’s prize rose garden and reached the top of the stone steps. Lady Langham threw on her impeccable-hostess smile.

  ‘Lord and Lady Farrington, do meet Lady Swift! Eleanor has become quite the family friend, just like her dear, sadly departed uncle.’

  ‘Good afternoon.’ Eleanor smiled at the two of them, pretending not to notice Lady Farrington’s intense scrutiny of her outfit. Every inch the aristocrat, Lady Farrington’s ash-blonde hair, set in tight finger waves, nudged her alabaster complexion. Her long angular frame gave her the appearance of the most elegant of ghosts.

  In contrast, Lord Farrington had the ruddy complexion and robust physique of a man who had excelled at sport in his younger days. His indifferent expression soured his otherwise classically handsome features.

  The Ashleys hurried up the last of the steps and unhooked arms as they each held out their hands to Eleanor. Standing beside her husband, Lady Wilhelmina’s dainty frame exaggerated his tall and slender build as he towered a full head and shoulders above her.

  ‘Lady Swift.’ Baron Ashley looked to be in his early forties and thus close to eighteen or so years older than his wife. He gave her a warm smile that brightened his already personable demeanour. ‘Absolutely delighted to meet you! We’ve heard so much about your exciting adventures.’

  Eleanor laughed. ‘All brushed with a little fictitious glamour, I hope.’

  Lady Farrington tilted her chin up and peered down her long nose.

  Baron Ashley gestured to his wife, his face alight with pride. ‘May I present Lady Wilhelmina.’ As she nodded in greeting, Wilhelmina’s natural honey-blonde curls, pinned loosely with a flower hair clip, bobbed against her flawless rosy cheeks, shining as brightly as her deep blue eyes. The epitome of an English rose, she seemed totally unaware of how radiant she was.

  Eleanor recognised the young woman’s uncertainty over the correct protocol and stepped forward to scoop both of her hands into her own. ‘Lady Wilhelmina, my congratulations on your recent nuptials! Did you have the most wonderful day?’

  Like her demeanour, her voice was gentle: ‘Lady Swift, it is so lovely to meet you and yes, thank you, we had the most beautiful and special day. It was like a fairy tale wrapped in a dream.’

  ‘So delightful!’ Lady Langham said with a contented sigh. ‘A day to remember throughout all your many, many auspicious years to come. Now, shall we retire to the dining room and await Harold’s arrival? I do apologise, he must have become engaged in a fearful tussle with a brace of winged beasts.’ With a strained tinkling laugh, she turned and led the way.

  To Eleanor’s eyes, the second dining room was no less opulent than the main one she’d dined in previously. The chinois theme covered the walls with exquisite silk wallpaper designs of oriental flowering trees, brightly painted birds and insects amongst the branches. Lacquered side tables topped with highly detailed china vases punctuated the marble columns that rose up to meet the intricately plastered ceiling, from the centre of which hung three glittering chandeliers, throwing intricate patterns along the length of the long dining table, dressed in the finest starched linen.

  Lady Langham nodded to Sandford to sound the gong. She gestured to the table.

  ‘Shall we?’

  As they took their places, Parsons, the tall first footman, filled the doorway and nodded to Sandford.

  The butler announced, ‘His lordship is arriving, my lady.’

  His announcement was unnecessary as the booming voice could already be heard.

  ‘Luncheon, how spiffing! Simply famished. Trying to outwit wily pheasants will do that to a chap.’ Lord Langham paused, halfway into the room. He smoothed his impressive moustache. ‘How goes everyone’s morning?’

  ‘It is well into the afternoon now, Harold dear.’ His wife sniffed from the head of the table.

  Lord Langham bent and gave her an affectionate peck on the cheek. He looked round at the guests. ‘Bit short on numbers, aren’t we? Some of them scarpered already?’

  ‘Harold, please be seated! Sandford, his lordship will take a fruit juice.’

  Lord Fenwick-Langham gave a mock pout and then winked at Eleanor. He took his place at the opposite end of the table.

  Baron Ashley cleared his throat. ‘Harold, how was this morning’s shoot?’

  ‘Top hole, thank you, Clarence, old man. Not really a shooting man yourself, I seem to recall?’

  ‘Never quite felt the urge, actually,’ Baron Ashley said, returning his wife’s smile.

  Lady Langham clapped her hands. ‘How delightful! We are all together, finally. Let us begin.’ Her words were the signal for the staff to present the first course. A morning-suited fi
gure appeared behind each chair with a silver salver, covered in an ornate matching dome. These were then placed in front of each guest.

