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

by Verity Bright

  As he announced the next candidate, Eleanor’s nerves bubbled up worse than ever. Winning this debate mattered, really mattered. She heard her name called. She stood and walked to the middle of the stage in a daze.

  Looking out over the sea of faces, she tried to let her mind relax. Take a deep breath, Ellie, just be yourself. She closed her eyes and then opened them. People shuffled in their seats. The master-at-arms glared at her, picked up his gavel and then placed it back down as she started to speak.

  ‘Good afternoon, everyone. Now, I know you are wondering what on earth I’m doing up here, and to tell you the truth,’ she paused, ‘so am I.’

  People turned to their neighbour, sharing a puzzled frown. Eleanor relaxed as her words rolled out. ‘You see, as well as being the only woman standing here today, I’m also very much the new girl in town. And do you know when I arrived,’ she held her hands up and looked around, ‘I wasn’t sure at all that I wanted to stay.’

  The room tensed. Eleanor nodded slowly. ‘You see, I only came back at the death of my uncle, Lord Henley, out of a vague sense of duty.’ She hesitated. ‘I didn’t really know my late uncle, but I’m told he was a wonderful man.’ This brought a round of nodding and a murmur of agreement from sections of the crowd.

  Encouraged, she continued. ‘So, there I was, the long-lost niece, standing on the steps of Henley Hall, remembering that the last time I was there, I was too short to reach the bell pull.’ The ladies in the back row patted each other’s hands without taking their eyes off her. ‘And I have to tell you,’ she scanned the rows again, ‘I’m actually mighty cross with most of you.’

  The outbursts that followed seemed split between confusion and anger.

  ‘Cross with us?’

  ‘What’s she on about?’

  ‘The cheek!’

  The rap of the master-at-arms’ gavel brought the crowd up short. ‘Gentlemen, ladies, let Lady Swift continue.’ He raised an eyebrow in her direction. ‘I, for one, am interested to find out how exactly I have annoyed her.’

  She smiled at him. ‘Well, I thought I had my plan sorted, you see. Pop over here, do what needed to be done and then escape back to my other life. But,’ she sighed, ‘I’ve discovered that I can’t bring myself to leave. I have fallen head over heart in love with this beautiful county. And even more so with the incredible community of kind-hearted, genuine folk who live here.’ The entire main chamber was silent. Even Greaves looked up from his notebook. Eleanor looked over the sea of faces before continuing. ‘Can I be totally honest with you? It’s something of a secret, so please keep it to yourselves.’ Everyone, including the master-at-arms, leaned forward. Eleanor cupped her mouth and whispered just loud enough to be heard: ‘I don’t fit in, I’m not one of you.’

  Carlton’s roar of laughter made everyone jump. The master-at-arms gave him a stern look and waved his gavel in his direction. All eyes were back on Eleanor as she continued. ‘You see, I’m the outsider, the offcomer and yet…’ her hands went to her chest ‘…you’ve made me feel like family. And the truth is…’ she paused and swallowed the lump in her throat ‘…I’ve never felt that anywhere else before.’

  Several men coughed, whilst several of the ladies pulled out handkerchiefs and pretended to wipe their noses. Eleanor took a deep breath. ‘And that’s why I’m so cross with you all. I can’t leave and yet I can’t stay. Not without giving something back. Not without trying to be a good neighbour and a kind-hearted friend, because that’s what you’ve been to me. If I did, I really would be the spoiled princess who inherited the world then, wouldn’t I?’

  This brought a lot of chuckles and elbow nudging. ‘Gentlemen and ladies, I can only make you one promise. I haven’t got a raft of policies, in fact I have no experience in politics, I’ve never seen the Houses of Parliament. And I think I’d look terrible in those stuffy gowns. Black is a death colour on me!’ Laughter rang round the chamber.

  Eleanor lowered her voice, but her words carried easily to the back of the room. ‘I’m not my late uncle, although I believe we share many similarities, perhaps stubbornness being the most prominent. However, you’ve compelled me to want to follow in his footsteps. I simply have to do something to say thank you for all that you’ve done for me since I arrived here. And the best way I know I can do that is to take your concerns, your problems and your hopes, to Whitehall. And…’ for the first time since coming to the lectern, she raised her voice ‘…and do my absolute damnedest to get them heard whatever it takes!’

