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

by Verity Bright

  ‘Would you look at my late uncle’s fob watch? I believe it’s running rather slow?’

  Abashed at how quickly she’d bailed out of another campaigning opportunity, she tried to redeem herself by jumping into investigation mode. This man might know something about Carlton, seeing as he was the Labour candidate.

  As the watchmaker rummaged in a drawer, she coughed. ‘Have you high hopes for Mr Carlton being the man to win the election?’

  The watchmaker turned around and shrugged: ‘’Tis not a case of Carlton being the man, ’tis a case of he’s all we’ve got!’ He looked up at her, his eyes boring into hers. ‘I distrust Mr Carlton, even though he’s a Labour man like myself. He’d do well to remember that us old folk have a long memory.’ He held out her pocket watch. ‘Three shillings, please.’

  It seemed that Mr Carlton was not highly regarded, but that didn’t make him a murderer.

  At the window of the cobblers, she jumped as a fierce-looking giant in a leather apron moved out of the shadow of the boot rack against the wall. He glared at her, hammer in hand. Behind him, two others appeared to be having something of a disagreement, one waving scissors as large as sheep shears. Perhaps not there, she decided, hurrying into the china emporium next door, where she was rewarded by the welcome sight of ladies browsing and gossiping.

  Perfect!

  Amongst the artfully displayed but modest-priced tableware lined up on Welsh dressers and gingham covered tables, her ears pricked up as the name Aris was mentioned.

  ‘Course I’ve not been round to offer condolences, that Mrs Aris wouldn’t take kindly to finding me standing on her doorstep. Even though my John’s doing well, it’s not well enough for the likes of her.’

  ‘Must be hard on her though. I know it’s always been said that… well, you know, but still…’

  Eleanor nonchalantly stepped to the dresser next to the two women. She judged them to be in their early thirties, both wearing an improbable amount of black kohl around their eyes and distracting lipstick.

  The taller of the two leaned towards her friend. ‘John said there was talk at the Lamb and Wagon alehouse last night. Folks were saying they reckon those Farringtons probably did it.’

  Another woman with a toddler on her hip sidled up to join them. ‘Morning! Talking about what I think you are?’

  ‘Whole town’s talking about it, what did you expect?’

  The newest member of the huddle gave a knowing look. ‘’Twasn’t no frame job. That cook, she’s been in trouble afore.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Mary at the Post Office. She hears everything. Toffs send telegrams all the time. Not her fault if she happens to remember what the messages say, is it?’

  ‘You mean this isn’t the first one she’s done in! I’ve read about her kind. Becomes a habit.’

  The quietest of the women tuned in to Eleanor standing close to them. ‘Morning?’ she said, her tone questioning.

  ‘Morning, ladies, my apologies for overhearing you talk of the big news. Shocking, isn’t it?’

  The women looked at each other and then back at her.

  The tallest spoke first. ‘Shocking? Maybe. Mr Aris might have had a big reputation but if you court trouble, it always finds you, that’s what my mother used to say.’

  Eleanor leaned forward. ‘Gracious, you expect potential Members of Parliament to behave better, don’t you? Still, power goes to people’s heads, I suppose.’

  ‘Wasn’t power that made him start a showdown at a public meeting. There’s ways of doing things and that’s not one of them in my book. My John saw it all, a few weeks back. Said the other fellow was laughing smug like, but Aris went at him like a ferret.’

  Eleanor threw on her winning smile. ‘That, ladies, is why I believe we need a female to champion our needs. We simply want the job done, don’t we? No interest in fighting. That is why I have agreed to stand.’

  The women gasped in unison.

  ‘You mean you’re…’ The shorter of them giggled.

  Eleanor hastily placed a leaflet in each of the women’s hands. Tucking another in the sticky fingers of the toddler, she nodded a genial farewell. ‘Lovely to have met you all. Do call if you have any questions.’ She turned to go. ‘Oh, who was it I should watch out for with a rash of ferret bites about his person?’

  The group’s appointed spokeswoman looked up from the pamphlet: ‘Oswald Greaves.’

  ‘Marvellous!’ She filed the name away and fled.

