Mrs Brody shrugged. ‘Rather convenient timing, isn’t it? It is ancient news that Aris beat Carlton in the last three elections. What is far from common knowledge, however, is that this is Carlton’s last chance. If he loses this election, his party has declared categorically that they will throw him out.’
‘Are you accusing Mr Carlton of killing Mr Aris?’
‘What I am saying, Lady Swift, is that that man Carlton is capable of anything. He’s not just a fraud, he’s also a womaniser. I’m surprised Carlton’s not the one dead, the way he’s been carrying on with Stanley Morris’ wife, amongst others. Ask Morris, he’s well aware of it, poor soul! Carlton is making a total fool out of him, and her, just as he did with the others before.’
She turned and looked back at the Town Hall, where the police were trying to break up the opposing factions. ‘Looks like my ladies have done their work well.’ At Eleanor’s gasp, she smirked. ‘My group didn’t start the brawl, we merely fanned the flames. You didn’t doubt we would support you, did you? We need a woman in charge and it seems you’re the best we’ve got, heaven help us!’
Before Eleanor could reply, she stalked off, slowing only to turn and glower at a man who doffed his hat to her as she turned onto the main road.
A cough heralded the arrival of Clifford. ‘It would seem, my lady, that you have found your first supporter.’
Eleanor grimaced. ‘Aren’t I the popular one!’ She let her chin drop to her chest for a moment and let out a long breath. ‘What a day! Three interviews, three conflicting stories, three more motives and now three more suspects on the list. And a disastrous and humiliating first attempt at addressing the electorate at the rally which,’ she tapped her ear, ‘I believe has permanently damaged my hearing. I think Mrs Brody’s radical women’s group supporting me might just be the death knell of my campaign!’
As they walked to the Rolls, she turned to Clifford. ‘She might be derailing my election campaign, however unintentionally, but she’s helping our investigation no end! I think the time has come for me to pay a visit to Mrs Aris to offer my condolences.’
On the way, Eleanor recounted Mrs Brody’s contention that Carlton killed Aris as Aris had beaten him three times in previous elections.
‘Which, as Mrs Brody rightly said, is old news, Clifford. What isn’t is that, according to her, the Liberal Party candidate, Stanley Morris, was one of Carlton’s conquests. Or rather Morris’ wife. I remember Miss Mann hinted that he was a womaniser as well. And Morris apparently found out about it and scrapped with Carlton.’
Clifford shifted the Rolls into gear as they cleared the high street. ‘Interesting, my lady, if Mr Carlton had been murdered instead of Mr Aris?’
Deflated, Eleanor sunk back in her seat. ‘True, Clifford…’
Seventeen
Eleanor paused in front of a Queen Anne-style mansion set in manicured gardens. As the gate clicked behind her, a maid in an immaculately starched apron appeared on the front step.
‘May I help you?’
‘Mrs Aris, please.’
‘I will see if Madam is home. Your card?’
Unlike many titled ladies, Eleanor had never bothered to get printed calling cards, finding them pretentious. Rather than trying to explain, she pretended to fumble in her jacket pocket. ‘Do you know I’ve made such a lot of social calls lately, I fear I’ve run out. I am Lady Swift.’ She emphasised the ‘Lady’.
The maid bobbed and disappeared. Eleanor wished Clifford could have been with her but with all that was going on, he’d had some errands to run. Sometimes she forgot that he had to keep the Hall running despite murder investigations and elections. The maid quickly returned and led Eleanor along the central hallway. They passed the grand staircase and continued out to a charming sunroom with full-length sash windows throwing long shafts of light across the turquoise wool rugs.
‘Lady Swift, delighted to see you!’ Mrs Aris stepped forward, tall and elegant in a delicate, cornflower-blue dress and a double string of black pearls.
‘Mrs Aris, do forgive me calling unannounced. I simply want to pass on my rather late condolences and offer any assistance.’ She held out the potted arum lily she’d spotted in a quirky florist on the way past.
‘So kind! What a beautiful bloom, I have the perfect Spode planter to set it off. Clare, tea. Do you take Earl Grey, Lady Swift?’
‘Only under extreme duress, I’m afraid.’
