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

by Verity Bright

  Lady Langham dabbed her napkin at the corners of her mouth. ‘Yes, Eleanor, dear. Do tell! I fear luncheon etiquette must bow to my own avid curiosity as well.’

  Eleanor took a deep breath. ‘Well, Clifford and I always believed that whoever murdered Aris must have known in advance that Mrs Pitkin would make chocolate and peanut butter fudge, but obviously without the peanuts. So, once I saw the recipe fall out of the Women’s League leaflet, everything fell into place. That spiky handwriting was just too distinctive. And I remember the second time Dorothy Mann visited, she mentioned how much she loved baking, so she would have had no trouble making the fudge.’

  Lancelot waved his fork. ‘But what about Ernest Carlton? How did you link it to her as well?’

  ‘Well, we’d discovered that Carlton had taken the fudge that hadn’t been eaten and hidden it in his house. We assumed it was to blackmail Aris’ killer. Clifford had also found out whilst we were campaigning in Chipstone that Aris and Carlton had fallen out over a woman. And if Aris’ killer was at the table the night he died, and was a woman, there were only two choices: Miss Mann or Lady Farrington. Lady Farrington was also the only person at the table who would have known that Mrs Pitkin was going to make fudge.’

  Lancelot whistled. Lady Langham looked shocked. ‘Lancelot, you can’t be imagining that Lady Farrington would have been a suspect of Eleanor’s!’

  Eleanor cleared her throat: ‘Of course not.’ Fibber, Ellie! ‘Anyway, Lady Farrington confirmed that Miss Mann had called two days before the dinner about some hall the Farringtons own that she wanted to hire for a Women’s League event. Lady Farrington is fairly certain now that Mrs Pitkin had given her the menu for the dinner earlier that day and it was on the coffee table, where Miss Mann could have seen it.’

  ‘So, what’s going to happen to her?’ Lancelot said.

  ‘Well, her legal help has put in pleas of manslaughter for Aris and self-defence for Carlton. The poor woman is clearly not of sound mind.’

  Lady Langham gestured to the footman to serve dessert. ‘But, my dear girl, how on earth did she ever find a barrister of criminal law in her position?’

  Eleanor smiled. ‘I was delighted to be able to recommend Mr Vernon Peel. Clifford checked back through his cases and made some, erm, discreet enquiries with a contact at Lincoln’s Inn and Mr Peel came out with glowing colours. He really was overshadowed by Aris for all those years.’

  Lancelot leaned his elbows on the table. ‘But how on earth will Miss Mann afford his fees?’

  ‘Lancelot!’ Lady Langham tutted. ‘Decorum does not allow discussion of a woman’s financial situation.’

  Eleanor nodded in agreement, relieved not to be pressed on the matter. In fact, Lady Farrington had rung her the day after Miss Mann had been arrested and said she would pay for legal representation, so long as Eleanor told no one. She confessed that when Miss Mann was at Farrington Manor one day drumming up support for the Women’s League, they found out there was one thing they shared in common: Ernest Carlton. Lady Farrington had also been seduced by the womaniser, which is why, when she’d seen Miss Mann switch Aris’ fudge, she’d covered for her by getting the servants to lie and throw suspicion onto the cook.

  She’d feared if Miss Mann appeared in court, Carlton would have to take the stand. And if that happened, her affair might come to light and her marriage would be over. As she said to Eleanor, ‘If it comes to it, I can survive losing part of the estate, but I cannot survive losing my husband.’ Lady Farrington had even asked what she could do for Mrs Pitkin, which had surprised Eleanor. It seemed she wasn’t quite the ice queen she’d imagined.

  She became aware that the table was waiting for her to answer: ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I said,’ Lancelot spoke slowly as if she was a child, ‘how did Miss Mann even know that they were having the pudding thing and make one to switch? It can’t have been luck.’

