Inspector Fawks shot DCI Seldon an exasperated look. ‘I appreciate that, sir, but I have to follow up my information, as you are aware.’ He turned back to Eleanor. ‘So, having been involved in murder before, in whatever capacity, you’d understand how to cover your tracks?’
Despite herself, Eleanor had to admit he had a point. She flapped a hand in reply.
Inspector Fawks had taken a notebook from his top pocket and was writing. He looked up. ‘So, I’ll ask again, where were you last night between the hours of eight and nine in the evening?’
Eleanor tried to remember what she’d been doing, but she rarely took notice of the time, especially when at home. ‘I’m sure I was at Henley Hall by that hour, but as to what I was doing, I can’t recall.’
‘Were you alone, Lady Swift?’
‘Well, one is never alone, Inspector, my staff would have been there. They can vouch for me. I do remember I had a delicious late supper with them all in the kitchen. Clifford mentioned it was about two o’clock this morning that we finished celebrating. Then I probably cuddled up with Gladstone and fell into a most happy slumber.’
DCI Seldon turned to inspect the wall minutely for a moment at her description of her evening’s activities. He seemed to be trying not to laugh.
Inspector Fawks slapped his pen down on the table. ‘Still being flippant then?’
‘Sorry?’
He leaned back. ‘You say you were alone all evening and yet,’ he looked at his notes, ‘you now claim to have spent it in the presence of staff. And then the early hours onwards with a certain Gladstone. Is he another member of your staff?’ Before she could reply, he fixed her with a severe look. ‘Wasting police time is a serious offence. Nearly as serious as murder in my book. Now, who is this Mr Gladstone if he isn’t the late, dead, Prime Minister? Your beau, perhaps?’
Despite the seriousness of the situation, she couldn’t help smiling. ‘I am not usually to be found lying on sofas embracing members of my staff or ex-prime ministers, Inspector.’
DCI Seldon failed again to disguise his laugh as a cough. ‘I believe you’ll find, Fawks, that Master Gladstone is the late Lord Henley’s bulldog. Lady Swift inherited him along with her uncle’s estate.’ He turned his gaze on her, his eyes smiling. ‘I’m sure he performs some useful function, although it mostly seems to consist of hogging the sofa, stealing sausages and crushing the hats of unsuspecting visitors.’
‘I see,’ Inspector Fawks said tersely, evidently not seeing at all. Eleanor tore her gaze away from DCI Seldon. ‘Yes, Inspector. In fact, I believe my butler, Clifford, is probably now somewhere about the building. He will substantiate the facts I have given you.’
‘Never mind that.’ Inspector Fawks made a note and looked up. ‘When we first arrested you, Lady Swift, you mentioned that you thought you were being arrested for the murder of a Mr Aris, not a Mr Carlton?’
DCI Seldon stared at her quizzically and went to speak, but she jumped in, deliberately not looking at him as she was finding his gaze unsettling. ‘Well, Inspector, when one murders as many people as I do, how is one to keep up?’
Did you just say that out loud, Ellie? She groaned to herself. Whenever she was in a stressful or dangerous situation, her nerves brought out the glibbest of remarks.
DCI Seldon seemed to be having yet another coughing fit. Once he’d regained his composure, he nodded to Inspector Fawks, whose thin set lips suggested he wasn’t amused.
‘Tell me about this Mr Aris?’
DCI Seldon interrupted. ‘Mr Aris died of a rare food allergy about a week ago, Fawks. I’m currently investigating his death. Although, despite Lady Swift’s assertion, we have no firm evidence yet that this was caused by anything other than gross negligence. We’re currently deciding whether to press charges.’
Inspector Fawks was still looking at her expectantly. ‘I met Mr Aris and his wife at a luncheon at Langham Manor. We didn’t really get acquainted. I then visited Mrs Aris after I’d heard her husband had died to, er, offer my condolences.’
‘I see.’ Fawks’ pen scratched across the paper as he mumbled, ‘Possibility of collaboration between Mrs Aris and the accused.’
She leaned over the table and jabbed at his words. ‘That, Inspector, is misrepresentation. Perhaps you missed your true vocation as a journalist?’
He stopped writing. ‘Actually, I did dream of becoming a reporter. And I did enjoy this morning’s newspaper coverage of your speech at the debate.’
She shook her head. ‘Which one? There were so many?’
