He leaned across and held out her notebook and pen. After their discussion that morning, she had written everything down.
Flipping to the right page, she cast her eye down her list and tutted. ‘Actually, I haven’t made a dent in them at all. I’ve simply a few more to add.’ She brightened. ‘Still, we have our first suspect.’
Clifford raised an eyebrow. ‘I would imagine, my lady, that anyone who was present the night of Mr Aris’ demise and had access to Mr Aris’ dessert would be a suspect at the moment?’
‘Of course, Clifford, that goes without saying. We need a list of those above, and below, stairs who could have interfered with Aris’ dessert. Until then, I’ve found out that Aris had a series of verbal spats with a Mr Carlton, so we can put him down as our first suspect. And, yes, he was at the dinner that night.’
She wrote ‘Suspects’ on a fresh page and the name ‘Carlton’ underneath. It had become her habit in murder investigations to draw a doodle of each suspect to aid memory. As she hadn’t yet set eyes on this Carlton fellow, however, she put nothing.
Underneath his name she wrote Lord and Lady Farrington, each with a turned-up nose next to it.
She glanced up and caught Clifford’s raised eyebrow. ‘I also found out Lord Farrington had some business connection with Aris. And not necessarily the kind you openly acknowledge, so him and his frosty wife are definitely under suspicion as well as Carlton.’
‘Agreed, my lady. That would explain why they were so quick to blame the cook.’
‘Exactly! But hang on, you must have come across this character, Carlton? You know everyone around these parts.’
‘I’m acquainted with Mr Carlton, certainly. He has been the Labour Party’s candidate for Chipstone and District for some years. I have, however, only exchanged pleasantries on meeting him in the street, nothing more.’ He gave her an enquiring look. ‘And despite raising the indelicate subject of Mr Aris’ demise at the luncheon table, you are still persona grata at Langham Manor?’
‘Absolutely! Lady Langham gave me a parting hug that quite squashed the lobster rissoles into the veal Toulouse.’ She rubbed her middle. ‘I’m still so full I’m fighting the need to collapse onto a chaise longue.’ She yawned so hard her jaw creaked. ‘I think I need a walk.’
‘If it would suit, I have several errands requiring the facilities of Chipstone that could be brought forward to today?’
‘Perfect. Splendid show, Clifford! Let’s stop here at the top of the high street and meet up in, say, an hour?’
The town’s midweek bustle failed to filter into Eleanor’s chattering thoughts as she ran over and over the discussion at lunch.
If Aris’ allergy was widely known, anyone at the table might have slipped him a fudge square with peanuts concealed inside. But then again, only if they’d prepared one in advance? But what were Aris and Carlton arguing about? Who else had a grudge against Aris? And why was Lady Farrington staring at her so intensely throughout lunch?
She sighed. What on earth did she need to do to live the quiet life she had envisaged on moving into Henley Hall? This was the sleepy Chilterns after all!
She remembered Lady Wilhelmina’s passion for painting. Who knows, dabbling with a brush and a palette of gorgeous colours might calm your brain when it starts climbing the walls, Ellie?
With added purpose now in her walk, she tightened the belt on her long wool jacket and picked up to a good pace. She scanned either side of the street for the first art materials supplier suitable for a novice with little patience. But further on, she stopped short at the sight of a new shop. Yes, that was right, Mrs Butters had been excited about its opening. Eleanor stepped back and looked up at the sign: ‘Mrs Luscombe’s Linens and Haberdashery’.
An emerald-and-olive patterned scarf in georgette fabric drew Eleanor’s eye. She pressed the skirt of her dress against the glass. Ooh, a perfect match! Now that she had to have! Hurrying inside, she offered a cheery, ‘Good morning.’
From behind a Chinese screen, a voice called back, ‘One moment, please.’ A minute later, an elderly woman appeared, dressed in a sensible navy cotton long-sleeved dress and owl-like spectacles. Her thick white hair was pinned into a meticulous bun.
‘Can I help you, Lady Swift?’ the woman replied coolly, eyeing Eleanor’s outfit as if she thought it rather ostentatious for a shopping trip round Chipstone.
