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

by Verity Bright

  But what rankled most was the tiara drawn to have flown from her head on the precise trajectory to a heap of rotting vegetables and soiled rags. She looked up at Clifford. ‘Not a very creative headline given the cartoon, wouldn’t you say? “Promised so much. Delivered only Disgrace. She let women down. She let the country down. She let herself down.”’

  Eleanor flopped backwards in her chair and crossed her legs.

  ‘Is that enough, my lady?’

  ‘Thank you, Clifford. More than enough. Please burn it with the others.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Not quite sure how I ended up in this impossible situation, Clifford. Perhaps putting my hand up to try and help was one of the biggest mistakes of my life.’

  ‘I have never been particularly sizist when it comes to making blunders, my lady.’

  Despite the anxiety burning in her chest, she smiled at this, but it quickly faded. Instead she dug into her slice of roly-poly and felt better immediately. ‘Can you believe that Carlton is dead? Having one suspect removed feels like a most hollow celebration. Especially as we still don’t know if Carlton was responsible for Aris’ death and, if so, then there is a second murderer running amok in the streets of Chipstone!’ She rubbed her temples and groaned. ‘This murder investigation is getting away from us, Clifford. I lay awake pretty much all night, going over everything we’ve learned, and yet I failed to come up with anything.’

  Clifford coughed. ‘We may have hit a temporary roadblock in our investigation, my lady. However, a thought struck me yesterday. I believe that the anonymous phone call was not made with the belief that you would be convicted of murdering Mr Carlton.’

  ‘But to stop me succeeding in the election?’

  ‘Possibly. And possibly not by Mr Aris, or Mr Carlton’s murderer. Perhaps it was an opportunist amongst your opponents who saw the chance to discredit you further?’

  She nodded. ‘I had the exact same thought. That oaf Blewitt sprung to mind!’

  ‘For someone shrewd enough to engineer Mr Aris’ demise, that was a most amateur tactic. Unless it was intended to scare you off investigating Mr Aris, or Mr Carlton’s demise any further? In which case that is to our advantage.’

  Eleanor tilted her head. ‘How so?’

  ‘To paraphrase the notable strategist, Napoleon Bonaparte, as Mr Greaves did: “Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.” If the murderer believes they have succeeded in scaring you from investigating further, then we may seize the advantage.’

  The doorbell jangled a third time. Clifford moved towards the hallway to answer it.

  She frowned. ‘What are you doing? Don’t let the blighters in, for goodness’ sake.’

  He stooped. ‘That will be a genuine visitor, my lady. I believe the reporters will have gone by now.’

  She spread her hands. ‘I don’t see how you can be so sure?’

  ‘My lady, I sent Silas out to deal with them.’ And with that, he left.

  She shook her head. Since arriving at the Hall, she’d tried to get a glimpse of the mythical gamekeeper-cum-security guard, but had yet to succeed. She toyed with her plate until he returned.

  ‘The police again?’

  ‘No, my lady. It is Miss Mann. She says she has a most important message.’

  ‘How marvellous! Alright, show her into the drawing room.’

  She took a moment to finish her tea and gulp down the rest of her slice of roly-poly for fortification. Finding it rather reviving, she further fortified herself with the second, but reluctantly tore herself away from the third.

  In the drawing room, Miss Mann sat on the edge of the sofa, knees together, feet pointing straight ahead. Eleanor noticed that the woman had pulled her hair back so tightly that her face looked extra pinched and severe. She slapped on a smile. ‘Miss Mann, so kind of you to call.’

  Miss Mann jumped. ‘Yes, well, good morning, Lady Swift. I hope your butler passed on that I… I have a… a most important message to deliver to you.’ She seemed agitated, even for her. ‘I rather expected you might have anticipated my visit this morning.’ She clasped the handbag on her lap tightly. ‘Lady Swift, the negative publicity of the last twenty-four hours has threatened to totally discredit the Women’s League. And in light of your… your… alleged involvement in the case of…’ Eleanor was afraid Miss Mann would collapse from nerves before she could finish, but somehow the woman regained enough composure ‘… of Mr Carlton’s m-m-murder,’ she swallowed, ‘it is my sad duty to tell you the Women’s League will no longer be backing your candidacy.’ She rose. ‘You are obliged forthwith to refrain from activities which might suggest that you are still associated with the League. It means you will return all party property such as rosettes, campaigning literature, policy paperwork and manifestos immediately.’