  A sizeable group in the second and third rows leapt up and applauded. Soon the rest of the audience were on their feet, cheering and clapping. Shouts crossed the room.

  ‘Hear, hear!’

  ‘We’ll give you a shot, won’t we, Ma?’

  ‘Didn’t think she had it in her, but she has!’

  ‘Go, Lady Swift!’

  Eleanor beamed at the crowd and surprised herself by blowing out a kiss.

  At the side of the stage, Duncan Blewitt punched a stack of chairs and spun round, his back to Eleanor. As she turned, Ernest Carlton caught her eye with an appreciative arch of one brow. She took her seat and continued to stare forward, ignoring his whispered, ‘Didn’t expect you to pull out the emotive card, old girl. I see you’re going to take some stopping. But I will…’

  Twenty-Two

  ‘Gracious, Polly! Are you alright?’

  Her maid lay where she’d tripped, the newspapers she’d been carrying scattered perilously close to the crackling fire in the room affectionately named the snug. Gladstone lumbered up from where he had been sprawled on the marble hearth and stretched out first one, then the other, of his short, stiff legs as he licked the maid’s cheek. Polly looked up. ‘I’m sorry, your ladyship, I was so excited. But was that wrong of me?’

  Eleanor knelt and lifted the young girl’s chin. ‘I don’t think being excited can ever be wrong, can it?’

  Polly scrambled up onto her knees and fiddled with the edge of her apron strap. She whispered, ‘You don’t, your ladyship, really?’

  ‘No, I mean excitement is a wonderful thing.’

  ‘Isn’t it though? I love that fizzy feeling.’

  Eleanor laughed. ‘Fizzy feeling? Is that what excitement is like for you?’

  Polly nodded emphatically. ‘When something exciting is happening, I feel full of bubbles growing and fizzing and bubbling up inside me, like Mrs Trotman’s special gravy does on the range.’

  Eleanor couldn’t help but smile. With Gladstone now leaning sideways against her with his head on her shoulder, she shuffled awkwardly into a cross-legged position. She put her arm around the bulldog’s neck and stared up at the ceiling. ‘Excitement for me is like a hundred fireworks going off with a marching band playing at the same time.’

  Polly clapped her hands in delight.

  A cough made them both turn to the doorway. Clifford stood holding a silver tray, his face registering his hearty disapproval of the sight before him. The young girl jumped to her feet, her cheeks scarlet.

  Eleanor gave him a cheery wave. ‘Morning, Clifford. Polly and I were discussing something most important.’

  He stepped over the papers and placed the tray on the breakfast table. ‘Evidently important enough to be huddled on the floor with members of the staff and Master Gladstone amongst the tatters of the morning papers?’

  She winked at Polly. ‘Absolutely.’

  Clifford shook his head. ‘Polly, Mrs Trotman will be waiting for you.’

  ‘Yes, sir! So, sorry, Mr Clifford, sir.’ Polly scampered off in the direction of the kitchen.

  Eleanor called after her. ‘But, Polly, you didn’t tell me what you were so excited about?’

  Without stopping, her maid shouted over her shoulder, ‘It’s the newspapers, your ladyship! Everyone loves you as much as we do!’

  Clifford ran a white-gloved finger along his starched collar. ‘My apologies, my lady. I will speak to Polly.’

  Eleanor wiggled out from under
Gladstone’s bulky form and stood to put her hand on Clifford’s arm. ‘Please don’t. She’s trying so hard to get it right and I’d hate to see her delightful little spirit constrained.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  ‘But I’m intrigued by her parting words. Is there a write-up about yesterday’s debate?’

  Clifford had started collecting the newspapers and matching the right pages to the right publication. He stood up, looking at the crumpled heap in horror. ‘No, my lady, there are a great many write-ups and the vast majority are hailing you as a local heroine.’

  ‘What!’ Eleanor’s mind spun. ‘Really? I mean, I just stood there and said what came into my head.’ She smiled fondly at him. ‘But I think someone not too far away might have engineered that.’

  ‘Master Gladstone has often been observed going through your pockets, my lady.’

  ‘Nice try.’