Eleanor started, then mentally shrugged. Since so many people she’d never met knew who she was it had ceased to bother her, although she still found it surprising. Feeling no compulsion to explain she had come from a formal luncheon and, as the woman seemed disinclined to chat, Eleanor simply pointed to the scarf in the window.
‘I should like to buy the emerald one, please. I can’t resist the colours! Did you make it yourself?’
The woman nodded. ‘I did.’
‘Then you must be Mrs Luscombe.’ She held out her hand, which was received like limp lettuce. Eleanor continued on, giving her best smile. ‘Your shop is new, I believe. Have you recently moved here?’
The woman tapped the cloth tape measure hanging round her neck. ‘I was born and raised in Little Buckford, but retired to Chipstone. Now, I provide the ladies of the area with well-priced and sturdy linens and sewing items. I also offer a repair and tailoring service.’
‘How very adept of you!’ Eleanor’s thoughts flew to her wardrobe. ‘That is actually splendid news. Might I commission you therefore to make me a matching shawl for evening wear?’
‘To what would you like it to match?’
Eleanor gestured to the window. ‘Why the scarf, of course.’
The woman drew a sharp breath. ‘Regrettably, that is not possible.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Because the scarf is fabricated from georgette and is thus too sheer for a decent shawl.’
‘Too sheer to last you mean, as in not durable enough?’
‘No, Lady Swift, as in not modest enough. Now, would you still like to purchase the scarf?’
Eleanor nodded. This is 1920, not 1820. Honestly! Are all Chipstone women this traditional?
She watched Mrs Luscombe retrieve the scarf from the window, which apparently necessitated adjusting the entire display. This fussing and fiddling did however also reveal an election poster Eleanor hadn’t noticed from the outside.
Making another brave stab at conversation, she said, ‘I understand this election might be more of an event than in previous years, Mrs Luscombe?’
The woman finished putting her shopfront back in order and turned to Eleanor: ‘And why would that be?’
‘Well, with poor Mr Aris’ demise, the other candidates must feel they have a greater opportunity to succeed. Mr Carlton, for example? He’s stood several times, I’m told. Perhaps he will pick up where Mr Aris had to leave off in supporting some of Mr Aris’ work on women’s rights?’
This brought a sharp scoff. ‘Ernest Carlton is the least likely man on earth to think of supporting anyone other than his own interests! I would prepare for resounding disappointment if you are hoping he will champion that cause.’
‘It sounds as though you know him well?’ Eleanor said nonchalantly.
‘I was his teacher through the latter part of his school years. Unlike his classmate, Arnold Aris, Ernest Carlton was a demanding and calculating pupil who grew into a demanding and calculating man. He is a predatory tiger hiding behind a pussy cat’s smile. Too many women have fallen for it.’ She held up the paper-wrapped parcel. ‘Good day, Lady Swift.’
The contempt in the woman’s voice blew any further questions from Eleanor’s mind. Mumbling a goodbye, she stepped from the shop but lurched backwards with the force of a heavyset man barging into her.
‘Watch where you’re going, can’t you!’ The man’s nostrils flared like an angry bull, his small dark eyes lost to flaccid jowls and thick eyebrows.
‘I beg your pardon but actually you bumped into me,’ Eleanor said.
‘Nonsense!’ he sc
offed. Undoing the bottom two buttons of his brown suit waistcoat, he bent with a grunt to retrieve his trilby from the pavement, ignoring her paper-wrapped parcel which lay next to it. ‘I was walking along this thoroughfare, you were emerging into the pedestrian traffic. Thank goodness women can’t drive cars!’
‘We can, actually, and jolly competent we are too!’
‘More nonsense! Stick to shopping. In fact, stay inside altogether, you’ll be less of a menace.’
‘Do you know you might just be the rudest man I’ve ever met.’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t come out to make new friends, I am on important business.’
Eleanor gestured up and down both sides of Chipstone High Street. ‘Everyone you can see is on business important to them.’
This made him snort. ‘They are merely wasting time. I, on the other hand, am attempting to pull society back from the brink of insanity.’
For a brief second, Eleanor wondered if this man’s apparent belligerence was in fact a side effect of having lost his mental faculties.
‘Well, I suspect that whatever it is I am keeping you from is frightfully important so I will bid you good luck and good day and continue about my business.’
