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

by Verity Bright

  Eleanor nodded towards the back room, where one long leg poked out from behind a table-top book display.

  Clifford nodded back and whispered, ‘My lady, have you formulated a plan, perchance?’

  ‘No, but time’s running out and the killer’s running rings around us, and the police. If we’re to save Mrs Pitkin from the workhouse, or worse, we need to up our game. The gloves, Clifford, are well and truly off!’ She marched under the arched doorway, deliberately knocking into Stanley Morris’ legs.

  ‘Mr Morris, I do apologise, how clumsy of me!’

  He sighed, but held out his hand to her. ‘It is of no consequence to me, Lady Swift. Are you alright?’

  ‘Absolutely!’

  ‘Then I shall appreciate being left to my reading, good afternoon.’ He raised the papers he held and peered at them, blinking through his thick glasses.

  Think, Ellie! She stole a look at the title of the typed papers.

  ‘Clifford!’ she called. ‘Oh sorry, quieter, yes. Clifford!’ she repeated at the same volume, ‘please find me the Parish Council Meeting Minutes from last week and the week before. Thank you.’

  From behind his papers, Morris let out another sigh. ‘Lady Swift, I am reading the Parish Council Minutes.’

  ‘What a coincidence!’

  ‘Is it?’

  She took the chair next to him, ignoring his look of exasperation. ‘I think it is so important to be aware of all the views of one’s constituents. I do find it quite time-consuming though, don’t you?’

  ‘Only when I am constantly interrupted.’

  ‘Couldn’t agree more! So, what have our good folk been discussing of late?’

  Morris stared at her with obvious irritation. She slid one of the back papers out of the sheaf he held. ‘Oh, look, see, there I knew that would come up. The ladies of the Women’s Institute have asked for a… a reduced hire fee for the council meeting room. That seems fair, wouldn’t you say? Isn’t your good lady wife a member of the Women’s Institute?’

  ‘She was.’

  ‘Was? Oh dear, she must be frightfully busy! I’ve never seen her at any of our political debates. Unless of course I’ve missed her in the audience?’

  ‘You have not.’

  ‘Right. But I’m sure she wholeheartedly supports your important work as a politician?’

  Morris snorted. ‘Lady Swift, I have not installed myself in this seat in the very public Reading Room to discuss my personal life, thank you.’

  ‘Oh gracious, I do apologise! Perhaps I’ve touched upon a most painful nerve, forgive me. Mrs Morris is clearly a thoroughly modern woman and makes her own choices.’

  ‘Indeed!’

  She leaned in. ‘Must be dashedly awkward for you, though?’

  Morris stiffened.

  ‘Well, I mean if your wife is voting for the other side, as it were. Now that I think about it, I did hear that she favoured some of the Labour Party’s policies.’ She tapped her forehead. ‘Now, where did I hear that?’

  Morris slapped the papers down into his lap. ‘I imagine, Lady Swift, it was in the public bar frequented by tradesmen. Or, perhaps, in the tea rooms frequented by housewives with too much time and too little to do, or indeed, perhaps in the gutter!’

  ‘Mr Morris, I fear I’ve upset you.’

  ‘Of course, you have, you infernal snoop!’ he said, getting angry. ‘You clearly know already that,’ he lowered his voice to a fierce whisper, ‘that my wife and Ernest Carlton had a… liaison.’ His face flushed.

  Eleanor felt guilty, but reminded herself again, an innocent woman’s future hung on finding the truth. ‘Honestly, Mr Morris, I had no intention of rubbing salt in your wound. That can’t have been easy for you. Would it be indiscreet of me to say that now Mr Carlton is dead, perhaps you have a chance of repairing your marriage?’

  ‘Yes, it would.’

  ‘Yes, of course it would. Most insensitive!’

  ‘She wasn’t the only one, you know. That should make it better, I suppose, but it doesn’t. Carlton was a blaggard, a womaniser. A despicable wretch who used women. And he used MY wife!’

  ‘A small consolation, I’m sure, but I commend you on your self-composure. You sat through all those debates on the stage with Carlton knowing what he had done. Gracious, you must have wanted to reach over and strangle him!’

  ‘Every time I clapped eyes on his stupid, smug face.’ He stared at her. ‘Was he strangled then?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I thought you might know? Where were you on Sunday night, around nine or ten?’