  With one side of the high street covered with little success on any count, and Clifford nowhere in sight, Eleanor wasn’t keen to continue on to the end. The most she had achieved was a couple of leaflets begrudgingly taken and a lecture on why Parliament is, and should remain, the province of men.

  Few people seemed to have anything positive to say about Carlton. But, annoyingly, very little useful information either. Eleanor was learning that mostly people were indifferent or openly hostile to candidates of any political persuasion.

  ‘So kind,’ she called over her shoulder to the greengrocer who had followed her outside to expound on maintaining family values. Apparently, there was no point in giving women the vote as they had neither the need, nor understanding, for it.

  She waved cheerily to him as she set off for one couple she had more hope for.

  She’d visited their shop once before, looking for help in tracking down a dashedly devious murderer. Now, which was it? She held her hand over her eyes and peered along the street. Ah! Pigs’ trotters hanging in rows along the front, that would be their grocery-cum-all-sorts store.

  The rough brickwork of the shopfront was hidden by a bewildering array of items, including the ubiquitous pigs’ trotters she’d noticed earlier. It seemed all of Chipstone must dine on them regularly. She wriggled past the sacks of potatoes and large drums of paraffin.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Wright.’

  ‘Morning, miss. Oh… beg pardon, m’lady. Maud!’ The square chap behind the counter called behind him. ‘Wife is just coming.’ He hummed awkwardly, looking anywhere except at Eleanor until a petite woman appeared at his side.

  ‘You lummock!’ she whispered to him. ‘Good morning, m’lady. How are you?’ Maud Wright snatched at the wilder strands of her grey hair, willing them into submission with a bent hair grip.

  ‘I’m in great form, as I hope you both are too?’

  ‘We’re all good here, thank you kindly. Is it Alfie you’re looking for again? He told us all about the excitement you gave him and his merry soldiers a few months back.’

  Eleanor smiled. ‘It’s not every day I need to enlist the help of such a fine band of boys in capturing a murderer.’

  ‘Bad business,’ Frank muttered and went back to staring at the counter.

  Eleanor felt at ease with this couple, yet she barely knew them. She pondered on their age. It could be anywhere from late forties to early sixties.

  ‘Forgive my asking, Mrs Wright, but are your family all grown up?’

  She instantly regretted her question as Maud blushed. ‘Frank and me, well, we’re just Frank and me, aren’t we, luv?’

  He reached over and squeezed her hand.

  ‘Gracious, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to pry. Just chatting, oh dear!’

  ‘It’s no matter, my lady. No need to apologise. Life works a certain way for certain folk, which it seems is us in that regard, but we’ve a great many other blessings.’ Maud smiled at Eleanor. ‘Now, what is it we can help you with today, m’lady?’

  Out in the street, Eleanor concluded it would be a dejected drive back to Little Buckford unless Clifford had miraculously solved the murder and found all the women’s rights sympathisers. Even the Wrights had only reluctantly taken a poster from her. Maud had suggested that their affiliations lay with a party more sympathetic to the needs of working-class tradespeople, but there was more hidden beneath.

  As Eleanor thanked them for listening to her political endeavours, Frank had hinted the tru
e base of their worries lay in uncertainties of what was happening in Parliament.

  ‘Fingers crossed that we stay in peaceful times… for all the lads that will be old enough to be conscripted afore this government’s second term.’

  ‘Amen!’ Maud added, patting his hand.

  Eleanor, finding no suitable reply, had beaten a retreat.

  But that minor act of affection reminded her of her upcoming appointment with the one person who could always cheer her up. Scowling up at the start of the promised rain, she became aware of Clifford at her elbow.

  ‘Don’t ask, please,’ she said glumly.

  ‘Perhaps a snippet to support the investigation will brighten the morning. I have learned that Messrs Aris and Carlton were once the firmest of schoolboy comrades.’

  Eleanor frowned. ‘Children are supposed to be the ones who squabble, not grown men who’ve known each other forever. I wonder what soured their relationship so badly that they would fight so doggedly, and in public?’

  ‘From the pursed lips, raised eyebrows and more descriptive comments, I was led to surmise that years later, there had been a lady at the centre of their falling out.’

