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

by Verity Bright

He answered with a thin smile. ‘The details of one’s opponents’ business interests are all available to view at the Town Hall upon request throughout the election period.’

  ‘Gracious, I’m not here to snoop, Mr Carlton, I’m just not very good at chitter chatter. Mr Aris, though, was quite the opposite, I’ve heard. Perhaps having a more succinct counterpart at debates will be refreshing?’

  ‘Tea is refreshing, Lady Swift. On the table there, Mr Jones, thank you.’

  Undeterred by her host’s reticence, she ploughed on: ‘Such a blow, losing Mr Aris like that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Why, suddenly, and unexpectedly, of course? Most inconvenient fo—’

  ‘I’ve observed that death is always inconvenient for someone, whenever it occurs, but maybe not for others?’ Carlton sat back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other.

  Eleanor ploughed on. ‘It must have been a great shock. I mean, you were sitting next to Mr Aris, I believe.’

  ‘You’ve been doing your homework, Lady Swift.’

  She nodded. ‘I believe being prepared is half the battle, don’t you agree?’

  A puzzled frown passed over Carlton. ‘I don’t follow you?’

  ‘I mean, for a man to collapse and die like that. Right next to you. For most people, that would be a great shock. And the manner of his death was very—’

  Carlton raised a hand, cutting her off. ‘Lady Swift, a question for you.’

  ‘Oh absolutely, shoot!’ Eleanor took a sip of the strong, sweet tea. She shuddered slightly.

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I merely called to be cordial. It will inevitably end up as a head-to-head between us in the election, I imagine.’

  Carlton slid his eyes towards Clifford and back to her. ‘Do you, indeed? That is one way to envisage things.’

  ‘Well, now that poor Mr Aris is gone, your chance of being successful in the upcoming election must have risen considerably, I expect.’

  ‘Rather pointed of you. So much for the delicacy of manners. And the answer is Aris beat me aided by a not insubstantial amount of election rigging, so as that won’t happen this time, I suppose my chances have increased.’

  She smiled back at him. ‘Gosh, you think there was something afoot in the polls? I confess I am greatly troubled by the rumours that Mr Aris’ death is suspicious. Will I need to stare over my shoulder at every turn when I’m the new MP for Chipstone?’

  ‘If, Lady Swift, if you are successful. The race has not yet been run.’

  ‘Quite! But you were sitting next to Aris the evening he died, weren’t you? Are you sure you saw nothing suspicious?’

  ‘Not from where I was sitting. A perfectly ordinary fundraising event. I’ve been to so many.’ He held her gaze. ‘Nothing struck me as odd in the slightest.’

  She heard Clifford’s cough. She pulled her uncle’s fob watch from her pocket. ‘Gracious, look at the time! I’ve detained you too long, my apologies.’ She rose and held out her hand. ‘It has been a pleasure.’

  He rose with her. ‘Lady Swift, if you really want to find out who had reason to do the late Mr Aris harm, I suggest you ask his erstwhile business partner, Mr Peel. Good day.’

  Fifteen

  Outside Carlton’s office, Eleanor turned to Clifford: ‘Do you believe what he was saying about Aris only winning because he rigged the elections? It sounded like sour grapes to me.’

  Clifford nodded. ‘I agree, my lady. I am sure there is a fair amount of underhand tactics employed by all parties, and I imagine Mr Aris was simply more adept at it than Mr Carlton.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly. Carlton struck me as a man who believes it’s his God-given right to have whatever he wants in life.’

  ‘And one who has been bitten by the disappointment of that not having proved to be the case?’

  ‘Spot on, Clifford.’

  A coal merchant’s cart rumbled towards them and mounted the pavement to avoid two children playing with a hoop in the road.

  Eleanor and Clifford jumped back through a nearby garden gate to avoid getting their feet squashed.

  At that moment the front door opened behind them and a rotund rear in flannel trousers shuffled out backwards, navy blue braces forming a lopsided ‘Y’ over a hand-knitted jumper.

  ‘Morning,’ Eleanor said.

  A smiling, moon-faced man turned to them. ‘Morning.’

  The man was hauling hard on the handle of a pram-like contraption that Heath Robinson himself would have been proud to include in his cartoons. He grunted. ‘He gets stuck sometimes, so he does.’