  Morris gave an uneasy laugh. ‘You’re not very subtle. And the police have already asked me that. For your information, and to ensure you keep your nose firmly out of any further part of my business, I did not kill Ernest Carlton!’

  ‘Any idea who might have killed him then?’

  He leaned forward, his face close to hers. ‘Maybe you did, Lady Swift? The police, at least, seem to think so. But,’ he uncrossed his long legs and stood up, ‘when you find out, be sure to let me know. I’d like to shake his or her,’ he shot her a pointed look, ‘hand.’ He dropped the papers in her lap and strode out, knocking Clifford’s shoulder on the way past.

  ‘Mr Clifford.’

  ‘Mr Morris.’

  Twenty-Eight

  As they turned into the road where Vernon Peel’s office was situated, Clifford pointed through the windscreen of the Rolls at the man himself hurrying along the pavement. He appeared to be consulting his pocket watch every few steps.

  ‘I would guess, my lady, that Mr Peel has an appointment shortly. Perhaps we should catch him whilst we can?’

  ‘Absolutely!’

  Clifford eased the car to a stop outside the brick-fronted Georgian office. Eleanor leaped out and went to open the dark grey door. It was locked.

  ‘What on earth?’

  Clifford frowned. ‘Most irregular that a law practice would not be open for business at almost twelve o’clock.’

  At that moment, their quarry scurried round the corner, his cheeks the colour of aubergine.

  ‘Good gracious, Mr Peel, are you alright?’

  ‘What? Yes, just very late. Excuse me.’ He pushed past her.

  ‘It would appear your secretary is also late, Mr Peel.’ Eleanor nodded at the locked door.

  The barrister pulled out a key chain and fought with the lock. ‘My secretary is er… temporarily seconded elsewhere.’

  Eleanor shot Clifford a look. The lock defeated, Peel burst through the door but stopped in dismay at an envelope lying face down on the mat, a red seal visible. Without stooping to pick it up, he flopped into the secretary’s chair and groaned.

  Eleanor followed him inside. She took the letter and placed it on the desk in front of him. ‘Gracious, is it bad news?’

  Peel sat with his head in his hands. ‘The worst,’ he mumbled between his fingers. ‘What to do, oh goodness, whatever to do now?’

  Eleanor sat on the edge of the desk. ‘Are you in trouble, Mr Peel?’

  ‘No, no, not at all.’ He jerked upright. ‘Staring insolvency in the face, that’s all.’ His shoulders shook as he sobbed quietly.

  Eleanor nodded at Clifford, who took a quick look around the outer office they were in. He opened the top drawer of the only piece of furniture, a bureau, and produced a bottle of brandy and a glass. Placing a generous measure in front of the distraught man, he added a clean handkerchief next to it. Peel grabbed the drink and quaffed half of it in one gulp. Spluttering, he looked up and shook his head: ‘Forgive my lack of composure. Since Aris left the partnership, times have been harder than I ever expected.’

  Eleanor topped up his glass and asked gently, ‘Your secretary hasn’t been seconded to another practice, has she?’

  Peel shook his head. ‘I had to let her go. And how I shall honour her last salary packet I’ve no idea.’ He sighed. ‘Aris ruined me when he left with all our best clients. All our clients, in truth.’ He stared at the brandy glass in hi
s hand. ‘I’ve tried, but I simply can’t make a go of it on my own.’

  ‘Why did Aris leave?’ Eleanor asked softly.

  ‘Greed! He wasn’t content with his half of the profits, he wanted it all. That was his approach to everything in life. He’d find a patsy to do the donkey work and then stride off with the golden prize when the time was right.’

  Eleanor chewed her bottom lip. ‘Mr Peel, I’ve also recently been set up as a patsy or a donkey or whatever it is. I know just how awful that is.’

  Peel put his glass down and nodded slowly.

  ‘Did you hope that Aris might reverse his decision and come back?’

  He nodded again. ‘It was probably a vague and hopeless bit of blind optimism, but I hoped he might tire of having to do all the basic legwork that I always did. I foolishly imagined he had valued something in our working relationship.’

  ‘So, when he died…’

  ‘My hopes of that happening died with him. I’ve been trying to plough on, most unsuccessfully it appears.’

  Clifford cleared his throat.

