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

by Verity Bright

  Eleanor smiled. ‘Pantomime over. Now, where were we?’

  Miss Mann quickly finished her biscuit and put down her tea. ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. I so love baking myself, but I suppose your cook made these?’

  Eleanor nodded. ‘Mrs Trotman is a wonder in the kitchen. I can’t cook for toffee! Although Mrs Trotman does sometimes let me help her in the kitchen, I fear she’s just being polite and I’m really rather under her feet.’

  Miss Mann shook her head. ‘That is exactly what I am talking about, Lady Swift. I had just mentioned that we of the Women’s League have noted you carry your title with extreme modesty. We feel that will greatly appeal to the ladies of the lower classes, which are precisely those we are trying to reach.’

  ‘Then why not choose a lady from that sphere? Surely, they would hold greater appeal to their peers?’

  Miss Mann’s cheeks flushed. ‘Yes. Regrettably, however, none of them have either the education nor standing in the community.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ Eleanor marshalled her thoughts. ‘However, what I said to you before stands. I do not consider myself to be the best person to lead the charge at the front as it were.’

  ‘But you have inspired the ladies of the Women’s League so much. Your reputation for adventure and your independent attitude has not gone unnoticed. Surely you must agree that it is unfair that even though it was the women who kept Britain working during the war whilst the menfolk were away, now, after only two years, they are considered nothing more than menial labourers? Equal work deserves equal pay and equal respect.’

  Eleanor took a long breath. ‘Miss Mann, I cannot shake the disquieting feeling that I am not the woman the Women’s League imagines me to be.’

  Miss Mann stood up. ‘Lady Swift, I have no desire to persuade or cajole you. I therefore respectfully accept your decision.’

  Eleanor shook her head. ‘I don’t see how.’ She ran her hand down the sleeve of her cardigan. ‘You have not heard my decision.’

  Miss Mann dropped back into her seat. ‘But you said…’

  ‘What I said was the truth. It is important you know that I had already made my decision before I entered the room. And I do not bow to pressure, however emotively or eloquently it is presented.’

  Miss Mann’s eyes widened. ‘Are you saying you… you intend to stand?’

  ‘Miss Mann, I intended to all along.’ In truth, she had decided to stand immediately after her meeting with that objectionable man outside Mrs Luscombe’s shop.

  Her visitor gasped. ‘Thank you, Lady Swift! That is wonderful news, I can’t wait to tell my fellow members.’ She stood again. ‘I won’t take up any more of your time for the moment. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.’

  At the front door, she paused. ‘I’m sorry, but I feel there is something I should pass on.’ She bit her lip. ‘Perhaps I should have mentioned it before.’

  Eleanor ignored Clifford’s discreet cough. ‘There’s a thing,’ she muttered. ‘And what is that, Miss Mann?’

  ‘There is a powerful group in the area – councillors and men of influence – who have formed a cabal to fight what they see as the threat of the Women’s League. They are trying to put up their own independent candidate, who is as anti-women’s rights as they are. Between them, they can exert a great deal of influence. And trouble. They are led by a Mr Blewitt, a councillor, local business owner and a most obnoxious man.’

  ‘I see. Don’t worry, Miss Mann, I believe I may have met that very gentleman today.’ She described the man who had been so rude to her earlier. Miss Mann confirmed that it was indeed Mr Blewitt.

  Eleanor nodded slowly. At least you know what, and who, you’re up against, Ellie. ‘Now, before you leave, I’ve a question.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I believe you were at the dinner the night Mr Aris had his unfortunate accident?’

  The blood drained out of Miss Mann’s face. Eleanor groaned inwardly. She could have been subtler. It must have been quite a trauma for the woman. She obviously knew Aris to some extent, through her work with the Women’s League, of which Aris was a supporter.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Miss Mann, I really shouldn’t ha—’

  ‘That’s fine, Lady Swift.’ Some of the colour had returned to her cheeks. ‘It was just such a… a… shock. One minute, Lord Farrington was proposing a toast, and then Mr Aris just collapsed.’ She rummaged in her handbag and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes with it.

  Oh, Ellie!

  She instinctively put her arm around the other woman. ‘I really am sorry, I should have thought.’