  ‘No, although it is a Farrington tradition on special occasions, I’ve been told. We found out afterwards that Miss Mann had caught sight of the menu for the fundraising dinner whilst visiting Lady Farrington to confirm the details for the hire of the hall. In fact, she confessed that was what gave her the idea.’

  Lord Langham snorted into his wine glass. ‘Lady Farrington and the Women’s League! That’s not a pairing of bedfellows I had ever envisaged.’

  Lady Langham glared at him: ‘Harold, dear, really!’

  ‘He’s right, actually,’ Eleanor replied. ‘Mr Aris suggested it, and Lady Farrington went along with it purely as a favour to him.’

  ‘I think we need a special toast for our intrepid sleuth,’ Harold said.

  Lancelot jumped up and raised his glass aloft: ‘To the most deliciously peculiar female Sherlock Holmes this side of the Cotswolds!’

  ‘Lancelot!’

  On the way back to Henley Hall, Eleanor fiddled about with her emerald green silk dress to keep a lid on her emotions. The last few days had taken their toll on her.

  Clifford pressed the button on the glovebox in front of her. It opened to reveal a very welcome brandy miniature and a glass. She took a grateful sip and felt her shoulders relax.

  ‘I really am appalling at this stiff upper lip thing, Clifford.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that, my lady! And at the risk of prompting the need for another drink before we reach our destination, may I confide something to you?’

  ‘Gracious! Erm… yes, of course.’

  ‘It concerns Miss Mann.’

  ‘Oh dear, Clifford! I’m not sure I’m recovered enough to take any more drama, but go on.’ She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.

  He cleared his throat. ‘When Miss Mann became pregnant, she was helped by a women’s association that sent her away to another town during her confinement. After the baby was born, it was adopted by a kindly couple who raised it as their own. For many reasons, the association doesn’t let the mother know any details about the adoption.’

  Eleanor opened her eyes and nodded. ‘I understand why they do it, but it’s hard on the mother.’

  Clifford nodded. ‘True. Unfortunately, in this case, after the war the husband was in ill health and the couple couldn’t afford to keep the children, their own or the adopted child. They found places in service in a large country house for the two sisters, but no one would take the adopted child.’

  Eleanor sat upright. ‘What happened to it?’

  ‘In the end, the desperate couple contacted the original women’s organisation where it had come from. The organisation’s director knew your uncle and—’

  ‘Clifford! You’re not telling me—’

  ‘Yes, my lady. I believe Polly is Miss Mann’s child.’

  Eleanor was flabbergasted. ‘Did my uncle know whose child it was?’

  ‘He may have guessed, my lady, but being a gentleman, he never pursued the matter.’

  She rubbed her eyes. ‘Gosh, well, I think we all agree that it is best Polly doesn’t learn about this. Her mother will likely end up in prison or an institution, and if her father…’ She shuddered. ‘Polly is part of our family now and always will be. One day she may need to be told, but that’s not today.’ She shook her head. ‘Gracious, that does require another drink, but it will have to wait until we get back to the Hall. There’s something I need to do in Little Buckford first.’

  As the shop bell dinged, the small throng of ladies at the counter turned towards the door. On seeing Eleanor, all conversation stopped.

  She smiled at them: ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Good morning, Lady Swift,’ they chorused.

  One of the ladies stepped forward. It was Mrs Luscombe, owner of the linens and haberdashery shop in Chipstone, where she’d tried to buy a matching shawl for her scarf.

  ‘Forgive me, Lady Swift, but I, we, just want to say well done for saving that young woman’s life.’

  Eleanor held up her hands. ‘Thank you, but any of you would have done the same.’

  Mrs Luscombe nodded. ‘
Maybe, but it was you who did.’ She glanced behind her. ‘I hope the other ladies don’t mind me being their unofficial spokeswoman, but I’d be proud to have you as our Member of Parliament.’

  A wave of consent ran around the shop. Eleanor smiled, but shook her head.

  ‘That is very kind of you to say, but as you know because I was otherwise occupied and missed the last debate, I was barred from standing.’