  It was all so ludicrous that Eleanor couldn’t find it in herself to be angry, but the sting of rejection still hit her hard. Her shoulders sagged momentarily, but she quickly recovered enough to pretend otherwise. ‘Miss Mann, I am sorry you feel that way. Mostly for the women I felt we could help, acting together as a united front. However, I see you have made your decision.’

  She rang the bell. Clifford materialised.

  ‘Ah, Clifford, Miss Mann is leaving. Make sure she is given all the political bumpf to take with her, will you?’

  ‘It is waiting ready in the hall, my lady.’

  ‘Good show, Clifford! Please show Miss Mann the door, would you? My jam roly-poly’s going cold.’

  Twenty-Five

  As Clifford returned from showing Miss Mann out, Eleanor was just finishing her third piece of jam roly-poly, back in the kitchen.

  ‘Argh! Clifford, I could scream!’

  He coughed gently. ‘It is, my lady, very frustrating, but, in Miss Mann’s defence, it is hard to see what other choice she had.’ He coughed again.

  Eleanor put down her spoon and threw her head up to the ceiling. ‘Clifford, I fear your irritating quirk might just tip me over the edge this afternoon.’ At his silence, she spun round and stopped in surprise at the items he held out to her. ‘Ah, now there’s an excellent idea!’

  ‘Good shot, my lady.’ Clifford applauded from the sidelines.

  Eleanor whacked the next tennis ball at the opposite wall of the court even harder than she had the first couple of dozen.

  Clifford clapped again.

  She reached for another ball but jerked upright at the sound of breaking glass. ‘Crikey, was that me?’

  ‘Most likely, my lady. But Joseph is probably in the herb garden, not the main greenhouse. It is unlikely you have actually speared him with a shard of glass.’

  Eleanor put her hand to her mouth. ‘Well, who builds a tennis court near a greenhouse, anyway?’

  ‘Perhaps someone who intends to play the more traditional game of hitting the ball over the net and keeping it within the court, my lady?’

  His wry smile made her relax. ‘Thank you, Clifford. It’s amazing what a few minutes of venting one’s anger on inanimate objects can do. Ah, I feel much better!’

  ‘Good. Perhaps a little restorative would hasten your return to form, my lady?’

  ‘Yes, but please don’t traipse all the way back to the house on my account.’ She flopped onto the white bench on the side of the court, her legs stuck out in front of her. Intrigued, she watched Clifford climb the steps of the tall white umpire chair and lift the seat. He retrieved a tweed satchel affair that had all the hallmarks of being a gentleman’s binocular case. Back beside her, he unstrapped the lid to reveal two crystal-cut glasses and a decanter of Oloroso sherry. Her mouth dropped open.

  Clifford hovered at the end of the bench. Eleanor slapped her hand against the seat. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, sit down, Clifford! This is no time for discretion and aplomb, we need to catch a murderer.’

  With a filled glass, she sighed. ‘You anticipated a lot of all this nasty business, didn’t you?’

  He stared straight ahead. ‘Your uncle, even though he h
imself never meddled, always said that the only rule in politics is that there are no rules, my lady.’

  ‘Yet you supported my decision to stand. Indeed, you positively set it up.’ She stole a sideways look at his face.

  ‘My lady, I promised your uncle to assist you in whatever way I could. If you will forgive my early observation, given your previous adventures, including those of the heart, I knew the job was never going to be a straightforward one.’

  She smiled at this. ‘And a fine job you do, having accurately predicted I would require a bucket of tennis balls and a stiff sherry. I say, that is rather good! It’s like walnuts and figs with a dash of exquisite marmalade.’

  ‘Your uncle always maintained that due to its complex nose, one could never begin to be truly acquainted with an Oloroso until the fourth glass.’