  Eleanor rose. ‘Mr Peel, we are truly sorry about your situation. If the opportunity arises to suggest your name to anyone in need of your services, rest assured I will send them directly to you. After that, you must prove your own value, which I am sure you are capable of. Remember, Mr Peel, circumstances do not make the man, they reveal him. I forget who said that, but I am finding it very true.’

  Peel rose and held out his hand. ‘Thank you. You’ve made me feel more optimistic. I appreciate your time.’

  ‘And I yours.’

  As they turned to the door, Peel called them back: ‘Wait! Please.’

  Eleanor stepped back to the desk. ‘Is there something you need right now?’

  ‘No, Lady Swift. I have something you need right now. You made me realise the right thing for me to do. Please, both of you, take a seat.’

  ‘Happily, Mr Peel.’ She smiled and shot Clifford a puzzled look.

  Peel took a deep breath. ‘I have never broken client confidentiality in all my years in practice but what’s the point of upholding the oath when it would merely allow for more injustice?’

  ‘Absolutely, Mr Peel.’ Eleanor smiled encouragingly for him to continue.

  ‘Ernest Lucius Carlton was a reasonably wealthy man, despite all his attempts to play the working man’s colleague and thus win votes under the banner of the Labour Party.’

  ‘We had deduced something along those lines,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘But perhaps what you haven’t been able to deduce is where Carlton’s father got all the money that he bequeathed to Ernest?’

  Eleanor and Clifford shook their heads in unison.

  ‘Land! Acres and acres of land. All purchased from bankrupt farmers in a four-year run of terrible harvests between 1875 and 1879. With cheap cereal crops imported from America, our farms perished as quickly as their own crops. Carlton Senior was a shrewd man, you see. He concluded that if marine cargo could be developed so quickly, so would public transport. And then, people could move out from London, which would mean great tracts of housing would be required, so he was the first to swoop in and profit, paying little more than enough to keep the poor souls from the workhouse.’

  Clifford steepled his fingers. ‘Only he passed away before he could realise his investment?’

  ‘Indeed. He left it all to his only son, Ernest.’

  ‘But with the Addison Act of last year…’ Eleanor slapped Peel’s desk. ‘Carlton should have been in the prime position of owning the perfect land for selling on for council housing.’

  ‘Should have been, my lady?’ Clifford said. ‘So, it is Lord Farrington’s land, not Mr Carlton’s, that is listed in the contract for said housing? And the man who orchestrated that was…’

  ‘Aris,’ Peel said wearily. ‘He persuaded the planning committee that the Farringtons’ land was a more appropriate siting for a number of reasons, all of which are spurious.’

  ‘And, as an honest man, you told the planning committee this?’

  A flicker of comfort brushed Peel’s face. ‘Thank you, yes, I did. That is the real reason Aris quit our partnership. Anyway, that is not the matter in hand now. You see, Aris relied on the less-trained eyes of the planning committee members. He used his expertise of property law to bamboozle them. The odd palm will have been greased as well, I’m sure. That was another of Aris’ specialities.’

  Eleanor’s mind was whirling. Peel obviously had a motive to kill Aris. Or perhaps, if he really did hope Aris would return to his business, a motive to keep him alive. But Carlton?

  She tried to keep her voice light. ‘Despite all this, Mr Aris seemed quite popular. Mr Carlton, on the other hand, didn’t seem popular at all. No one has said a positive word about him. Did you feel the same way, Mr Peel?’

  Vernon Peel gave a soft titter. ‘Lady Swift, I have stood in court for over twenty years and listened to hundreds of cases. If I had murdered Carlton, I could cover my tracks better than most. However, I barely have the fight to keep my business from sinking. I had no argument with Carlton, except perhaps a small, silent envy of the man who seemed imbued with a charm and poise that I have lacked my whole life. Fortunately, on Sunday evening I was in Oxford. I’m sure I could find some witnesses.’ He shrugged. ‘Hawking my sorry self around the inns and hostelries, trying to pick up enough business to stay afloat. It was far enough away that I could offer lower rates without my clients in Chipstone knowing, you see.’

  ‘I do see, entirely,’ Eleanor said gently, making a mental note to find out if Abigail could confirm his alibi had been checked by the police. ‘Your efforts to turn things around are admirable. I sincerely hope you are rewarded.’