‘There was a common thread which I found most interesting. The one where every journalist to a man quoted you as saying,’ he turned the first sheet of his notebook back over and read, “I will win whatever it takes.”’
She tutted. ‘That was just hyperbole. For emphasis, Inspector, although I do like to win… a lot.’ She caught DCI Seldon nodding. She looked back at Inspector Fawks. ‘In fact, I don’t remember saying exactly that, anyway. But surely you can’t imagine if I had intended to kill Mr Carlton I would have been stupid enough to announce it? Especially at a political debate in front of hundreds of people?’
‘She has a point, Fawks,’ DCI Seldon said. ‘I can vouch that Lady Swift is anything but stupid. If she were to commit a murder, which she wouldn’t, of course,’ he hastened on, ‘she’d be a damned sight more circumspect about it. Now, could I have a brief word with you?’
Inspector Fawks frowned, but nodded. ‘Of course, sir.’
He rose and left the room with DCI Seldon. The young constable she’d met earlier stood posted at the door.
Alone with her thoughts, Eleanor wished she’d brought earmuffs to drown them out. The enormity of Carlton being murdered now hit her. This couldn’t be happening? How on earth was she not only embroiled in one murder investigation, but now a suspect in another?
Inspector Fawks and DCI Seldon reappeared. Fawks didn’t seem thrilled with his brief chat with his superior. He nodded at Eleanor’s cup. ‘Finished?’
‘Yes, thank you, Inspector.’
‘Good, as are we.’
‘Are you locking me in a cell? For how long?’
‘At this point, Lady Swift, I do not have enough evidence to hold you. The lead has proven,’ he glanced meaningfully at DCI Seldon, who met his gaze, ‘unreliable. Your butler has also substantiated your alibi.’
She went to speak, but he held up a finger. ‘You are, however, still under suspicion. My men will be watching you. Good day. Constable Wainfleet will escort you out.’
‘Thank you, Inspector.’ She rose and left, DCI Seldon looking the other way as she did.
Halfway down the hall, he caught up with her. He waved at the constable.
‘I’ll escort Lady Swift from here.’
Once the constable had gone, DCI Seldon continued down the stairs with her and led her into a small room. It seemed to be used mostly for storing more hard chairs and a dank-smelling mop and bucket in the corner.
He turned to her. ‘I’m sorry you were dragged in here, Lady Swift.’
She smiled at him, struggling not to read too much into his gaze. ‘Inspector Fawks was only doing his job, I’m sure. And thank you for your help. I assume your intervention is why I was released?’
He grunted. ‘Fawks is a good man, and it’s his case. I can’t go around pulling rank, it wouldn’t go down well, but I did bring certain things to his attention.’ He turned his hat in his hands. ‘Lady Swift.’ She looked up at him and their eyes met, but he quickly dropped his gaze. The sound of booted footsteps and officious voices broke the moment.
DCI Seldon cleared his throat. ‘I can’t be seen discussing a murder case with a potential suspect like this.’
‘Especially in the broom cupboard.’
He smiled. ‘But I owe you a debt.’
‘I rather thought I owed you one, Inspector?’
He grunted again. ‘Not long ago an innocent man would have hung but for your intervention. That’s not so
mething I’d want on my conscience so I’m just going to say this: be careful, very careful. Please. Fawks is an excellent detective but doesn’t really have any leads as to who killed Carlton yet, but as he was standing in the same election as you are…’
She blinked. Could she be in danger?
He was still talking. ‘My current investigation into Mr Aris’ death has not revealed any connection with that of Mr Carlton. However, it is known to us that there are some very powerful people who would like to see Mr Aris’ legacy of tolerance towards women’s rights reversed.’
She nodded. ‘I’m well aware, Inspector, that some men are intolerant of the concept of women being independent.’
DCI Seldon shook his head. ‘Lady Swift, this is not only an issue of bigoted views. Think. MPs are a source of favours, money and power. If you standing stops another succeeding, then a lot of vested interests will be lost. Also, there is some suggestion that Carlton’s death was not politically motivated, but more personal. It is too early in the investigation to say either way.’
She let out a long, low whistle. ‘He really did seem universally unpopular.’