  To her horror, Eleanor noticed in her reflection, she had a smudge on her nose. Where on earth did that come from, Ellie? Rubbing discreetly with her napkin, she thought she had got away with it until Lord Langham gave her a big thumbs up.

  With a nod from Sandford, the silver domes were removed in perfect unison to reveal confit leg dressed with celeriac. The clink of cutlery rang round the table. Eleanor noticed Lady Wilhelmina hesitate over the long line of forks before peering at the one her husband held up discreetly for her to see.

  She took a delicate mouthful and then busied herself with her napkin. ‘Simply delicious, Lady Langham! What a delightful treat to be here for luncheon.’

  Their hostess beamed. ‘Dear Wilhelmina, the pleasure is all ours. And do call me Augusta.’

  Lady Farrington threw a thin smile to the young woman. ‘Being new to society, perhaps you haven’t had the chance to attend many functions yet?’

  ‘No, not really,’ Lady Wilhelmina said, her cheeks scarlet.

  ‘No time,’ Baron Ashley rushed to her rescue. ‘We’ve been rather caught up settling in at home together. So much to do after the wedding, you know.’

  Lady Langham nodded. ‘Absolutely! How is married life at Castle Ranburgh treating you, Clarence?’

  ‘Absolutely wonderfully,’ Baron Ashley replied. ‘Wilhelmina has had some exciting ideas for decorating, which is long overdue. The place does have something of a forlorn bachelor air, after all.’

  Lady Langham smiled at the young woman. ‘Do tell us some of your ideas?’

  ‘Oh, gracious. I… well…’

  Her husband came to her rescue. ‘Wilhelmina would never admit it, but she is the most incredible artist. I shall insist that she fills the castle with her own works.’

  Lady Wilhelmina blushed again but gave him a loving look.

  Eleanor remembered Lady Langham’s plea for support. She turned to Lady Wilhelmina. ‘I’ve never really tried the arts, but I don’t think I would master any of them terribly well. Patience isn’t my forte.’

  ‘Regular dynamo, this one. Always on the go,’ Harold said proudly to the rest of the table.

  Lord Farrington fixed Eleanor with a slightly derisive look. ‘I’ve heard you are quite the modern lady?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say,’ she replied blandly.

  His wife was still staring at her. ‘Lady Swift, do tell. What does a “modern woman” occupy herself with these days?’

  Okay, Ellie, this is your chance. ‘Well, the Women’s League have asked me to stand as an independent candidate as poor Mr Aris’ successor.’

  Lord Langham harrumphed from the depths of his brandy glass. ‘Well, if you get elected, see if you can’t do something about those blasted death duties, won’t you?’

  She laughed. ‘I’ll try, but I haven’t actually agreed to stand yet.’

  Lord Farrington shook his head. ‘Governing this country should be left to those with the natural aptitude to do so, which isn’t women!’

  Harold rose and tottered over to the drinks table. ‘My dear Eleanor, I think you did the right thing in saying no.’

  The Farringtons and Lady Langham nodded in agreement.

  Eleanor felt her face flushing. ‘I haven’t actually said I won’t stand either… yet.’

  Lady Farrington nodded frostily. ‘As that wretched American, Lady Astor, has clearly shown, Alexander is right. Parliament is no place for a lady.’ She smiled thinly at Eleanor. ‘Although, if you were elected, you could keep each other company.’

  ‘I’m sure we’d get along wonderfully,’ Eleanor replied sweetly.

  Lord Farrington snorted loudly. ‘And would you get along with that criminal disgrace, Pankhurst? I heard she’s now been charged with sedition after calling on workers to loot the London Docks! How is that furthering your so-called women’s rights?’

  Before she could reply, Lady Langham interrupted. ‘I think that’s enough talk of politics at the table, please, Alexander!’

  Lord Farrington rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Eleanor also held her tongue.

  ‘Quite right, Augusta old girl, let’s change the subject.’ Harold turned to Lord Farrington. ‘How’s the hurly-burly of property treating you, old chap?’

  Lord Farrington pursed his lips. ‘Portfolio’s strong enough but suffered a wretched setback on a recent venture. Terrible timing!’

  His wife shot him a look and addressed no one in particular. ‘Investment opportunities are so varied these days, don’t you find? I’ve even heard of quality people actually considering the entertainment industry a respectable option. Can you imagine?’

  Harold chortled. ‘Modern times have arrived, you know. We’re going to have to lift up the portcullis and let the rest of the world in at some point.’

  Lady Wilhelmina’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth but seemed to think better of it and took a sip from her glass instead.

  Lady Farrington was staring at Eleanor. ‘Perhaps Lady Swift can give us the modern woman’s view again? Especially one so travelled?’