  ‘Clifford, you have been gossiping like a fishwife! Outrageous, but well done. I also have some news. Apparently, Aris had a public row with Oswald Greaves. I’ve heard the name…’

  ‘I believe Mr Greaves is the Communist Party of Great Britain candidate, my lady.’

  ‘Ah!’ She peeped sideways, imagining her inscrutable butler in his smart black overcoat, tie and bowler hat surrounded by twittering women. But even that and the jumble of information she had gleaned about the investigation didn’t lift her mood. She felt quite dispirited. ‘Well, we’ll have to have a talk with Greaves, but not today.’

  With one look at the still numerous leaflets in his gloved hand, she slapped hers dejectedly into his other. ‘Thank you, Clifford, especially for all your support. It appears you are my only ally at present. Please enjoy the rest of your day off in peace. I shall make my own way back to the Hall later.’

  He took the umbrella hanging from his wrist and held it out.

  ‘Suitable refreshments will be ready, my lady.’

  Twelve

  Surely Joe’s yard had never been this neglected? Thick nettles grew through the stacks of old tyres and around the ripped back seat of a car propped against the stone wall. Bits of mechanical gubbins lay rusting in piles dotted about the unpaved area. Even the outbuildings looked to be on borrowed time.

  ‘I say, hello?’ Eleanor called out across the yard. Silence. Then she thought she heard… yes, the clink of tools.

  ‘Joe? Lancelot? Yoo hoo, anyone home?’

  She headed for the huge wooden barn Lancelot hired when his plane, Florence, needed repair. The right-hand side door was ajar. Stepping in, the smell of a hundred years of dust and mould struck her. And was that a waft of long-left chickens or pigs? Yuck! She groaned. Having a potential beau with a title and his own wings should be more glamorous than this.

  She called into the gloom: ‘Lancelot? You here?’ But only the blinking of a barn owl in the rafters answered her.

  ‘Dash it!’ She cocked her head and stared at Lancelot’s plane, looking surprisingly petite in this enormous barn. The shadows failed to do justice to the dragonfly-blue paint or the intricate carving of the wooden propeller. She patted the nose, running her finger along the side. ‘Hi, Florence. We’ve never really been introduced.’ Saying the name made her smile. What a soppy ape Lancelot was, naming his plane. ‘Good job I’m not the jealous type, I’d think he loved you more than me.’

  She craned her neck into the cockpit, but the tops of a row of dials was all she could see. A short set of steps lay against the nearest wall. She dragged them over. Climbing up, she stepped into the single front seat and caught her breath. A picnic basket sat in the rear passenger seat.

  Oh, Ellie! Has he taken another girl on a flight? She scowled at Florence. ‘Be honest, girl to girl.’ But the plane gave nothing away.

  ‘Captain Sherlock, permission to come aboard?’

  She jumped at Lancelot’s grinning face.

  ‘What, oh yes!’

  He ran his hand through his damp ruffled blond hair and chortled as he swung one leg over the side. ‘You’re like the fox after the chicken, always stealing after me and I have to say, popping up in the most surprising of places. And grilling poor old Florence into spilling the beans on her master’s secret liaisons. Bit below the belt! Florence is the most loyal girlfriend I’ve ever had.’

  Eleanor wanted to laugh at his silly joke, but her mouth was too dry and that crease in her brow wouldn’t shift. ‘You’re a terrible rogue, Lord Fenwick-Langham, playing with a lady’s delicate sensibilities.’

  ‘Delicate! You! My dear girl, you’re about as fragile as a rhino.’

  ‘Is that a compliment?’

  ‘Only for a girl with sensibilities as tough as clog iron.’

  She wrinkled her nose as though considering how to take his response. In truth, she was secretly delighted.

  ‘Lancelot?’

  ‘Yes, darling fruit.’

  ‘Can you be sensible for a moment?’

  ‘Not a hope! Sorry to disappoint, I just don’t seem to have been born with the earnest gene. Mater’s got enough of those for the entire family.’

  ‘Maybe that’s because life is very different for women.’

  He rubbed one eye. ‘Maybe.’

  She folded her arms. ‘Lancelot, what do you think about equality for women, really?’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really, really.’