Mrs Aris smiled at this. ‘Clare, two separate pots. Shall we sit? I’ve rather holed up in this room since Arnold’s passing. It’s hard to feel totally gloomy in such a bright space.’
Eleanor eased onto the sofa. She looked at the woman opposite her with genuine sympathy. ‘It can’t have been easy, not with everything happening so… suddenly.’
Mrs Aris stared at her hands and fingered her wedding ring, turning it against a cut sapphire engagement ring behind it.
Eleanor shifted uncomfortably. How could she have imagined this was a good idea? Trying to pump a grieving widow for information? Oh dear, Ellie, on reflection perhaps not your finest hour!
The arrival of the tea ended the awkward silence. As the maid set out the fine bone china cups and saucers on the low table between the sofas, Eleanor was struck by her hostess’s obsession with blue. Looking round the room, she couldn’t find a shred of any other colour, just every shade from sky through to the deepest ocean.
‘Mrs Aris, you’ve such an eye for blending a single colour. It creates a wonderfully restful atmosphere.’
Her hostess gave a wan smile. ‘Arnold always told me I overdid it. He said it was like living underwater. Looking back, I imagine he found it rather claustrophobic.’
‘Hindsight is a wonderful thing.’
‘My husband was a remarkable man, Lady Swift. Driven, passionate and dedicated. Too late, we recognise the errors we make. “The fool who persists in his folly will become wise”, only not so it seems.’ She laughed awkwardly. ‘Do you enjoy William Blake, Lady Swift?’
‘He’s a little like Earl Grey for my taste, rather strong and intensely flowery.’
‘Fair point, he could do with a hefty squeeze of lemon at times.’
Eleanor toyed with the delicate handle of her cup. Oh well, in for a penny…
‘Forgive my asking, Mrs Aris, I don’t wish to speak insensitively… but… do you suspect something was amiss with your husband’s… passing?’
The woman stiffened and took up her tea. ‘Why ever would you think that?’
‘Gracious, it was your choice of Blake quote! I’m sorry, I misread your thoughts. That’s what comes of being a poetry philistine.’
Mrs Aris looked across to her maid, who had finished busying herself rearranging the multitude of blue cushions and had moved on to dusting a row of indigo orchids.
‘Clare, that can wait, thank you. That will be all for now.’
The girl collected her caddy of cloths and bobbed a half-curtsey, clearly disappointed at not overhearing the rest of the conversation.
As the door clicked shut behind her, Mrs Aris edged forward on the sofa to face Eleanor across the tea table. ‘Lady Swift, I do not wish to alarm you, but politics is a barbarous world. Arnold had a rhinoceros’ hide and was so blinded by his determination that he failed to see how dangerous the enemies he was making along the way became.’
‘Do you think he may have been threatened at all?’
Mrs Aris’ lips twisted into a rueful line. ‘A million times, but Arnold was too strong for that. If someone had wanted to get rid of him, they would have needed to use more drastic measures. Arnold wouldn’t change his mind for anyone, even for that dreadful man Blewitt, who resorted to all manner of underhand tactics to oust him. All so that Blewitt could halt the work Arnold was doing for women’s rights. I think Duncan Blewitt believes we women should all be manacled to the kitchen. And then that Communist, Greaves, turned up on the doorstep one day in a fearful temper, but Arnold sent him away with a flea in his ear.’
Mrs Aris shook her head. ‘No, Arnold had an allergy to peanuts. It was so severe that just a trace was potentially lethal for him.’
‘Was your husband’s allergy common knowledge?’
‘He played it down. He felt it was a weakness. If anyone asked him, he’d make a joke of it.’ She smiled at Eleanor and shrugged. ‘Men!’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, those closest to him, such as the Farringtons, knew. When we first married, I worried constantly about it. I hated him eating anywhere except at home, but after nearly sixteen years together, I became less vigilant.’ She smoothed the skirt of her dress over her knees. ‘And now it’s happened, I’ve resolved to accept what is.’
The widow’s sangfroid amazed Eleanor. ‘A truly admirable attitude. My apologies again for reopening any wounds.’