  ‘Will you stand again in the next election?’ a voice at the back asked.

  Eleanor sighed. ‘I’m really not sure, hopefully that will be quite a few years away. Let’s hope no more MPs drop dead in suspicious circumstances.’ She glanced at Mr Brenchley. ‘However, I’ve learned you don’t need a fancy title or the backing of an organisation to help someone in need.’ She looked down at the rolled-up paper. ‘And I hope you won’t be disappointed, but I’m not going to be making any more speeches.’ She approached the counter: ‘Mr Brenchley, I wonder if you would mind furthering your already superb services to our wonderful community by displaying this poster? If you approve, of course.’

  The shop fell silent. Brenchley coughed nervously and unrolled the poster. As he read it to himself, his face split into a wide smile: ‘I’d be happy, no, honoured, to display this, Lady Swift.’

  ‘Excellent! I’ve got more here for Chipstone, I’m hoping I can persuade some shopkeepers in the town to display them.’

  Brenchley held his hand out. ‘Then why don’t you leave them with me and I’ll pass them around tonight at the Chipstone and District shopkeepers’ meeting? I’ll make sure everyone takes one.’

  ‘Really? That would be frightfully kind of you.’

  As she passed Mrs Luscombe on her way out, the woman called out to her: ‘If you’re in Chipstone next week, Lady Swift, do call by and pick up the shawl to go with that lovely scarf you’re wearing. It will be waiting.’

  Eleanor thanked her and made her escape. Standing outside the shop, she could hear Brenchley inside, reading out the poster to the curious ladies crowded around the counter:

  ‘Do you or anyone in your family need to see a doctor? Are you having difficulty in affording the doctor’s fee? If so, Lady Swift of Henley Hall will pay the seven shillings for each and every appointment. If you are also struggling to pay for the medicines prescribed, Lady Swift will pay the cost of these until the treatment has run its course. Please call in person at Henley Hall or telephone Little Buckford 342 and…’

  Back at the Hall, Eleanor was recounting the drama up the tower yet again to an eager audience: ‘Yes, it was so lucky Mrs Pitkin was hiding out in the very church where Miss Mann tried to…’ She blanched at finishing the sentence.

  Mrs Butters patted her arm. ‘Don’t you think about that, my lady, it’s all over now.’

  Eleanor nodded. ‘I’m still in the dark as to how Mrs Pitkin found out the police were going to arrest her. DCI Seldon was furious that someone leaked the news. However, it meant that she was there and saw Miss Mann climb the tower. She tried to find someone, but everyone was in the Town Hall for the debate, so in the end she went there and literally bumped into me.’

  ‘It was so selfless of Mrs Pitkin to come out of hiding to make sure help arrived in time,’ Mrs Butters said.

  Mrs Trotman wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron. ‘She’s a good sort, for certain, my lady. I can never repay you for all that you’ve done for her.’

  ‘Gracious!’ Eleanor blushed. ‘I only wish I could have done more sooner.’

  Mrs Butters smiled at her: ‘One thing I’ve learned, my lady, is one person’s need is another person’s good deed.’

  Eleanor thought back to the last few days and how Mrs Pitkin had risked being arrested to help Miss Mann. How Lady Farrington had agreed to secretly pay for Miss Mann’s legal costs. Not just because she feared her affair with Carlton being exposed, but also because she felt compassion for her, having been tricked by the same man. How Mrs Aris, on learning of Miss Mann’s story, had told DCI Seldon that she was dropping all charges of manslaughter against her. And how you, Ellie, played your own small role in all of this.

  Mrs Butters caught her eye and patted her arm again: ‘Your parents would have been proud, my lady.’

  The lump in Eleanor’s throat stopped her replying. She simply smiled back and wondered yet again how her staff always seemed to know what she was thinking.

  The kitchen door opened, and Clifford appeared, bearing five flutes and a bottle of champagne. He placed it on the table and half-bowed to Eleanor.

  ‘I believe, my lady, you never had that second drink?’