  Eleanor snorted. ‘Well, I hope there is plenty more hidden in peculiar spots around the grounds because I fear today I shall require a cellar’s worth to raise my spirits.’

  Clifford continued to stare straight ahead. Eventually, she broke the silence. ‘You know when a situation has galloped away from you? That’s what this is like. Sitting here, I can’t work out why I ever imagined it would be a good idea to stand for this stupid by-election. What on earth was I thinking of?’ She spun her racket on its tip until it clattered to the ground.

  ‘Maybe you saw an opportunity to find your place in the town and village you wished to call home and to help others into the bargain?’

  ‘Am I really that open a book?’

  He said nothing, but his eyes twinkled. She bent down and picked up her racquet. ‘Oh, dash it, Clifford, what a wretched mess this investigation of ours is in as well! Called in for questioning over the murder of one of our own chief suspects and now shamed in the national press.’

  ‘And caricatured most unbecomingly.’

  ‘That too. I’ve made ridiculously rash promises in public…’

  ‘Loudly and proudly, my lady.’

  ‘Yes, exactly and… and I’ve been disowned by the very people I was trying to help. I’m a laughing stock.’ From the corner of her eye she caught him nodding. ‘Clifford!’

  He turned to face her. ‘It has been a most difficult road. It is perhaps minor consolation, but there is a local expression which one might deem rather fitting.’

  ‘Try me. I’ll take anything that sucks the salt out of my wounds at the moment.’

  ‘“Folks give up the poke long afore the memory croaks.”’

  Eleanor stared at him. ‘Is the sherry stronger than I realised? What are you on about?’

  ‘It means that whilst the fool is still licking his wounds, everyone else has moved on to laughing at the next poor hapless soul who makes a spectacle of themselves.’

  A rumble of laughter rolled up from her stomach. ‘Fool? Priceless! What’s happened to your usual diplomacy?’

  ‘Forgive me, my lady. I didn’t mean to imply that…’

  ‘That was no implication, you were spot on.’

  He uncorked the sherry and poured her another measure. ‘There really would be no shame in bowing out gracefully, my lady. Well, bowing out. No one would expect you to keep standing for election in these circumstances, especially as you now have no group to back you. And as to the investigation of Mr Aris, that seems to have reached rather a – if you will excuse a pun intended to lighten a gloomy subject – rather a dead end. And, as you accurately state, the main suspect in the murder of Mr Carlton at the moment seems to be yourself, my lady. Therefore, I feel no one would censure you for bowing out of both the election and the murder investigation.’

  ‘True. Thank you. I agree, it’s the only sensible option. I’ve done my best in both matters.’

  She peered through the dark amber liquid in her glass, watching his reaction. He had stiffened at her words.

  ‘You mean?’

  ‘Mmm, yes. I shall give it all up.’

  ‘But, my lady, are you sure?’

  Eleanor slapped her leg. ‘Ha! Finally, I’m beginning to recognise when you’re goading me, Clifford. You’re going to have to raise your game. You laid it all on so thick about how ghastly things are, I started to believe you.’

  ‘I do believe they are that bad, my lady.’

  ‘I know, but you had an alternative motive which,’ she took a generous sip of sherry, ‘is why I should be certified.’

  ‘Certified, my lady?’

  ‘Yes, certified as truly mad for deciding to carry on against such odds.’

  Clifford’s shoulders relaxed. ‘Spoken like a true Henley – and Swift! Your uncle – and your parents – would be proud, my lady!’

  Eleanor swallowed the lump in her throat. Before she could reply, a familiar sound rang out.

  Clifford turned towards the Hall. ‘Ah, the gong! Perhaps you would like to save Mrs Trotman’s jugged hare from drying to a shadow of its full glory and celebrate over luncheon?’

  Mrs Butters met them at the head of the steps.

  ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t have presumed your appetite was up to a substantial meal, my lady?’

  Eleanor patted her housekeeper’s shoulder. ‘Nonsense! I’m famished. I’ll be straight there.’