  Miss Mann smiled weakly. ‘It’s really not a problem. Mr Aris was a good man. We’ll all miss him at the Women’s League.’

  Much as she wanted to, Eleanor couldn’t abandon her intention of quizzing her guest in detail over the night Aris died entirely. After all, Mrs Pitkin’s future was at stake. Instead, she drew up a heavily censored version. ‘Absolutely! Although, perhaps not everyone will miss him as much as the Women’s League.’

  Miss Mann looked up sharply. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, I heard that at the dinner, one of the other guests seemed to be in disagreement with Mr Aris ov—’

  ‘Mr Carlton.’ Miss Mann nodded, her eyes flashing. ‘That man appreciates no one. We at the Women’s League have nothing to do with him. Neither did Mr Aris.’

  ‘Really? Apart from your work with the Women’s League, is he someone of your acquaintance?’

  Eleanor’s visitor flushed. ‘I think you will find, Lady Swift, that every right-thinking woman would do their level best to avoid becoming acquainted with a man of his reputation. Politically, he is not overtly against women’s rights simply because he does not realise women exist, aside from indulging his personal proclivities.’ She patted her chignon. ‘If you will forgive my indelicate observation.’

  Eleanor shrugged. ‘He doesn’t seem to be wholly beloved by the few people I’ve mentioned his name to.’

  ‘As I have been rather harshly reminded myself, one has to be loveable to be loved, I have always heard.’ She gave a wan smile and held out her hand. ‘I doubt Mr Carlton will be a significant threat to your success, Lady Swift, but he will doubtless make a nuisance of himself on the way, I am sure of that.’

  With Miss Mann gone, the tea replaced with something stronger, and Gladstone sprawled along his back on the chaise longue by the fire in the drawing room, Eleanor sighed. It had been an eventful afternoon.

  ‘Here we are again.’

  ‘Might I enquire as to precisely where you consider that “we are”, my lady?’

  ‘On a mission, Clifford. Actually, two missions now, I suppose.’

  ‘My congratulations on your decision, my lady. I assume that is the first mission. And the second?’

  ‘Thank you, Clifford, but as you had a hand in setting me up, I expect your assistance in seeing it to a successful conclusion.’

  Clifford bowed. ‘With pleasure, my lady.’

  She smiled; she’d anticipated nothing else. ‘The second is doing all we can to help poor Mrs Pitkin, assuming she didn’t deliberately kill Mr Aris, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘How is she bearing up? I wish she had agreed to stay here, although I understand her thinking she was already putting us to enough trouble.’

  ‘I would not fret, too much, my lady. After she refused to stay here, Mrs Trotman insisted she stay with her sister in Chipstone, who promised to keep an eye on her. It cannot be denied, however, that the quicker her innocence is proved, the less danger there is of her doing anything foolish.’

  ‘And Mrs Trotman conveyed my offer of employment, again?’

  ‘Yes, my lady, but Mrs Pitkin refused.’ He coughed. ‘I understand her position. She has worked as a kitchen maid, and then a cook, her whole life. Even though she is friends with Mrs Trotman, it is difficult to see how it would work out.’

  ‘A case of too many cooks?’

  �
�Exactly, my lady. I also believe Mrs Pitkin is very distressed and not thinking, or acting, rationally.’

  She nodded. ‘So, we’d better make some progress on our second mission, and fast.’

  Something in his usually impenetrable expression pulled her up short. ‘What is it, Clifford?’

  He cleared his throat gently. ‘I merely wondered, my lady, if in fact they are two separate missions?’

  She frowned. ‘I don’t follow you?’

  ‘If we are to clear Mrs Pitkin’s name, we will have to assume, until events prove otherwise, that Mrs Pitkin is telling the truth. Therefore, it seems someone maliciously fed Mr Aris peanuts with intent to kill. We do not yet know the motive. However, the majority of people, and thus suspects, who were at the table that night, are also now your political rivals. If the motive for Mr Aris’ murder was politically motivated…’

  Eleanor grimaced. ‘Oh bother! I hadn’t looked at it like that. If this anti-women’s rights cabal is half as bad as Miss Mann is making out, I suppose it’s perfectly feasible they did away with Aris as he supported the Women’s League.’