  As he uncorked the champagne, Eleanor looked around the kitchen: ‘Where’s Polly, Mrs Butters?’

  The young girl appeared, red-faced and out of breath, from round the range. ‘Sorry, your ladyship, I was just trying to wrestle your favourite slippers off Master Gladstone again. He won’t give them up.’

  Eleanor laughed as the bulldog appeared behind her, her slipper firmly in his jaws: ‘I think, Polly, they’re Gladstone’s slippers now.’

  Clifford waited until Mrs Butters had filled Polly’s glass with elderflower cordial and then cleared his throat: ‘If you will allow me to propose a toast, my lady?’

  She nodded and everyone raised their glasses.

  ‘To the best Member of Parliament Little Buckford never had!’

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  Books by Verity Bright

  The Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Series

  1. A Very English Murder

  2. Death at the Dance

  3. A Witness to Murder

  Available in Audio

  1. A Very English Murder (available in the UK and the US)

  2. Death at the Dance (available in the UK and the US)

  A Very English Murder

  Move over Miss Marple, there’s a new sleuth in town! Meet Eleanor Swift: distinguished adventurer, dog lover, dignified lady… daring detective?

  England, 1920. Eleanor Swift has spent the last few years travelling the world: taking tea in China, tasting alligators in Peru, escaping bandits in Persia and she has just arrived in England after a chaotic forty-five-day flight from South Africa. Chipstone is about the sleepiest town you could have the misfortune to meet. And to add to these indignities – she’s now a Lady.

  Lady Eleanor, as she would prefer not to be known, reluctantly returns to her uncle’s home, Henley Hall. Now Lord Henley is gone, she is the owner of the cold and musty manor. What’s a girl to do? Well, befriend the household dog, Gladstone, for a start, and head straight out for a walk in the English countryside, even though a storm is brewing…

  But then, from the edge of a quarry, through the driving rain, Eleanor is shocked to see a man shot and killed in the distance. Before she can climb down to the spot, the villain is gone and the body has vanished. With no victim and the local police convinced she’s stirring up trouble, Eleanor vows to solve this affair by herself. And when her brakes are mysteriously cut, one thing seems sure: someone in this quiet country town has Lady Eleanor Swift in their murderous sights…

  If you enjoy witty dialogue, glamorous intrigue and the very best of Golden Age mysteries, then you will adore Verity Bright’s unputdownable whodunnit, perfect for fans of Agatha Christie, T.E. Kinsey and Downton Abbey!

  Get it here!

  Death at the Dance

  A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 2

  A masked ball, a dead body, a missing diamond necklace and a suspicious silver candlestick? Sounds like a case for Lady Eleanor Swift!
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  England, 1920. Lady Eleanor Swift, adventurer extraordinaire and reluctant amateur detective, is taking a break from sleuthing. She’s got much bigger problems: Eleanor has two left feet, nothing to wear and she’s expected at the masked ball at the local manor. Her new beau Lance Langham is the host, so she needs to dazzle.

  Surrounded by partygoers with painted faces, pirates, priests and enough feathers to drown an ostrich, Eleanor searches for a familiar face. As she follows a familiar pair of long legs up a grand staircase, she’s sure she’s on Lance’s trail. But she opens the door on a dreadful scene: Lance standing over a dead Colonel Puddifoot, brandishing a silver candlestick, the family safe wide open and empty.

  Moments later, the police burst in and arrest Lance for murder, diamond theft and a spate of similar burglaries. But Eleanor is convinced her love didn’t do it, and with him locked up in prison, she knows she needs to clear his name.

  Something Lance lets slip about his pals convinces Eleanor the answer lies close to home. Accompanied by her faithful sidekick Gladstone the bulldog, she begins with Lance’s friends – a set of fast driving, even faster drinking, high-society types with a taste for mischief. But after they start getting picked off in circumstances that look a lot like murder, Eleanor is in a race against time to clear Lance’s name and avoid another brush with death…