  There was something about her tone that rubbed Eleanor up the wrong way. She kept her voice level. ‘Oh, I doubt it. I’ve become quite the contented country girl, you know.’ How to turn the conversation back to Aris’ death without making it too obvious, Ellie? She was saved the trouble by Lord Farrington unintentionally coming to her aid.

  ‘I can imagine you had to eat all manner of unmentionable things on your adventures across the world?’

  Eleanor grasped the opportunity. ‘Beyond unmentionable, actually. Unrecognisable as even meat or vegetable all too often, but I was always grateful for the hospitality of people everywhere. Only trouble was, of course,’ she mentally apologised to her hostess again, ‘one never knew if one was going to have an adverse reaction to a food, and out in the wilder spots that was a concern.’

  ‘Gracious, you mean like that chap Aris?’ Harold said. His wife shook her head. Eleanor gave him a silent cheer.

  Oblivious to his wife’s horror, Harold rolled on: ‘Wasn’t even out of the Home Counties, never mind the woolly wilds of the world, but that didn’t help him. Went blue around the lips and snuffed it in a heartbeat. In his main course, isn’t that so, Alexander?’

  Eleanor felt for her hostess but couldn’t let the conversation drop. But she didn’t have time to throw out a line as Lord Farrington did it for her.

  ‘I’d say they were purple, actually, Harold. And it was dessert. The fudge, the police chap said.’ He ran his hand through his hair. ‘Not the finest hour on the estate, but there you are. These things, as you say, do happen.’

  From the corner of her eye, Eleanor saw Baron Ashley squeeze his wife’s hand.

  Harold harrumphed. ‘Of course, we missed it all because of my damned gout. Apologies again, old man, for letting you down.’

  Eleanor jumped in. ‘Gracious, my heartfelt sympathies! For the gentleman and his family, but for yourselves equally, Lord and Lady Farrington. That must have been a terrible thing to go through. However did your other guests react?’

  ‘Lots of fainting from the ladies, naturally,’ Lord Farrington replied haughtily.

  Charming! Eleanor tried to keep the frown from her face.

  Harold drummed his fingers on the table. ‘That the reason for your property investment hiccup, Alexander?’

  Lord Farrington nodded. ‘Aris was a good man to know, if you know what I mean.’

  Eleanor saw her chance. ‘I only met poor Mr Aris once, at a luncheon here, actually. Was he a popular man in the area?’

  Lord Farrington eyed her oddly. ‘This would have been his third successful election, don’t you know?’

  Harold was nodding along with this. ‘Course. Tedious what, now you’ll have to hold another swanky dinner to drum up support again to push the bally housing scheme through or it’ll never happen.’ His chuckle
died as he caught his wife’s glare.

  Lady Farrington set her glass down with a little too much force. ‘Actually, Harold, it was a charity dinner. We were fundraising for the Anchorage Mission of Hope and Help.’

  Eleanor grabbed the opportunity. ‘I do hope the tragedy didn’t affect your guests’ generosity?’

  Lord Farrington guffawed. ‘I didn’t allow anyone to use the incident as an excuse not to put their hand in their pocket, if that’s what you mean.’

  Eleanor tried again. ‘It was such an unfortunate mix-up. It was an allergic reaction to peanuts, wasn’t it?’

  Lady Farrington nodded. ‘The cook knew of Mr Aris’ extreme allergy to peanuts and yet she still served them. She’s been dismissed, of course, pending the police’s decision whether to press charges.’

  Eleanor shuddered. She tried to gather her thoughts. ‘I guess then the by-election will be fiercely fought, as the candidates must each feel more hope of being successful now that poor Mr Aris has passed?’

  ‘Carlton for one,’ Lord Farrington said. ‘I swear he looked like the cat who got the cream when Aris was pulled up out of his dessert.’

  Interesting, Ellie! Remember that name.

  ‘Alexander!’ Lady Farrington’s voice cut into her thoughts like a scythe.

  ‘What?’ her husband snapped back. ‘You spent the entire following day telling me just how vociferously he’d rowed with Aris throughout the evening.’

  ‘That is enough!’ said Lady Farrington. ‘Mr Aris’ unfortunate death has occupied too much of Lady Langham’s luncheon. I’m sure no one has any interest in discussing such an indelicate subject. Please move on.’

  Their hostess nodded gratefully.

  Eleanor had the good grace to blush and avoided her hostess’ eye.

  Seven

  The Langham Manor lunch was still sitting like a heavy brick in Eleanor’s stomach as Clifford manoeuvred the Rolls through the southern outskirts of Chipstone on the return drive home.

  ‘Well, Clifford, I made a slight impression on the questions we raised this morning.’