  Clifford cleared his throat. ‘Then how much more unfavourably are they likely to look on you, my lady, now you are standing in Mr Aris’ place, possibly denying their candidate success?’

  Eleanor snorted. ‘I can’t believe anyone would credit me with much chance of success, Clifford. Only one woman has made it into Parliament so far. And no disrespect to her, but Mrs Astor was elected by her husband’s supporters when he was forced into the House of Lords. She stood on the understanding that she would carry on her husband’s policies and remain only until her husband could sit in the House of Commons again.’

  ‘True, my lady, and I was only conjecturing.’

  She nodded. ‘At the moment we have no evidence at all that Mr Aris was nobbled for a political motive. In fact, we don’t know much at all.’ She brightened. ‘But think about it. By standing, I’ll have access to the very people who knew Aris best. I think I’ll start with Carlton. Even the polite and mild-mannered Miss Mann seemed to think he is a bounder.’

  ‘Might I suggest that there is another association you might wish to further as well?’

  ‘With whom?’

  ‘Lady Farrington.’

  ‘Must I? She doesn’t like me at all and was rude enough to show it.’

  ‘Regrettable, my lady. However, she happens to live at the scene of the crime, and you mentioned her husband had some undisclosed dealings with Mr Aris?’

  ‘Okay, Clifford. I’ll get myself invited to Farrington Manor and you think up a ruse to go mingle with the staff.’

  He gave his customary half-bow. ‘Both are already in fact accomplished, my lady.’

  ‘What? How?’

  ‘Lady Farrington telephoned whilst you were engaged with Miss Mann. I accepted on your behalf. Tea at Farrington Estate is arranged for three o’clock tomorrow. And I have a hunch that the Rolls will suffer a most inconvenient breakdown on the premises.’

  ‘One you can fix in a jiffy when we’ve the information we need?’

  He nodded. ‘And we can then assess, back here, exactly where we are in the investigation.’

  ‘Agreed. And, as a bonus, if I survive Lady Farrington’s venomous tongue, the world of politics should be a doddle.’

  ‘I shall be sure to pack the Rolls’ glovebox with a half-bottle of the finest distilled French brandy and a suitable crystal-cut glass.’

  ‘Perfect! And I shall rant all the way home about how awful and sniffy she was.’

  ‘Very good, my lady. I look forward to it most heartily.’

  ‘Fibber!’

  Nine

  The next afternoon found Eleanor at Farrington Manor. As instructed by Clements, the butler, Eleanor sat on a red velvet chaise that Henry VIII likely ordered several of his wives’ executions from. The yellow ochre walls stretching three tall floors up to the elaborate glass-domed ceiling brought little cheer to the overall atmosphere of a medieval castle’s armoury. Meticulously arranged fan-shaped displays of swords, battle shields, pikes and muskets rose up to the galleried second floor. Here, a regiment of suits of armour on silver horses stared defensively over the marble balustrade that ran the full perimeter of the hall. In the very centre of the room two white marble statues of horseback knights embroiled in a joust stood on plinths, the steeds rearing up for added drama.

  The click of heels on the white marble floor echoed round the immense hall, making it hard to know which of the many passageways the noise came from. Eleanor hoped this would be a short meeting.

  ‘Lady Swift, so good of you to call.’ The crisp voice made her look up with her best guest smile ready.

  ‘Ah, Lady Farrington. So kind of you to invite me.’ Even with her longer-than-average legs, Eleanor had to shuffle forward in the velvet seat for her feet to reach the floor before she could stand and greet her hostess. ‘Such a remarkable hall, I’ve been quite caught up in imagining all kinds of stories that might have played out in here.’

  Lady Farrington’s ash-blonde finger waves did not flinch as she swept a cursory glance around the enormous room. ‘Alexander likes it. Very masculine, of course. It appeals to the warrior he still believes is surging through his genes somewhere.’

  Eleanor feigned polite interest. ‘It’s quite fascinating.’

  ‘No, Lady Swift, it’s like living in a blasted museum! Do follow me.’

  Feeling like the less-than-welcome cousin from the country, Eleanor adjusted the collar of her serge georgette tea-dress and trailed after Lady Farrington’s ivory silk form.