  Clifford stepped forward. ‘Allow me to assist, Chester.’ He took hold of one side and on the count of three, the two men gave the handle a hearty yank, which pulled the back wheels over the doorsill. Eleanor peered into the pram.

  ‘Oh, gracious!’ She held a hand over her mouth.

  Clifford maintained his unflappable air. ‘There you are, all free now.’

  The moon-faced man beamed. ‘Right helpful, thank you, Mr Clifford. If you’ll excuse us, we’re off for our walk, aren’t we, ladies and gentlemen?’

  Eleanor and Clifford each took a step backwards to give the man the space to turn the contraption around, allowing them full view of the mountain of motley cats inside. The rotund form bent over the handle and tickled the chin of a ginger tom. ‘What do you say, Thomas, is it the park or the fields today?’ At the mewled reply, he nodded and plodded on towards the gate. ‘Okay, fields it is. Come on, everyone. Esther and Miriam, paws inside, please.’

  Eleanor waited for the click of the gate before spinning round to Clifford. ‘You know that man?’

  Clifford gave a rare smile. ‘Everyone knows Mr Cecil Broughton.’

  ‘I thought you called him “Chester”?’

  ‘That is Mr Broughton’s local nickname. Everyone calls him Chester.’

  ‘Not Cat Crazy Chester, then?’ At his disapproving stare, she threw her arms out. ‘What? He must have had over twenty cats in that contraption.’

  ‘Likely well over thirty, my lady. All exceptionally well-cared for and taken in out of compassion.’

  ‘He rescues street cats?’

  ‘Indeed. He has been heard many times proudly declaring that he has never turned away a needy cat nor abandoned one who turned out to be fickle with their affections.’

  ‘But what is he doing with them all in that pram-cum-trolley thing then?’

  Clifford stared at her. ‘Taking them for a walk.’

  ‘That’s perfectly normal, is it? So, he nobly takes in all the urchin cats, but what about the rats then?’

  Clifford inclined his head. ‘Obviously, with no street cats to keep them in check, they are naturally a total menace in this area. There are great packs of them marauding in the backstreets.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Shall we?’

  Suddenly realising how hungry she was, she peered up and down the road. ‘Look here, we’ve been at this investigating lark for hours now!’

  ‘Three to be precise, my lady.’

  ‘Exactly. It must be time for a rewarding pot of tea at Winsomes Tea Rooms, surely?’

  ‘A splendid idea, my lady, but I have an alternative suggestion, if it might suit you?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘We are but a street away from the offices of Aris and Peel, Law Firm.’

  ‘You clever bean! Shall we?’

  The door of the brick-fronted Georgian office gave the building an extra haughty air in its coat of dark grey paint.

  ‘It would appear that Mr Peel did not feel the need for a period of mourning, my lady,’ Clifford said, pointing to the shining new brass plaque on the railings.

  The Law Office of Mr V. Peel, Barrister LLD.

  The name of Aris was nowhere to be seen.

  Eleanor frowned. ‘But Aris only died a few days ago?’

  Inside, the atmosphere in the sterile waiting room was most unwelcoming. Eleanor looked around at the blank white walls and hard wooden chai
rs. Leaning across to Clifford, she whispered, ‘I thought legal bods liked the high life. This feels like we’re the ones on trial.’

  The sharp-nosed secretary, who had shown them in, reappeared in the doorway, her demeanour in keeping with the office’s austere atmosphere. She pushed her narrow glasses up her nose. ‘Mr Peel will see you now. He has another appointment in seven minutes.’

  Eleanor beamed. ‘Does he? How wonderful to be so busy.’

  An unremarkable-looking man in an unremarkable suit rose from behind the desk. Only then did she realise that he was almost the same height standing as sitting, that being a little under five feet. ‘Lady Swift, I am Vernon Peel. Called to the bar twenty-one years ago. Please be aware I uphold the law to the letter.’

  Fighting the less-than-charitable thought this man was unlikely to be any more fun at parties than Oswald Greaves, Eleanor took the hard-backed chair in front of his desk.