  ‘Honestly, Sherlock, I can’t say I’ve thought much about it.’ At her exaggerated eye roll, he brushed his thumb across her cheek. ‘But I do care about how you fillies are treated, scout’s honour.’

  She shook her head. ‘Fillies? Lancelot, you can’t go around comparing women to racehorses.’

  ‘Better fillies than frillies, wouldn’t you say? Anyhow, you’re the one who should understand them, surely? I am a man, a dashingly handsome one admittedly.’ He turned his best side to her as if posing for a photograph and offered a cheesy grin.

  She pushed his face backwards. ‘Hmm, the jury’s out on that one!’

  ‘Honestly, you’re painting a chap in a horribly bleak light, so unfair! All I said was you’re better placed, being female-ish.’

  ‘Ish!’ This came out as a much higher-pitched squeal than she had intended. ‘Lord Fenwick-Langham, are you insinuating that I am, in fact, mannish?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ He leaned in and brushed her lips with his, making her squirm in her seat. ‘No, quite the opposite. You’re like an irresistible Amazonian Aphrodite that someone dipped in burning gold.’

  ‘Lancelot, I’ve decided to stand for Parliament after all.’

  He laughed. ‘I know, old fruit, the roads of Chipstone are paved with your leaflets. “Lady Swift. Progressive Embodiment of something or other”. I rather thought you’d got yourself mixed up in nosing about in that MP’s affairs. There’s a whiff that his ending up face down in his dessert might not be quite the full heart attack ticket.’

  ‘He had a peanut allergy, actually. And, yes, alright, I might be investigating a teeny bit.’

  ‘And dragging poor Clifford into it as well, no doubt. Tsk, tsk! So, still Sherlock the sleuth by day and Member of Parliament by… when? How are you going to progressively embody anything in the least bit respectable whilst nosing about in a potential murder?’

  ‘I’m good at juggling and being organised. Well, maybe not the organising bit, that’s Clifford’s job. Anyway, I refuse to descend to squabbling with you, I’m too busy fighting the good fight.’

  ‘Oh, always thought girls were better at squabbling than fighting.’

  She punched his arm with more force than intended.

  Lancelot rubbed the spot. ‘Ow! You, Lady Swift, are all class. Which class, I’m not honestly sure.’

  She turne
d away. ‘I’ll be fearfully tied up, you know, with this election business. First, all the campaigning, then debates and then blazing a trail in the stuffy halls of Parliament.’ She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. ‘You’ll probably forget about me and get distracted by someone else.’

  ‘Most likely.’

  She spun to face him.

  ‘Joke,’ he murmured as he cupped her chin, rubbing noses with her.

  ‘That’s not fair. It makes me go all girlie.’

  Lancelot held her gaze. ‘Sherlock, I’ve tried to tell you before, what I find so tantalising about you is that you’re not like other girls at all. You’re deliciously peculiar.’

  ‘Thanks, I think. But I’m serious about this election. People need help, women especially. Look, this might sound gushy, but honestly, I’ve never done anything worthwhile in my life, not really. Not like my parents. They dedicated their lives to helping people overseas before they disappeared.’

  She thought back to that terrible day. They’d been in Peru for what seemed ages to Eleanor, they normally moved around so much. They’d been helping to restore the country’s educational and social system after years of troubles. But not everyone in the country wanted the reforms and the stability they’d bring. One night, she’d been shaken awake by one of the local women. The woman had jabbered and gesticulated at her. As Eleanor had only understood a little of the local dialogue, she’d stumbled next door to her parents’ room, only to find the bedcovers thrown back and they were gone. She never saw them again.

  She tuned into Lancelot’s voice.

  ‘What rot! You’ve helped loads of people. Me, for one. I’d still be stuck in a jail cell, or worse, if it weren’t for you.’

  She sighed in exasperation. ‘Yes, yes, but here I am, lucky enough to have been able to travel and see extraordinary sights and all the rest of it, but I haven’t made a real difference to many people.’

  ‘Tosh, you made a difference to Mr Thomas Walker’s bank balance! You made his travel company a roaring success, and you earned your own wage.’