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

by Verity Bright

  ‘Point taken.’ Clifford slowed and doffed his hat to Mrs Atwood as she crossed the road with a herd of squealing pigs, a collie snapping with excitement at their trotters.

  Eleanor smiled and waved at the woman, but leaned across to Clifford and muttered, ‘Why do farmers keep sheepdogs to round up their livestock? I love dogs, but sheepdogs seem eminently untrustworthy to me.’

  ‘Perhaps, the same reason voters still elect politicians? No one has yet found a more satisfactory solution?’

  She laughed. ‘Excellent point!’

  The Georgian façade gave the Eagle Hotel an imposing air. Through the tall archway a glimpse of the original black-timbered stables and outbuildings that leaned at various and precarious angles showed its true sixteenth-century origins.

  Eleanor walked up the foot-worn steps of the main entrance, thinking the last time she’d met someone here, they’d tried to kill her. It had been some time ago, when she and Clifford had been trying to prove Lancelot innocent of a murder charge. She shuddered at the memory. Maybe Clifford had been right about needing more of a plan. She paused with her hand on the brass rail. All she had gleaned about Blewitt so far was that he was unspeakably rude. He was an avid anti-women’s rights supporter too. And, judging by his straining buttons, he enjoyed the company of ale and pies more than was healthy.

  The door was opened by a fresh-faced young man in a smart waiter’s uniform that fell short of fitting his gangly frame by about two inches.

  ‘Welcome to The Eagle, Lady Swift.’

  ‘Thank you. Is Mr Duncan Blewitt…?’

  The waiter nodded. ‘Partaking of luncheon in the non-residents’ dining room, alone.’

  ‘Not for long,’ she said grimly. ‘Ah, Clifford. This way, I believe.’

  Inside the dining room, burgundy flock wallpaper and an over-enthusiastic array of brass ornaments gave a warm, familiar welcome. One echoed by the serving girl who directed her to a table in the corner where the heavy frame of the man she’d come to interview sat hunched over a plate.

  Duncan Blewitt seemed unaffected by the genial ambience.

  ‘What do you want?’ he grumbled as he speared a chunk of kidney in his pie. His flaccid jowls wobbled as he chewed it vigorously. He nodded behind her: ‘Mr Clifford.’

  ‘Good afternoon to you too.’ Eleanor smiled sweetly. ‘I do apologise for interrupting your rather fine-looking luncheon, but I have a burning question.’

  He glared at her with small, angry eyes. ‘Lady Swift, your unwanted curiosity can catch fire as far as I am concerned.’

  ‘Do you know, I think you and I started out badly. That day we bumped into each other, we got off on the wrong foot.’

  ‘I have no desire to rectify the situation. I do, however, wish to eat my luncheon.’

  ‘Oh gracious, please don’t let Clifford and I stop you!’

  ‘I shan’t.’ His fork scraped against the plate as he jabbed an enormous section of gravy-drenched flaky pastry.

  Eleanor slid into a chair opposite Blewitt, ignoring his ineffectual complaint, which was muffled by another large mouthful of pie.

  She looked him directly in the eyes. ‘Why did you threaten me?’

  ‘Slanderous talk, that! I should be careful if I were you.’ He laughed without humour. ‘Or perhaps you’re going to take that as a threat as well? That’s the problem with women, you can’t talk to them like real people. Everything is interpreted and instantly twisted.’

  Eleanor tamped down her anger. ‘That’s a very large brush you are tarring all of womankind with.’

  ‘Nothing they don’t deserve. If you have interrupted my food to blather on about how life is unfair and you should be treated equally, please stop using up air pointlessly. I have no interest in the so-called plight of women.’

  ‘Well, I shan’t take up any more of your time then. Although actually, I only popped in to reassure you that your secret is safe with us.’

  Blewitt jerked and paused in chewing a large mouthful. He stared at her as he swallowed. ‘I don’t have any secrets.’

  ‘Oh, how strange, because isn’t there a saying about everyone having a skeleton in the closet? But anyway, that’s a weight off my chest because I’m actually not that wonderful at keeping secrets, they do seem to slip out before I can catch my tongue. So, I’m relieved that I can chatter on to all and sundry about the time you spent,’ she paused for a moment, ‘detained at His Majesty’s pleasure for owning a house of ill repute.’