  She sprinted up to her bedroom and changed in double-quick time. Opening the top drawer of her dressing table to grab a bracelet, she groaned in annoyance at the sight of two or three leaflets from the Women’s League. ‘Blast, I thought Clifford had returned all this bumf to Miss Mann!’ In consideration, she realised she couldn’t really blame Clifford for not searching her bedroom to make sure she hadn’t secreted any away. She grabbed the bracelet from under the leaflets and slammed the drawer shut. She could dispose of the leaflets later. At the moment luncheon beckoned and she was famished.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Trotman!’ She smiled at the cook, who was putting the finishing touches to the serving table since Clifford had been otherwise engaged. ‘Where is Polly?’ The door crept open a crack and her maid jittered in and stood fiddling with her apron strap. Eleanor clapped her hands. ‘Just before I devour this amazing meal you have all worked so hard on, I would like you to join me in a toast. Clifford, would you conjure up something suitable to toast with?’

  Once everyone had a glass, she continued. ‘You see, I have had an eureka moment, thanks to a disgracefully rude newspaper, an unexpected visitor and Clifford’s shocking lack of diplomacy.’

  Mrs Butters and Mrs Trotman gasped. Polly stared round, confusion written on her face.

  ‘You probably already know that our efforts to clear Mrs Pitkin’s name have gone drastically awry. And, at the same time, my attempts to stand as the first woman MP for Chipstone have suffered a similarly drastic setback.’ She turned to her cook. ‘Well, Mrs Trotman, please assure Mrs Pitkin that we shall now redouble our efforts on her behalf.’ Eleanor raised her glass, and the staff followed, everyone taking a sip. She raised her glass again. ‘And let me assure you that I have decided not to creep away with my tail between my legs in this election either. With, or without the Women’s League, there are women who need someone to represent them in this area, so I am going to continue standing!’

  Clifford winced and covered his ears at the women’s resounding cheers.

  Mrs Trotman at last lowered her glass. ‘So, what do you do next, my lady? I mean, how do you clear Martha of murder, when you yourself have been accused of a similar deed, and, at the same time, win an election?’

  ‘It will be a very poor dessert to follow this amazing jugged hare. However, Clifford and I shall take a drive and see if we can’t find out a way to solve this wretched mess.’

  Twenty-Six

  Eleanor peered in the side mirror of the Rolls as it eased along the outskirts of Chipstone. ‘Oh, Clifford, I look ridiculous! Whose idea was it to go in disguise again, remind me?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say, my lady.’

  ‘Dash it!’ She adjusted the elaborately wound scarf hiding her recognisable red curls and let the heavily tinted su
nglasses drop into her lap. ‘So, it was mine. But we can’t risk newspaper photographers taking pictures of me—’

  ‘Returning to the scene of your heinous crime?’ Clifford stopped the car and gestured to the red-painted front door of the end terrace house.

  As Eleanor stepped out of the Rolls and put her hand on the gate, the bay window curtains twitched. She reached the front door and lifted the knocker. Before she could let it fall, the heavy steel plate embossed with ‘LETTERS’ just below flipped up and two dark eyes framed by thick brown hair peered out: ‘Go away!’

  Eleanor was taken back. Clifford called over Eleanor’s shoulder: ‘Forgive our unannounced intrusion, madam, we are here to help.’

  ‘I don’t need no help.’

  ‘But tragically, Mr Carlton did,’ Eleanor replied. ‘You have my deepest sympathies.’

  The eyes widened. ‘What are you suggesting? That I didn’t do me duty as his housekeeper? Not that it’s any of your business but I couldn’t have done him any good, he was long gone when I found him, poor soul.’ The door flung open and a pinched woman in her late fifties pointed towards the garden gate. ‘Now, get going!’ Anger hardened her already careworn features.

  Clifford softened his voice. ‘The police are very trying in these matters, aren’t they? We do understand.’

  The woman pulled a wool blanket around her shoulders tighter. ‘What’s the police got to do with it? They’re not popular in these parts. No idea what they’re doing neither, too busy stomping dirt and leaves through the house!’