  ‘Might I interrupt the thread of conversation to thank you for generously sharing your delight at the reception your speech received with an impromptu party for the staff last night. It was greatly appreciated and will, no doubt, be the talk of many long winter evenings.’

  ‘I’m so pleased everyone enjoyed it as much as I did. It was honestly my greatest pleasure to spend it at home, amongst fam—’ She gave an embarrassed shrug. ‘I will try not to make a habit of it. I say, those sausage meat and herb pastry rolls Mrs Trotman conjured up so quickly were divine. Hot and buttery from the oven. And the Stilton and bacon fellows. Ooh, but the piquant Cheddar and field mushroom, yummy!’

  ‘And you found her homemade rhubarb wine a fine complement?’

  She smiled at the memory. ‘We all did and the damson rum for afters.’

  ‘Well, the celebration was not only appreciated but also well deserved, it seems. The press have seized upon your frank and self-effacing message with uncharacteristic positivity in the main.’

  ‘Look at this!’ She held up the front page of The County Gazette and pointed to the photograph of her blowing a kiss to the crowd.

  He read out the reporter’s opening line: ‘The question on everyone’s lips isn’t is Lady Swift ready for Whitehall, but is Whitehall ready for Lady Swift?’ The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘Let’s hope so, my lady.’

  She shook her head and sat down. ‘I’m amazed, Clifford, really. It could have gone so wrong. I half expected rotten cabbages to rain onto the stage.’

  Clifford cocked an eyebrow. ‘Which simply goes to show how very true the words of your speech were, my lady.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘As you said so honestly, you are the interloper. Cabbages are never harvested before November in Buckinghamshire, every local knows that.’

  She laughed and fell back onto the Chesterfield, spilling the tea Clifford had brought with him. The housekeeper appeared in the doorway as Clifford was mopping up the mess on the tray. ‘I am sorry to interrupt you, my lady, but you have visitors.’

  ‘Who is it, Mrs Butters?’

  Before the housekeeper could reply, two policemen came in behind her.

  Eleanor regarded them without too much concern. She was rather used to the police by now. ‘Good morning, Constables? Or is it Sergeants? I’m rubbish at knowing what all your wonderful stripes and buttons mean. Will you join me for some tea whilst we discuss whatever you’ve come for?’

  The taller of the two replied: ‘Inspector and Constable, as it happens.’ He tapped his shoulder with his gloved finger. ‘I’m Inspector Fawks. And this,’ he pointed at his companion, ‘is Constable Wainfleet. And no, tea will not be appropriate, thank you.’

  ‘I see, well, how can I help?’

  ‘By accompanying us to the police station, Lady Swift.’

  Eleanor’s smile faded. ‘In connection with what, Inspector?’

  ‘In connection, Lady Swift, with the murder of one Ernest Carlton.’

  Twenty-Three

  Eleanor shook her head. ‘Murder?’ Slowly, comprehension dawned. ‘Aris. You mean Arnold Aris, surely?’

  Inspector Fawks frowned. ‘Who’s Aris? The deceased’s name is Carlton. Ernest Carlton. Who is this Aris character? Have you been drinking?’

  Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Carlton! He can’t have been murdered. I was sitting next to him only last night.’

  The constable spoke for the first time: ‘That might be, but this morning, he’s as dead as the proverbial doornail.’

  Inspector Fawks nodded. ‘But then you knew that already, didn’t you, Lady Swift, seeing as you murdered him? So, please, don’t try and confuse us. Save any theatricals for the judge. Now, you will accompany us to Oxford Police Station for questioning without further delay.’

  Eleanor’s head was still swimming. ‘The one on Blue Boar Street?’

  Inspector Fawks smiled grimly. ‘Already familiar with it, are we? Not surprised!’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness!’ Perhaps Chief Inspector Seldon will be there, Ellie?

  Inspector Fawks looked inquiringly at Clifford. ‘Are you sure your employer hasn’t taken any strong substance, illegal or otherwise, this morning?’

  Clifford nodded. ‘I assure you, gentlemen, that despite appearances to the contrary, Lady Swift has not partaken of any substance more illegal than buttered toast.’

  Inspector Fawks seemed unconvinced. ‘That may be. Constable, escort Lady Swift to the car.’

  Clifford stepped forward. ‘Inspector, I can vouch for Lady Swift’s recent whereabouts. Perhaps you might wish to take my statement at the station.’ He lowered his voice. ‘She may succumb to a delayed attack of hysterics.’