  Blewitt choked violently. Clifford stepped round and patted Blewitt’s back until his purple cheeks receded to angry red.

  Still panting, Blewitt waved Clifford away. ‘How the devil,’ he glanced around and lowered his voice, ‘did you find that out?’

  Eleanor shrugged. ‘That’s on a need-to-know basis, Mr Blewitt. You don’t deny it, then?’

  He glowered at her. ‘There’s no point, is there? What I’m interested in is that that piece of information, which is not for public consumption, doesn’t go any further.’

  Eleanor sat back and removed her gloves. ‘Well, that’s not going to be easy, is it, Mr Blewitt? I mean, us women are such twittering birds, spreading rumours far and wide, there’s no stopping us. It’s in our nature, you might say.’

  Blewitt took another mouthful of pie and chewed it thoughtfully. Eleanor hid a shudder. He washed it down with a gulp of ale and leaned back in his seat.

  ‘So, Lady Swift, I see you are a businesswoman, after all. What do you want?’

  ‘Who killed Aris and Carlton?’

  That seemed to knock all the bluster out of Blewitt. He stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. ‘Why should I have any idea about who it was?’

  ‘Only that the list of suspects has markedly fallen in the last twenty-four hours, leaving just three.’

  He sighed. ‘And I assume my name is amongst them?’

  Eleanor nodded. ‘But please don’t ask whereabouts in the list you are, because that’s not fair on the others. Not very sporting, like politics, I’m learning. Now, Mr Blewitt, to save you from making a gross faux pas and to salvage what is left of your luncheon before it cools any further, we could stop playing games?’

  ‘Alright,’ he snapped. ‘If I tell you what I know about Aris and Carlton, you’ll swear not to mention that indiscretion to anyone? But understand this: I’ve no idea who killed either of them, and it certainly wasn’t me.’

  Eleanor shrugged. ‘I promise on the word of a lady, if that’s worth anything to you, Mr Blewitt, that I won’t divulge your little secret. If, that is, you tell Clifford and I what you know about anything that could have got Aris or Carlton killed. But,’ she held up a finger, ‘I don’t promise to remove you from my shortlist of suspects. Clear?’

  Blewitt ran his tongue over his teeth, causing Eleanor to shudder openly this time. He took another swig of ale and leaned forward. ‘It suited me for certain parties who back my,’ he looked at Eleanor without embarrassment, ‘campaign to rid the country of this poisonous women’s rights nonsense, to believe that Aris and I were enemies. And, on the subject of women’s rights, whatever that ridiculous phrase means, it was true. However, behind-the-scenes, Aris and I shared certain business interests.’

  ‘And if these certain parties had known that you were in bed, as it were, with Mr Aris, they would have felt betrayed, given Mr Aris’ support for the Women’s League?’

  ‘I see you really do understand how business works, Lady Swift. Anyway, that is the reason I didn’t kill Aris, whether or not I’m on your blasted shortlist. Because that stupid cook couldn’t follow instructions and poisoned Aris, the whole wretched deal is in jeopardy.’

  Eleanor feigned a yawn. ‘Yes, yes. You were in on the deal over the Farringtons’ land being sold for the new housing the council needs to build.’

  Blewitt ran his hand along his mouth. Beads of perspiration shone on his heavily-lined forehead. ‘How… how could you possibly have found that out?’

  ‘I
didn’t. You just told me.’

  ‘You…!’ He glowered at her. ‘Lady Swift, I am happy to report you are not improving my opinion of the way women conduct themselves.’

  ‘As you wish. But you’re in a bit of a tight spot, aren’t you? Have you confessed the truth to the police? That you wouldn’t have killed Aris because there was a small fortune riding on his orchestrating the whole deal?’

  Blewitt scowled. ‘No, I haven’t told them.’

  ‘And what about Carlton’s murder, how is your alibi holding up there?’

  Blewitt turned his fork in his hand. ‘You can’t hold up something that isn’t there. I was home alone at the time and I live about four streets away from where he was murdered.’

  Eleanor turned and waved at the waitress polishing cutlery by the serving table. She rose as the girl appeared at her elbow. ‘Another steak and kidney pie with all the trimmings for Mr Blewitt, please. And a hearty brandy to go with it. I shall pay on my way out.’