‘It’s quite alright. Time, they say, is the greatest healer.’ Again, there was that awkward laugh. ‘Besides, what choice do I have? I can’t change the past. Not any of it…’
‘I so admire your compassion, especially at this difficult time. It would be very easy to blame someone.’
Mrs Aris held her gaze. ‘Enough people knew that it would be hard to know exactly who to blame. I believe, however, that it was a simple, if tragic error, made by the Farringtons’ cook.’ She gave a delicate sniff. ‘I imagine she feels terrible.’
Eleanor struggled with her conscience. She was on a mission to find who murdered this poor woman’s husband, that was true. On the other hand, she desperately didn’t want to make things any more painful for her when it seemed clear she didn’t suspect her husband’s death was suspicious.
If you’re going to solve this murder, Ellie, you’ll have to do it without disturbing this woman’s grief any more. She swigged the last of her tea. ‘Mrs Aris, thank you for your gracious hospitality. I merely wanted to pay my respects and assure you that I intend to carry on your husband’s excellent work.’
Her hostess rose and offered her hand. ‘Tread carefully, Lady Swift. There is no love or honour in politics. It brings out the most merciless behaviour in people.’
Eleanor nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve experienced some of that already, even amongst those groups I thought would support a woman standing.’
‘Mrs Brody?’ The words seemed to pop out unintended.
Eleanor started. ‘Well, I rather meant the women of Chipstone and Little Buckford in general. But why did you mention Mrs Brody?’
‘She is well-known for, well…’ She looked away and then back to Eleanor. ‘Forgive me, it’s just that she was a staunch supporter and volunteer of my husband’s for several years.’
‘Was?’
‘They had a falling-out. I believe she turned up at Farrington Manor to cause mischief, but Arnold spotted her and had her ejected. We have said over tea, one cannot always pin down the vagaries of opinions and perceptions. Thank you so much for your kind call.’
Eleanor frowned as she collected her jacket from the maid. They hadn’t once discussed the vagaries of anything…
Eighteen
Eleanor’s grey silk house pyjamas swished against the balustrade as she trod softly down the stairs.
‘Oh, my stars!’ Mrs Butters leaned against the wood panelling of the hallway. ‘My bones almost jumped out of my skin.’
Eleanor smiled sheepishly. ‘I’m so sorry to startle you. It is earlier than I’m usually up, I suppose.’
The housekeeper peered at the grandfather clock in the alcove. ‘It is but five and twenty past six, my lady. Polly hasn’t started on the fires yet, the morning room will be colder than the pantry.’
Clifford, already immaculately dressed and groomed, came to Mrs Butters’ rescue. ‘Would you care to join Master Gladstone in the snug, my lady? Perhaps with the addition of a warming pot of tea and a blanket whilst the breakfast preparations are finished?’
‘Wonderful, thank you! Sounds better than hanging out with the hams and cheeses in the pantry. Mr Snoozy in there, is he?’ said Eleanor. She peeped round the door and softened at the sight of the sleeping bulldog, full-length on the Chesterfield, his feet and jowls twitching as he chased imaginary rabbits.
Clifford coughed. ‘May I enquire, my lady, as to the reason for you being up at this unusually early hour?’
‘I simply couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t get Aris’ murder out of my mind. And this wretched election… I can’t lie in bed, staring at the ceiling any longer. So, tea and a blanket will be lovely. But then a breakfast tray in here whenever it is ready, to save you the faff of laying out the morning room. That way, you can join me sooner. I need your insights. We’re a team when it comes to investigations and such like, remember?’
‘Very good, my lady.’
In the snug, Eleanor had a fruitless stand-off with Gladstone, who was too cosy to be cajoled into sharing any part of the Chesterfield. He dug his sharp knees into the cushions and went too stiff for her to move. Finally, she secured enough of the end cushion to sit cross-legged with one knee stuck up in the air.
Mrs Butters tapped at the door and tutted at her mistress being ousted by a bulldog.
‘Here, perhaps you’ll be warmer in this long wool cardigan and blanket until the fire catches, my lady.’
‘Splendid!’
‘And this should do wonders for your tootsies.’
‘My what?’
The housekeeper blushed. ‘I mean your toes, my lady. “Tootsies”, have you never heard them called that before?’