  Inspector Fawks looked him up and down. ‘Perhaps that is a good idea.’

  ‘Especially after that woman bit you last month, Inspector,’ said the constable.

  Inspector Fawks grimaced and rubbed his elbow. ‘Yes, we will need your statement as well. You’ll have to make your own way there, however.’

  Eleanor threw Clifford a grateful look. As the constable took her arm, she shook his hand off. ‘Constable, unhand me! I am coming without a fight so please show some decorum.’ The young policeman looked helplessly at his boss.

  Inspector Fawks gave a heavy sigh. ‘Lady Swift, perhaps on the journey to Oxford I shall instruct you on prisoner protocol?’

  As the constable led her out to the waiting police car, she turned to Inspector Fawks. ‘By the way, you haven’t given me any indication as to why on earth you imagine I had anything to do with poor Mr Carlton’s death?’

  ‘Aha, well, you see, in my professional experience most toff… most titled gentry and ladies make a good few enemies, and you’re no exception.’

  Eleanor stared blankly out of the car window, trying to grapple with her situation. Someone had set her up. But who? She groaned. It could be any of their suspects. Or even one of the other candidates who had nothing to do with Aris’ death, but who saw the opportunity to get rid of an opponent.

  ‘Oh, this is ridiculous! I don’t even know how Carlton died,’ she said out loud.

  When they arrived in Oxford, the constable showed Eleanor into a small room with a bare wood table and two hard chairs whilst Inspector Fawks disappeared without an explanation.

  She was still in shock over the news of the murder of Carlton, but determined not to be browbeaten. She sat down, drumming her fingers on the table. Thankfully it was a short wait. And one that ended with a potential spot of relief as DCI Seldon’s tall, athletic frame ducked under the door frame, his broad shoulders straightening as he swept into the room, with Inspector Fawks following in his wake.

  He nodded to Eleanor. ‘Lady Swift, would you—’

  ‘Like tea? Certainly. With two sugars, if you please.’

  He frowned. ‘I haven’t offered tea.’

  ‘I know and you’re quite right. Maybe a stiff coffee is needed?’

  ‘Lady Swift, do you understand why you are here?’ Inspector Fawks said, glancing at DCI Seldon, who rolled his eyes but gestured that the policeman should meet Elean
or’s request.

  Only a few short, but awkwardly silent, minutes later, she took a sip of her coffee, wincing at the strength. ‘Now, Inspector Fawks, to answer your question as to my understanding of why I am here, yes, I do. I understand someone has tried to set me up for the death of…’ she shook her head, hardly able to believe it ‘…for the death of Mr Carlton. And that it is the police’s job to investigate such unfounded claims.’

  DCI Seldon tried to hide a smile, whilst Inspector Fawks frowned. ‘Then I need to enlighten you further, Lady Swift. This is a most serious matter. A man is dead at the hand of another and at this point in our inquiries yours is the hand that appears to have been responsible.’

  DCI Seldon snorted. ‘Fawks, I realise this is your investigation, but I can vouch for Lady Swift. She is much more likely to be solving a murder than committing one.’

  Eleanor shot him a grateful smile. ‘Thank you. And might I enquire now as to how Mr Carlton was murdered?’

  Inspector Fawks shook his head. ‘No, Lady Swift, you may not. It is my job to ask the questions. Yours is to answer them. Whilst enjoying your coffee, of course.’

  She stared at him. Was he trying to do that good policeman/bad policeman routine she’d read about in those penny dreadfuls? Or was he just a little odd?

  Inspector Fawks tapped his pen on the table. ‘Now, where were you last night between the hours of eight and nine in the evening?’

  She frowned. At least I now know the time of Carlton’s murder. ‘Honestly, I don’t remember. I’ll have to start a minute-by-minute diary if this kind of thing is going to become a habit.’

  DCI Seldon coughed, covering up what sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

  Inspector Fawks leaned forward. ‘It is more a case of whether murder becomes a habit of yours, Lady Swift.’

  DCI Seldon grunted. ‘Fawks, if you had been taking notes, you might find as I mentioned earlier, that Lady Swift is more in the habit of solving murders than perpetrating them.’