  ‘Mr Peel, I appreciate you are very busy so I will come straight to the point. Are you aware that I am standing as an independent candidate in Mr Aris’ sadly, and suddenly, vacated place?’

  ‘I am, but I fail to understand the connection with your visit here. Arnold kept his political matters entirely separate from our legal practice.’

  ‘Of course.’ Eleanor was racking her brain for a way in. ‘However, you would have known him better than anyone in his professional life, even amongst his political colleagues. I understand you were business partners for some time?’

  Peel wrinkled his nose. ‘Eight years and seven months.’

  ‘How splendid! Oh, forgive me, my condolences naturally. It must have been very difficult for you being there at the time of his passing, especially in such tragic circumstances.’

  At this, Mr Peel sat down and steepled his fingers. ‘Thank you. It was a shock, of course. But why are you interested in my former partner, Lady Swift? If you are researching his popularity or otherwise amongst the electorate, the obvious place to make such enquiries would be outside,’ he gestured towards the window, ‘amongst them.’

  ‘Absolutely!’ She leaned forward on the desk, oblivious to his shrinking backwards in his seat. ‘But that is why I came to you. I didn’t need to see the numerous letters after your name to know that not only are you an exemplary barrister but also a man of intelligence.’

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Clifford discreetly adjust his cufflinks.

  A fraction of a frown crossed Mr Peel’s brow. ‘Go on.’

  ‘You see, Mr Aris was very successful in his political career, having been re-elected several times. Coming from the backward position of being a woman, I wish to emulate as much of his approach and attitude as possible, thus continuing his legacy. I won’t pretend, Mr Peel, I seek to be a loud and outstanding voice for the constituents.’

  ‘I see.’ He peered at her with obvious mistrust. ‘My next appointment will soon be with me, Lady Swift. I am not sure I can help you other than to say Arnold was a sincere, dedicated and knowledgeable man of strong values and even stronger opinions. It would appear you must be early in your research otherwise you would know that latterly he made some unpopular decisions which lost him some vital support, not only in politics.’

  Eleanor shook her head and tutted. ‘Perhaps it is true then.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Oh, forgive me, did I say that aloud? I suddenly recalled hearing the suggestion that poor Mr Aris might not have died of natural causes. But you would be aware of anything suspicious. I took tea with Lady Farrington recently and she made sure I knew that you were at the fundraising event.’

  Peel sat up straighter. ‘Did she? Well, that’s hopeful,’ he ended distractedly.

  ‘But you would have noted anything suspicious, of course. Perhaps something has come to your mind after the awful event? Isn’t it strange how the brain seems to chew things over and produce an answer at the most unexpected moment?’

  ‘I have a very keen and observant mind, Lady Swift. Nothing has subsequently “come to mind” as you put it because it would have done so at the time. However, as I did not observe anything untoward whilst Arnold was eating the meal, I am not of the opinion that there is anything suspicious about his passing.’

  ‘That is reassuring. Then they are nothing but unfounded rumours. Still, so sad Mr Aris was not able to be revived, even after Mr Carlton rushed round to his aid.’

  Peel shook his head. ‘It was Lord Farrington who reached Arnold’s side. Mr Carlton was nowhere to be seen by then.’

  ‘Mr Carlton had left, you say? I believe Mr Aris and Mr Carlton had some sort of dispute during the meal?’

  Peel shrugged. ‘Arnold and Mr Carlton always had some ongoing dispute.’

  ‘Such a shame! I was told that at one point they were inseparable?’

  ‘That must have been before my time, Lady Swift. Ah, my secretary…’ He nodded at the tap on his door.

  Eleanor rose and held out her hand. ‘Mr Peel, you have been most helpful. An inspiration, in fact. Thank you for your time.’ She paused at the door. ‘Oh, one last question, in case I should ever need to call upon your legal services, which areas does your own practice specialise in?’

  ‘Commercial, insurance and criminal law.’

  ‘So, I guess Mr Aris worked in the complimentary spheres of family, wills and trusts and what else is there, insolvency?’

  He gestured towards the door dispassionately. ‘Personal injury and property. Good day, Lady Swift.’

  Outside, Eleanor pulled her jacket collar up against the chill. ‘I think, Clifford, we’ve just been given a display of Mr Peel’s expert powers of deflection.’