Eleanor shook her head.
‘Ah, perhaps your mother played “This Little Piggy Went To Market” with you though?’
That made Eleanor’s eyes fill. Her voice was quiet. ‘That takes me back. I always favoured the little fellow who ate roast beef.’
‘Me too.’ Mrs Butters gave her that motherly smile that made everything right in the world.
Eleanor wriggled her toes. ‘Gosh, that’s toasty! Is it a hot water bottle?’
‘No, my lady, your late uncle said he was all for modern advancements but tired of the rubber seams leaking and found a simpler, more effective solution. It’s two halves of a flowerpot, heated in the range. They’ll stay warm for hours.’
This made Eleanor chuckle. ‘Honestly, Mrs Butters, this being the lady of the house isn’t at all as I imagined it would be. Here I am at the mercy of a stubborn bulldog, wrapped in a blanket with my feet in flowerpots.’
‘Can I let you into a secret, my lady? The older I get, the more I realise that nothing is like I thought it would be. Breakfast will be along as quick as a jackrabbit if you can distract yourself for a bit.’
And what a breakfast it was.
‘Wow!’ Eleanor clapped her hands in childish delight. ‘That’s genius!’
She held up the artfully formed open bread boat with its crisp brown-crusted edges. Inside was filled with egg-and-cheese soufflé liberally sprinkled with succulent pieces of bacon, tomato, mushroom and black pudding. Gladstone’s nose twitched, and he rolled one eye open, before hauling himself up onto one paw with his most innocent face on.
‘None for you, Mr Greedy! This is art, not cooking. What does our wonderful cook call it?’
Mrs Butters sniffed. ‘The Trotman Breakfast Tugboat.’
Eleanor started to laugh but then glanced at her housekeeper. ‘Oh dear! Has there been another disagreement in the kitchen?’
‘A silly tiff, I’m sure, my lady. It’s just that, well, it was my idea. Only I didn’t come up with the name… and perhaps not the black pudding.’ She tailed off, biting her lip.
‘Well, I love it. How would it be if we renamed this joint masterpiece the Ladies’ Launch? It looks like one of those elegant slipper launches one sees on the river.’
Mrs Butters smiled and nodded. ‘Ladies’ Launch it is. Thank you, my lady.’
Clifford waited until Eleanor stopped smack
ing her lips. Gladstone, meanwhile, had slumped back into a sleep, grumpy at not receiving the merest morsel.
‘You know, Clifford, you really must put your order in for one of these. That was simply divine!’
‘Thank you, my lady, but I favour something substantially lighter in the morning, especially before seven o’clock.’
She stared at him, still ignorant about his personal routine despite her having lived at the Hall now for nearly six months. There had to be a normal man in there somewhere. One who ate hearty food, enjoyed a stiff drink and a belly laugh with good friends?
Like the rest of the household, Clifford was used to his mistress drifting off into her own world. ‘I believe, my lady, you were asking me to join you in discussing Mr Aris’ demise?’
‘Yes, yes! It would really help if you took a seat.’
He drew up a long-backed, wooden chair.
‘Now that we’re both comfy,’ she glanced at him sitting as stiff as a poker on the edge of the seat opposite her and shook her head, ‘let’s get to the bottom of this wretched murder business.’
‘How quickly we seem to have returned to this situation.’
She nodded. ‘You know, I’ve worked out village life is like a millpond. On the surface everything seems calm and normal, but underneath currents of scandal, disgrace and dishonour run deep.’
The corner of Clifford’s lips twitched. ‘Might it be that some people just live a quiet life in the country, my lady?’
She thought about this. ‘At best, a handful. The vast majority consist of three groups: those who have committed unspeakable acts, those who dream of committing them, and those who make up malicious gossip about the first two.’
He bowed. ‘My congratulations, you have assassinated the good character of the entire rural population.’
Eleanor shook her head, ‘Not at all, Clifford, I wasn’t just talking about those who live in the countryside. Now, we’ve seriously digressed, and I’ve forgotten what I was going to say. Wait! That’s it. Yes…’
A Witness to Murder: An unputdownable cozy murder mystery (A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 3) Page 13