  Every inch the graceful lady of the house, her hostess led her through several miles of corridors. At regular intervals, staircases swept upwards and elaborate recesses were decorated with antique tapestries and gold-framed oil portraits.

  Eleanor had formed a vague plan of action on the drive to the Farrington Estate, but something about Lady Farrington’s cold manner made her doubt this would wash for a moment.

  Eventually, Lady Farrington stopped at a bank of six oak doors which concertinaed back against the inside wall of the most exquisite sitting room Eleanor had ever seen.

  ‘Wow!’ she muttered, staring round her, the enchanting ambience leaving her feeling she had tiptoed inside the exotic tent of a princess.

  ‘It appeals to my inner heroine in distress,’ Lady Farrington said with surprising honesty, folding her long frame into a claw-footed wingback chair, upholstered in the exact shade of her dress. ‘There is a touch of the hopeless romantic in all of us, after all.’

  ‘Samarkand silks,’ Eleanor said with genuine appreciation as she gazed round at the delicately patterned drapes, cushions and chair coverings. Each one was an artful variation of the ivory, jade and gold theme that threaded the room into an embroidered scene of cool opulence.

  ‘You surprise, and please me, Lady Swift.’ Her hostess tilted her head to one side. ‘I wasn’t sure you were quite the woman your reputation professes. I concede that I was wrong.’

  Eleanor took the seat opposite Lady Farrington. ‘My reputation?’

  ‘No need to be coy. It is not an appealing quality, I find.’

  A tray of strong Turkish coffee arrived with gold-rimmed cups and a silver dish of almonds and dates dusted with icing sugar. The maid placed this on the central walnut table between the copy of Pride and Prejudice and a silver-framed photograph of the Farringtons on their wedding day.

  Eleanor seized the moment to decide how she was going to play this meeting. Lady Farrington was far from the delicate porcelain statue her pale complexion and angular frame belied.

  ‘I’ve a peculiar sense that you have made enquiries about me?’

  Lady Farrington’s tone held a hint of something Eleanor couldn’t quite place. ‘Naturally. Why else do you imagine I invited you here so soon after we were introduced?’

  ‘I admit I was surprised.’

  ‘And relieved,’ her hostess replied.

  Whe
re on earth is this conversation going, Ellie?

  She took a sip of her coffee, enjoying the way it transported her back to her days in vibrant Asia, home of the unexpected. Mind you, Farrington Manor was proving to house a few surprises. Lady Farrington seemed to misjudge her silence for a moment and surprisingly gave away her next hand.

  ‘I made enquiries, not about your travelling exploits but about your involvement in solving two recent murder cases.’

  Eleanor couldn’t resist the obvious parry. ‘Naturally,’ she said with a smile.

  Lady Farrington laughed and seemed to relax a fraction. ‘Mr Aris died at our annual fundraising event, Lady Swift. Whilst the modern way might be to shrug off the whispers of scandal, I prefer the approach of meeting it head-on and batting it smartly to the floor. I abhor tattle.’

  ‘It can be so damaging, I’ve heard,’ Eleanor said.

  Lady Farrington nodded. ‘Especially if one has… business dealings.’

  Eleanor recalled Lord Farrington’s reference to Aris being a useful man to know. ‘Did you suspect foul play on the night Mr Aris died?’

  ‘I did, and I didn’t. These things are so tedious.’

  Eleanor wasn’t sure if the reference was to fundraising events or guests inconveniently dying in front of the assembled company. ‘Tedious?’ she queried.

  ‘Small gatherings are always the worst, especially when they consist of individuals desirous of being seen in the right place with the right people. And with the requirement to be charming and gracious throughout the evening when one is shuddering over the dinner topics and limited etiquette. I mean, rowing at a function. If it hadn’t been for Alexander being so insistent that his latest project depended on Aris’ support, I would have had the two of them ejected.’

  ‘Ernest Carlton being the other man in the argument?’

  ‘Something quite odious about him.’ Lady Farrington nodded. ‘One is used to seeing members of the lower classes scurry up any whiff of a social ladder, however precariously it leans. But Mr Carlton appears to have slid willingly and, in fact, deliberately, down the rungs to inhabit those occupied by the working classes.’