  Clifford nodded. ‘Indeed, my lady. If I might suggest we add his name to our list of suspects. And his remark about Mr Carlton disappearing whilst they were trying to revive Mr Aris is interesting, assuming it is true.’ He was interrupted by the clang of the bell in the Town Hall’s medieval-looking tower.

  ‘Might I suggest we discuss the details after your richly-deserved tea and fruitcake at Winsomes Tea Rooms? Unless you might prefer lunch, given that it is the appropriate time for lunch.’

  ‘Watch and learn, Clifford. The amount of fruitcake I intend to devour will most definitely fit the definition of “lunch”. It is quite simply the most divine substance on this earth, after everything Mrs Trotman conjures up, of course.’

  ‘If you feel that will suitably fortify you for your first election rally, which commences in precisely an hour and a half.’

  She groaned, but then slapped her wrist. Hardly the attitude, Ellie.

  ‘Let’s get one of the tables up in the galleried section at Winsomes if we can and then we can discuss all our findings on the case so far. Dash it, though! I wish I had brought my notebook.’

  Clifford reached to his inside coat pocket. ‘Perhaps this will do, my lady?’

  ‘My notebook! Thank you. After Carlton’s name, Vernon Peel’s is one I shall be most happy to add. There’s definitely something he’s hiding.’ She waved the notebook at him. ‘What a shame the scouting movement started so recently! I rather think if Lord Baden-Powell had thought of it years before, you could have been their star member. You are the epitome of always being prepared.’

  ‘I take the essence of your statement as a compliment, my lady, although I am not sure the uniform would have quite suited me. As Twain paraphrased from Shakespeare, “Clothes make the man.”’

  Eleanor nodded. ‘Yes, but you’ve missed the second line: “Naked people have little or no influence on society.” Insightful fellow… Now, which way is lunch?’

  Sixteen

  ‘All quiet!’ The rotund, beetroot-faced, civic master-at-arms banged his gavel on the edge of the long candidates’ table. Looking around, he addressed both those standing for election and the tightly-packed crowd. ‘This will be an orderly debate. Best behaviour and no exceptions, otherwise you’ll find yourself out in the alley. Roll call, candidates, please rise as your name is called. For the Communi
st Party of Great Britain, Mr Oswald Greaves. Thank you, Mr Greaves. For the Labour Party, Mr Ernest Carlton, I thank you. Independent candidate, in place of Mr Aris, Lady Eleanor Swift, er, thank you, madam. Order there! Silence! For the Liberal Party, Mr Stanley Morris. Silence! I insist on…’

  Three hours! Three table-thumping, headache-making, argument-filled hours later, all that had happened was the whole debate had descended into a brawl. At that point Eleanor had had enough. No one had heard a word of her speech, of that she was sure.

  She left quietly, unnoticed in the melee, and pushed through the jostling crowd, which was still trying to scramble onto the stage. It had all started well enough. Eleanor had attended her first meeting of the Women’s League and they had accompanied her to the debate. And then…

  She needed air like she needed Clifford to magically appear and take her away from it all. Mostly, she needed to gather her thoughts together.

  How on earth did that get so out of hand so quickly, Ellie?

  As she strode out of the Town Hall and down the steps, she shook her head at a reporter for the Chipstone Gazette. She glanced up and down the road. Where on earth was Clifford? But standing there on the bottom step, she had the distinct impression that she was being watched. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught sight of a familiar, heavy-lined face poking out from a straw hat, held in place by a scarf of purple, white and green, the colours of Mrs Brody’s militant women’s group.

  ‘Mrs Brody, how are you?’ Eleanor tried to pull on her best smile.

  ‘Perfectly fine, thank you.’

  ‘Doesn’t it seem an age since we were in Little Buckford’s amateur dramatic performance together?’

  Mrs Brody sniffed. ‘If we’d gone with my choice, we would have done more than entertain. We would have—’

  ‘Yes, thank you for sharing your views. But perhaps old arguments are best buried and forgotten?’

  Mrs Brody laughed. ‘Well, someone buried an argument with Aris, good and proper too.’

  Eleanor started. ‘You think his death wasn’t an accident?’