‘I sincerely doubt that! Meddlesome women like you can’t keep from poking their noses in where they have absolutely no place being, Lady Swift.’
Eleanor sighed. Another complete stranger who knew who she was. She took a deep breath. ‘Thank you for your uninvited character assessment but I am not, in fact, meddlesome. However, you are entitled to your opinion, baseless as it is.’
‘Baseless, eh?’ He gestured up and down the street. ‘A man can’t even walk down the pavement without becoming entangled in your web of interference. Emancipation? Ha! Nothing more than an attempt at seeking an easy life, being treated like overindulged children.’
Ah, so that’s his beef, Ellie.
‘I’m sorry, Mr… but your name really isn’t necessary. Women do not have “webs”, they aren’t spiders.’ She leaned forward and whispered, ‘They have a great many less legs for one thing.’ She bent to retrieve her parcel but on straightening up, found the man had had the effrontery to block her path.
‘Now,’ she pointed past his shoulder, ‘you see how complicated this navigation of the pavements can be. We are both facing in the opposite direction to that which we wish to go. I shall repeat my earlier and cordial salutation and wish you every success in your endeavours whilst I continue about my own.’
‘But your “endeavours” are precisely the issue. I recommend you stop, Lady Swift, before you regret it!’
Eleanor froze. Who was this man? And how had he learned of Miss Mann and the Women’s League’s suggestion she stood as their candidate? Assuming that was what this was all about?
It seemed he couldn’t leave without trying to further intimidate her, however. ‘A word of gentlemanly advice: stop asking questions about Mr Aris. It is none of your concern and could be bad for your health!’
He spun on his heels and marched off.
She hurried back along the high street to find Clifford standing by the bonnet of the Rolls, pocket watch in hand.
He gave his customary half-bow and opened the passenger door. ‘Your walk was successful, my lady?’
‘No, not at all.’
She turned to him as he slid into the driver’s seat.
‘My stomach is no better and my thoughts are now burning like acid. Clifford, what would you call indigestion of the mind?’
‘Cerebral dyspepsia, my lady?’
‘Well, I hope you have one of your foul concoctions for that.’
He patted his pockets. ‘Regrettably, not about my person. Shall we?’
Eight
Even Gladstone’s exuberant welcome that pushed her backwards onto the hallway settle didn’t soothe Eleanor’s thoughts. With his short, stocky front legs on the green silk of her lap, he bashed her nose with the battered leather slipper he’d brought as a homecoming gift.
‘Oh, Gladstone, I’m so sorry, boy. I’ve been completely caught up with everything.’ She buried her face in the soft wrinkles of his forehead and closed her eyes. They sighed together. ‘Life has got complicated again. But,’ she lifted one of his stiff little ears and whispered, ‘how about this afternoon, you and I go play ball?’ She pulled away and smiled at the sight of his stumpy tail shimmying with excitement.
‘It’s a deal.’ She yanked her shoes off with a grunt. ‘But first, I had better change out of this fancy frock and have some tea to refresh my thoughts. Doggy biscuits in the morning room in ten minutes?’
At the ‘b’ word, Gladstone let out a husky ‘woof’ and spun in a wobbly circle.
‘I’ll take that as a yes then.’
She was halfway up the grand staircase when Clifford appeared from the kitchen end of the house.
She called down to him. ‘I’m afraid my walk didn’t really give me any new insights into Aris’ death, Clifford. However, I discovered that Carlton has a reputation as something of a ladies’ man.’
Standing at the bottom step, he called up to her. ‘Interesting, my lady. Forgive me for changing the subject, but I thought you might like to be forewarned.’
She stared down at him. Gladstone leaned sideways into her leg. ‘Clifford, not more unwelcome news? Please say it isn’t.’
‘That might depend on the nature of the visitor’s visit, as it were. I saw someone approaching the end of the drive as I parked the Rolls in the garage.’
‘Visitor? Now? It’s all getting rather hectic with all these unannounced callers. Besides, Gladstone and I have just made a date for tea and biscuits.’
‘Perhaps you would care for your visitor to join you both there, my lady?’