  ‘Bon appetit!’ she called over her shoulder as Clifford held the door out to the hotel lobby open.

  ‘Truth or lies, do you think?’ she asked as she stepped into the Rolls.

  ‘Given the significant disclosures Mr Blewitt made, I am inclined to believe him. His business reputation would not survive it becoming knowledge amongst his backers that he was in any association with Mr Aris.’

  ‘But he can’t defend his whereabouts on the night of Carlton’s murder?’

  ‘Which he readily admitted to, rather than make something up. A man in his position could find a person of unquestionable character to vouch for him being somewhere he wasn’t with ease.’

  ‘So, either he did just lay all his cards on the table and he’s entirely innocent or he’s risking the biggest bluff of his life.’

  ‘And,’ Clifford added, pulling out behind a coal lorry, ‘we still don’t have a motive for him killing Mr Carlton.’

  Eleanor shook her head. ‘Don’t we? Blewitt has just told us that he was in cahoots with Aris over this land deal. With Aris out of the way, Carlton was free to make sure the council housing was built on his land, not Lord Farrington’s. Which means not only Lord Farrington and Aris, but also it seems, Blewitt, would lose out financially big time. And if Mr Blewitt likes his money half as much as he likes his pies, then it’s a wonder Carlton survived this long!’

  Thirty-One

  ‘You might have telephoned instead.’ Lady Farrington’s voice was as cold as the ice-white silk of her dress as she appeared in the doorway of the cavernous reception room Eleanor had been shown into.

  ‘Yes, I might have, but face to face seemed a better choice,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘Well, it was not a better choice. Alexander is home. I cannot speak with you about the matter we discussed before. Not now.’

  Eleanor rose and smiled. ‘No problem, I thought you would prefer to speak to me now rather than the police later, but as you wish.’

  Lady Farrington laughed without humour. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! People like us don’t speak to the police. They wouldn’t dare come near us.’

  ‘Oh, but I think they might when they find out that you insisted your staff lie about your cook’s guilt over Mr Aris’ death?’

  Lady Farrington stiffened. Her hand strayed to her perfect finger waves. ‘Give me a moment to make sure Alexander is occupied. But then I’ll speak with you for ten minutes only.’

  Her heels clicked away across the marble foyer.

  So far, so good, Ellie.

  It seemed Lord Farrington couldn’t have been far away as his wife returned quickly. She motioned for Eleanor to sit down, checked down the hallway and then closed the door. She eyed her visitor coolly as she took a seat. ‘What I may or may not have discussed with my staff is no one else’s business. I hope you don’t imagine I shall trot dutifully to court and say I asked them to do something inappropriate? Because I shan’t even entertain the idea and, as a lady, I thought you would know that the point of staff is that they do as they are bidden.’ She crossed one ankle over the other. ‘So, was there anything else, or did you just wish to enlighten me that some of my staff tattled to your butler when you feigned a breakdown of your car?’

  ‘Actually,’ Eleanor leaned forward, ‘I rather thought you might like to enlighten me over a few things. The police really are rather trying if you get them involved, I usually find.’

  ‘Tsk, it appears I gave you undue credit for knowing how such matters work, Lady Swift. Alexander is the Earl of Winslow. Even if he had killed Mr Aris, which he didn’t, incidentally, and in front of a witness, he could only be tried in the House of Lords. Which would be a paper exercise, a farce conducted purely for the records.’

  ‘True. But I am not concerned with your husband. Although, I realise suddenly I should be speaking to him. He is clearly unaware of the actual situation.’ She stood up.

  ‘Sit!’ Lady Farrington snapped. ‘Alright, yes, I told the staff to lie.’

  Okay, Ellie, you’ve got her where you want her. Now don’t blow it! She sat back down. ‘Thank you for being honest with me, Lady Farrington. You must see that your actions make no sense to me. Unless, that is, you know more about Mr Aris’ death than you are letting on?’

  Lady Farrington stared at her coolly without speaking.

  Eleanor shrugged. ‘Lady Farrington, I put it to you that you told your staff to lie to make sure suspicion was thrown on your cook for Mr Aris’ death, which you want to be seen as an accident, not murder.’