Seldon stared at her. ‘Lady Swift, I know there is no point in my asking, or telling, you to keep away from this investigation.’ There was something in his tone Eleanor couldn’t place at first. Was it…? Then she recognised it. Concern. For her. He held her gaze. ‘All I can ask you to do, Lady Swift, is to be very, very careful.’
Twenty-Four
Gladstone trotted by Eleanor’s side as she took a stroll around the grounds. It was the morning following her interrogation, and she had woken with a sense of unease, too distracted to notice the vibrant, late-blooming chrysanthemums and dahlias bordering the path.
Two men had been murdered and someone had tried to set her up as the guilty party, for one of them, certainly.
Something was off, though. Passing the police an anonymous tip was just too amateurish. Did the murderer really believe that would be enough to have her convicted? Or did they just want her arrested? Was someone playing a deadly game of cat and mouse? She remembered Blewitt’s words outside Mrs Luscombe’s shop: ‘Stop asking questions about Mr Aris. It is none of your concern and could be bad for your health!’
Feeling no brighter, she was about to round the last corner of the house when she heard Mrs Butters talking to someone whose voice she vaguely recognised.
‘Come on, Elsie, you can tell me. Just whisper in my ear.’
‘Leave the milk and get on with your rounds. I’ve nothing to share with you.’
‘Extra couple of pints in it for you and the ladies? Or a half-sack of potatoes, they’re the best King Edwards I ever saw.’
‘Bribery! Be off with you!’
Eleanor held Gladstone’s collar as she peeped round the side of the stone wall. Mrs Butters stood hands on hips, glaring at Stanley Wilkes the milkman, who leaned against the kitchen door frame.
He smirked and pulled a notebook from his apron pocket. ‘Let’s just say today’s bits are on the house then.’ He ran his hand through his red-brown curls. ‘Case you change your mind.’
Mrs Butters kicked his foot out of the doorway. ‘I will not change my mind, Mr Wilkes. Get going!’
‘Oh, Mr Wilkes, is it now?’ His hazel eyes twinkled. ‘What happened to Milky?’
The housekeeper folded her arms and pointed at the milk cart. ‘I’ve no idea, he turned into an inconsiderate rogue, trying to fish for a scandal, where,’ she jabbed a finger in his chest, ‘there isn’t one. And make a note in your book, no more milk this week.’
The door slammed in Stanley Wilkes’ face.
Once he’d rumbled out of sight, Eleanor turned the handle of the kitchen door.
‘Get out!’ Mrs Butters came flying onto the step. ‘Oh, my lady. Beg pardon, so sorry. I thought it was that rascal again.’
Eleanor held her hands up in mock surrender. ‘No, it’s me. Mr Wilkes has gone off with several fleas in his ear.’
‘Just as well!’ The housekeeper glanced at Eleanor shrewdly. ‘Would you like tea in the kitchen, my lady? Of course, I shouldn’t have presumed.’
‘I wouldn’t like tea in the kitchen, Mrs Butters. I would love it. I confess, I was secretly hoping for just such an invitation.’
Her housekeeper chuckled. ‘There’s a thing, fancy the lady of the house needing an invitation to take tea in her own kitchen. Whatever next?’
Gladstone settled in his bed by the range and pressed his nose happily into one of the leather slippers in his collection. Eleanor flopped into the wooden chair Mrs Butters had pulled out for her.
‘My lady, you don’t seem yourself today. Are you under the weather? If it’s a headache, there’s probably a storm coming, although the black flies haven’t appeared.’
Her housekeeper’s kind and easy chatter was what Eleanor had been craving. ‘No, no, really I feel great. Well, a little down in the dumps, I suppose, which isn’t like me at all.’
‘It certainly isn’t. But ’tis not surprising with all the er… business lately.’
Eleanor took the tea held out to her. ‘Thank you. I’ll be fine. I was born with the skin of a rhino.’
Mrs Butters stepped into the pantry and returned with a plate of jam roly-poly and two napkins. She cut three generous slices and placed them on a tray in the top warming oven.
She took the chair next to Eleanor and patted her hand. ‘My lady, forgive me for speaking out of turn, but I see things a little differently.’
‘Go on.’
The housekeeper scanned Eleanor’s face. ‘I think there’s a good deal of rhinoceros in you. Probably from all the travelling to exotic places you did growing up with your parents and then later on making your own way in the world. But you’re also a beautiful young woman, and they dent quite easily. I’ve seen it afore. And rascals like that Stanley Wilkes trying to gossip about the difficulties you’ve had are enough to make a much lesser woman lie down and give up.’