  Peel rubbed his face with his hands and pushed the glass away from him. He smiled weakly. ‘Please dispose of the rest of the brandy. The answer to my problems does not lie at the bottom of a bottle.’

  ‘That’s the spirit!’ Eleanor shook his hand warmly and nodded for Clifford to scoop up the bottle on their way out.

  As they reached the office door, Peel called out, ‘Lady Swift, you asked me if I had reason to kill Mr Carlton. However, you did not ask me the same question about Mr Aris?’

  She smiled at him. ‘That, Mr Peel, is because I know you did.’

  Outside, Eleanor took a deep breath. ‘Clifford, that was horribly awkward. Poor chap! Did you believe him when he said he hoped Aris might come back to him?’

  ‘I did, my lady. Although, if he was lying—’

  ‘Exactly. As for Carlton, we have no known motive for why Peel might have wanted him dead. However, Peel’s revelation about Aris pulling the carpet out from under Carlton in that land deal gives Carlton a strong motive to kill Aris.’

  Clifford nodded. ‘Indeed, my lady. It would have cost Mr Carlton a small fortune. And given the existing animosity of the two men towards each other, I believe Mr Carlton would also have taken it very personally.’

  ‘So logically as he had the means, opportunity—’

  ‘And strongest motive.’

  Eleanor nodded slowly. ‘Carlton killed Aris.’

  In the Rolls, Eleanor sat back in her seat. As it pulled smoothly away, she closed her eyes and let out a weary sigh. ‘Carlton didn’t kill Aris, did he, Clifford?’

  Clifford shook his head. ‘No, my lady, he didn’t.’

  Twenty-Nine

  Clifford stepped into the morning room, carrying a refilled pot of coffee: ‘They have arrived, my lady.’

  Eleanor paused with a piece of fried bread halfway to her mouth. ‘Who has arrived? I’ve no time for visitors today!’

  ‘Not who, my lady, but what. Mr Rigby has just dropped the boxes off personally.’

  ‘The printer? Gracious, now that is what I call service! We could have collected them when we got to Chipstone.’

  ‘Being Thursday, I am minded to think that Mr Rigby wanted to ensure he could be at church on time. He is the stand-in organist at St Winif
red’s and rather protective of any opportunity he gets to play midweek.’

  ‘I see. I’m also mindful it is Thursday and greatly appreciate you swapping your day off. Thank you, Clifford. Now, we’d better get the show on the road.’

  ‘The ladies are ready and waiting, my lady. I might add that Master Gladstone is making something of a protest at being left with Joseph today.’

  Eleanor smiled at this. ‘I do love a dog who knows his own mind! I’ll play an extra-long game of ball on our return by way of apology.’

  Before Clifford could reply, the ringing of the telephone interrupted them.

  A moment later, he reappeared: ‘Chief Inspector Seldon for you, my lady.’

  ‘Excellent! Maybe there’s a development in the case.’

  There was. But not the sort she’d been hoping for. ‘Manslaughter? Surely not?’

  DCI Seldon’s gruff voice came down the line. ‘I am well aware that you have an interest in this case, Lady Swift. And given that you have been proven right on occasion and that you have, I personally believe, been wrongly suspected of Mr Carlton’s murder, I’m passing on this information strictly in confidence.’

  Eleanor couldn’t but feel elated for a moment. Not only because the Inspector believed she had nothing to do with Carlton’s murder, but because he was treating her with respect. As an equal. He was taking her seriously, something Lancelot, for all his wonderful qualities, ever did. Again, she wondered what life would be like if she and the Inspector…

  She was jolted back to the present by DCI Seldon’s next words: ‘Mrs Pitkin has disappeared.’

  ‘Disappeared?’

  ‘After charges of manslaughter were filed against her, my men went to the address she had given us, but she wasn’t there. Do you know where she is, Lady Swift?’

  Eleanor hesitated. She didn’t want to obstruct the police, but in her mind, she knew Mrs Pitkin to be innocent.

  ‘Look, Inspector, you’ve been straight with me, so I’ll return the favour. I do know where Mrs Pitkin is, but in her present state for the police to turn up and cart her off to jail is the last thing she needs. I… I don’t have any actual evidence, you know, you could use in court, but I know she’s innocent.’