  It was Lady Farrington’s turn to shrug. ‘I already told you I did not want any scandal around Aris’ death. That is why I agreed to cooperate with you. I knew from your reputation that once you started investigating, you wouldn’t stop so I decided it was better to be on the same side as it were. So, yes, I wanted it to be seen as the accident it was.’

  Eleanor pursed her lips. What Lady Farrington meant was she was pretending to help Eleanor investigate Aris’ murder so Eleanor would trust her and tell her what she found out. And so she could feed Eleanor misinformation to make sure the investigation came to the conclusion she wanted. The thing is, Ellie, someone tried to play us for a fool not so long ago and it’s not going to work again. She leaned forward. ‘No, Lady Farrington. You told your staff to lie and blamed your cook for Mr Aris’ death because you knew it wasn’t an accident. In fact, you knew it was murder!’

  Lady Farrington’s eyes flickered momentarily. Other than that, her face remained expressionless. ‘I think, my dear Lady Swift, you have an overactive imagination.’

  Eleanor leaned back. ‘Really? Then I might as well over-imagine some more. I believe you know not only that Mr Aris was murdered, but you also know who murdered him.’ She leaned forward again. ‘What did you see the night of Mr Aris’ death, Lady Farrington? Did you see one of your guests switch Aris’ fudge? Or,’ she held the other woman’s gaze, ‘did you or your husband kill him?’

  Lady Farrington rose and walked over to the fireplace and stood with her back to Eleanor. ‘We are not responsible for Aris’ death.’

  Eleanor kept her eyes on her. ‘And why should I believe that?’

  Lady Farrington turned around. For the first time she looked strained. ‘Oh, what’s the difference now? It would only be a matter of a day or two, I’m sure, before you uncovered the fact that my husband has…’ She scooped up a paper from the table and fanned her face.

  Eleanor waited.

  ‘Alexander has overstretched himself on investments and therefore also our finances. Neither of us wanted Aris dead because, unbecoming though it is to admit, the Farrington Estate is in a perilous position if the housing deal doesn’t go through. Aris was our security. So, you see, we had nothing to gain and everything,’ she swept her arm around the room, ‘everything to lose if he was killed.’

  ‘Then I take it that Aris’ recent extra prosperity was provided by your husband?’

  ‘Yes, a sort of down payment to secure the deal, as it were. It’s all perfectl
y above board.’

  Eleanor shook her head. ‘None of that explains why you forced the staff to lie and threw suspicion on Mrs Pitkin.’ She thought back to the tears the Farringtons’ cook had cried in the kitchen at Henley Hall and her calm evaporated. ‘Do you realise you have ruined that woman’s life?’

  Lady Farrington returned to her seat. ‘I never really imagined the police would charge her with manslaughter.’

  ‘Then do something about it! Use your husband’s influence that you mentioned so clearly only a moment ago to get those charges dismissed.’

  Lady Farrington smiled coldly. ‘I can’t. The deceased’s wife asked the police to bring charges, not us.’

  Eleanor’s anger boiled over. Is everyone out to destroy one blameless woman’s life? Her eyes bored into Lady Farrington. ‘Let’s stop playing games. You know who murdered Aris. Who are you protecting? And why?’

  Silence hung round the room. Eventually, Lady Farrington spoke: ‘I believe this meeting is over.’

  Thirty-Two

  ‘Gosh, Clifford, have you seen the crowds? Most of the town must be here.’ Eleanor fiddled with the buttons on her green brocade jacket as she stared at the heaving throng. A sea of light coats and felt hats filled the pavement, the crowd clearly grateful for the lack of rain October all too often threw their way. ‘I had no idea so many people would turn up for the final debate.’

  ‘A most eager audience, my lady.’

  ‘Look!’ Eleanor slapped his arm. ‘Isn’t that Lancelot?’

  Clifford searched the crowd: ‘Where should I be looking?’

  ‘There!’ She jabbed at the windscreen. ‘The last thing I need is him messing about whilst I’m trying to deliver my speech.’

  Clifford stopped the Rolls alongside Lancelot as he spotted them and did a cartwheel on the pavement. Eleanor hopped out of the car: ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ She noticed Miss Mann standing on the Town Hall steps, looking officious with a clipboard and talking to a policeman, whilst watching Lancelot’s antics.