The jangling of the doorbell interrupted Eleanor’s reply. ‘Gracious, I had no idea it was so loud in here!’
‘Mr Clifford made most careful adjustments to each of the bells many years back, my lady. They are all a good deal louder in the staff quarters now, including his own office.’
Eleanor smiled over the rim of her teacup. ‘You mean the boot room? I’ve worked out that’s his sanctuary.’
Mrs Butters nodded. ‘Everyone needs a place to unwind and get some peace.’
‘I don’t, not this morning. I fancy being heartily distracted from all the nonsense of the last few days.’
Clifford appeared, and Eleanor caught his subtle nod to Mrs Butters. Dash it! She was determined to fathom the secret language of her staff, but still, it eluded her. She studied Clifford’s face as she asked who was at the door.
‘The press, my lady.’
‘What! They’re here? What on earth do they want?’
Mrs Butters discreetly disappeared into the pantry as Clifford adjusted the seams of his white gloves. ‘I would not concern yourself with them, my lady. They will disperse shortly.’
The doorbell rang again, making her jump just as much as before. He made no move to answer it and instead topped up her tea without comment.
‘Clifford, there’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?’
He placed the teapot back down. ‘Regrettably, my lady, it seems that the newspapers have somehow got wind of the fact that you were taken in for questioning regarding the murder of Ernest Carlton.’
Eleanor put her head in her hands. ‘What a wretched mess! Why did I ever get involved in this blasted election, or the murder investigation?’ She looked up. ‘I should have said earlier, thank you for confirming my alibi yesterday.’
He nodded. ‘A pleasure, my lady. Although Inspector Fawks remarked that had I seen you carrying a dead body under one arm and a bag of lime under the other, I would no doubt have still corroborated your alibi.’
And you would
have too, she thought. She flapped a hand at him. ‘Clifford, please sit down and drink some tea.’
‘Very good, my lady.’
As if bidden by an unseen force, Mrs Butters reappeared from the pantry. She slid the warmed jam roly-poly from the oven and onto a plate, which she put in the centre of the table. Swirls of hot buttery dough mixed with raspberry jam wafted up. Eleanor stared at it as if it were worth its weight in gold.
Clifford took the chair opposite Eleanor and nodded to Mrs Butters as she poured him a tea before leaving them alone. He coughed and Eleanor started. She stirred her cup. ‘Blast! So, I’m trapped in the house until the baying newshounds disperse.’
‘Not at all. I imagine the last few hacks will be leaving any minute now.’
She snorted. ‘Unlikely, when they think they can get the inside scoop of a would-be female politician suspected of murdering her closest rival. I’m surprised they haven’t brought picnic chairs and tents.’
‘A certain number did arrive prepared for the duration. I noted several flasks and indeed many a folding stool.’
‘Outrageous! How does being a journalist give one the right to barricade an innocent member of the public in their own home?’
‘It is, I believe, an unfortunate consequence of the nation’s growing desire for a generous dose of scandal with one’s morning breakfast tea.’
‘Hmm, well now that I’m on the other side of the scandalous charges I shall be more ruthless in boycotting such trash.’
‘Another most wise decision, my lady, hence my having relegated this morning’s papers to fire-lighting material.’
‘Oh, Clifford, what did they say?’
‘Nothing of truth or import. I should not let it spoil your roly-poly.’
But Eleanor put her fork down, sweet treat left untouched. ‘Come on, enlighten me as to what I’m up against.’
He gave a slight cough. ‘Someone pushed this paper through the letterbox this morning.’ He retrieved a newspaper from the fireplace. ‘I haven’t had time to dispose of it yet.’
Eleanor took the copy of The Common Cause, smiling at its proud by-line: ‘The Organ of the Women’s Movement for Reform’. Then she gasped at the caricature of herself that filled the top half of the front page. She was depicted as flying forwards, her hands handcuffed behind her back as a suffragette kicked her up the rear. She gritted her teeth at the queue of cartoon women waiting in line to give her the same treatment. A signpost pointed to the fictional town she was being dispatched to: ‘Disgrace-Upon-Dishonour’.
A Witness to Murder: An unputdownable cozy murder mystery (A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 3) Page 17