‘Really, I am too full, too tired and too frazzled by my own thoughts for visitors. Do you know, I met the rudest man in the world and he had the audacity to say that women want to be treated like overindulged children. Ugh!’ She flopped theatrically onto the stairs. This made her stockinged feet slip out from under her and she slid smartly down the bottom half of the staircase, landing at Clifford’s feet.
He looked at her impassively. ‘I can’t imagine how the gentleman might have come to that conclusion.’
‘Very droll, but I haven’t told you the most interesting part: the man threatened me if I didn’t stop asking questions about Aris’ death.’
Clifford raised both eyebrows, a rare occurrence. ‘It seems, my lady, that you are already making waves.’
‘It would seem so, which suggests we should make some bigger ones. Alright,’ she picked herself up and adjusted her skirt, ‘I shall change into more suitable, and less slippery, attire and receive the visitor in five minutes. Who is it, by the way?’
‘Miss Mann, I believe, my lady.’
‘Gracious, Clifford! What answer am I going to give her?’
Her visitor was standing with her back to the door over by the French windows that overlooked the rear lawns. Now changed into simple, wide-legged linen trousers and a matching grass-green cardigan that fitted her as perfectly as it had her mother, Eleanor hovered in the doorway. As Miss Mann bent to smell the vase of white viburnum and strawberry-and-cream asters, Eleanor noticed that the woman’s figure was far more feminine than her shin-length navy wool suit credited.
Eleanor stepped forward. ‘Good afternoon.’
The woman let out a squeal and spun round. ‘Oh, forgive me, I was in quite a daze.’ She smiled nervously. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Swift. I do hope you were expecting me?’
‘Of course,’ Eleanor fibbed. ‘Please, do take a seat.’
‘Your gardens are truly splendid. Such a calming view.’
‘Thank you. I’m afraid I can’t claim any credit. It is all due to my late uncle’s wonderful gardener, Joseph. It is his passion.’
‘But doesn’t your uncle’s passing make him your gardener now?’
Eleanor nodded slowly. ‘I still feel like the new girl at Henley Hal
l. I sometimes forget that I am the lady of the house.’
Miss Mann ran her hand over the knee of her skirt. ‘Such an unassuming attitude, Lady Swift! You must see that is exactly why you were the Women’s League’s immediate choice to represent women countywide?’
This pulled Eleanor up short. At their last meeting, she hadn’t imagined asking why the League had picked her. Fortunately, Clifford arrived at that moment with a surprisingly laden tea tray and a very excited bulldog, which he held back with one leg stretched across the threshold.
‘Forgive me, my lady, did you wish to keep your promise to Master Gladstone?’
‘Absolutely!’ Eleanor replied, clapping her hands to call him over as Clifford released him. ‘Gladstone, old friend, we have company.’
At this, the dog turned on his stiff legs and seemed to spot Miss Mann for the first time. With extra gusto he charged over and threw the top half of his body into her lap, giving her hand a welcoming lick.
‘Oh dear!’ she managed in a strangled voice.
Eleanor made a face at Clifford. ‘Miss Mann, I do apologise. He is rather enthusiastic at times and, I fear, a little too long in the tooth to be taught too many new tricks, or indeed, better manners.’
Her visitor was pinned in the cream and silver striped chair, hands up as if being held at gunpoint. ‘Perhaps he might like to sit elsewhere?’ she stammered.
Clifford took control. ‘Master Gladstone, stand down.’
The bulldog sat, his back legs sticking out sideways.
Clifford placed the tea tray on the table and picked up a white china bowl with a gold rim and draped a towel over his forearm. At Eleanor’s questioning eyebrow, he gave a discreet cough. ‘I took the liberty, my lady, of anticipating Master Gladstone’s enthusiasm for the “LT”,’ he said with a conspiratorial nod, ‘and brought Miss Mann a finger bowl.’
‘Oh, gracious, I didn’t realise Mrs Trotman had made him his favourite liver treats! Ah, that explains his extra bounce.’
Ears pricked, the dog scrambled over and sat at Eleanor’s feet. She scooped up a jar from the tray and set out a line of hard-baked grey mini biscuits on the rug. ‘Good boy! You dig in.’ She turned back to her visitor, who had finished drying her hands and swapped the towel for a cup of tea.
A Witness to Murder: An unputdownable cozy murder mystery (A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 3) Page 6