Murder at the Spring Ball: A 1920s Mystery

by Benedict Brown

  I realised there was a piece of the puzzle that I’d left out and raced to correct myself. “And George… Well, George gave the boy an alibi because he’s in debt to Marmaduke’s dad.” I clicked my fingers with glee, feeling really rather proud of myself. All loose ends tied up; case closed once more!

  He did something then that I really wasn’t expecting. Tossing the long flanks of his coat from his lap, he started to clap. “Bravo, my boy. I take it all back, you are the pinnacle of creativity. I don’t know if we’ll make a detective out of you, but you’ve certainly got a future writing for theatre. Bernard Shaw himself would struggle to come up with quite such an engaging plot.”

  My initial excitement at his enthusiasm soon wore away. “So you don’t think I’m close to the truth then?”

  He leaned forward to confide in me. “I’m not saying it’s impossible, Chrissy, but I’m afraid it is rather unlikely.”

  I had lost my combative edge and wanted to understand what his superior mind had gleaned. “Why?”

  He did not hesitate to tear my idea from its roots. “Your whole argument is based on the concept of Marmaduke Adelaide’s innate degeneracy. Such lazy misconceptions are the first resort of the frightened and ignorant. When a murder is committed, we like to imagine that some random, savage beast has come in off the streets to satiate his bloodlust. I can honestly tell you that, in all my years on the force, I heard of few such cases.”

  He paused and turned his head slightly, as if reappraising me. “It is a comfort to think that these dark incidents can be explained away so easily. In actuality, the evil we search for lies far closer to home. My parents’ generation were obsessed with such ideas. Look back through the fantastical inventions of the last century – to Frankenstein, Dracula, Jekyll and Hyde. People long to understand the savagery they encounter and so they create monsters to hide the fact that it is ordinary humans we should be frightened of.”

  “But you don’t know Marmaduke. He takes such pleasure in hurting the boys at school. He gave me this!” I pointed to the bruise around my eye that had now turned purple.

  Grandfather smiled a little then. “I know, my boy. I do. But I think that is better explained by the fact that he is a sixteen-year-old boy, rather than there being any inherent wickedness within him.”

  Against my better judgement, I forced myself to ask, “So he’s not guilty?”

  “I see no reason to believe he would be.”

  “Then if it’s not Marmaduke, who’s the killer?”

  He hesitated and I really thought he might have an answer for me. “I can’t say that yet, but I can tell you that you’ve been asking the wrong questions. You have to consider why Maitland was murdered. Why did the killer only poison the butler, not kill him? Where did Fellowes go when he left the champagne? And who knew what we’d be drinking last night?”

  I obviously didn’t have the answers to any of these questions, so I was rather relieved when Inspector Blunt blustered into the room to interrupt.

  “I thought I’d extend the courtesy, gentlemen,” he said, in quite the least courteous manner imaginable. “You might like to know that, as soon as Reginald Fellowes is capable of walking, we’ll be arresting him for murder.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “This is preposterous.” Grandfather’s voice roared across at the grubby little man. “On what possible grounds have you arrested my butler?”

  Blunt possessed a look of pure smugness. “He’s a criminal. Got a record longer than my wife’s nightie. Assault, battery, theft of every variety. It’s hardly a stretch of the imagination to conclude that the convicted felon in our midst is involved in all these murders that have been going on.”

  “And what possible motive have you come up with for his crimes? The man’s been with me for years.” Grandfather stood up to confront the allegations.

  A good foot shorter than his old enemy, Blunt drew himself up to his full height to answer. “You knew, didn’t you?” He let out a vicious laugh. “You knew that Fellowes was a criminal and you didn’t tell us.”

  My grandfather did not like the insinuation and glanced past the offending officer and out towards the hall. “People change.”

  In a rare moment of confidence, Blunt looked his former superintendent straight in the eye. “Well, you haven’t.”

  “Careful what you say, Blunt, or I’ll be on the telephone to your superiors faster than you can say miscarriage of justice.” The threat was made more real by the fact there was a telephone in the room for him to point at.

  The inspector wasn’t scared and took a step closer. “Oh, I’m always careful what I say. You were a rotter back when you were in the force and you’re no better now.”

  It was an odd sight to see a man of seventy-five facing off against a rival. Blunt himself couldn’t have been far from his sixtieth year and, had it come to blows, my money would have been on Grandfather.

  In the end, like any number of the brief confrontations I’d witnessed in Oakton Academy’s yard, the confrontation resulted in little more than flared nostrils and a staring match that Blunt was only ever going to lose.

  “I’ve got a man stationed downstairs until Fellowes recovers.” He said by way of revenge. “If there’s a trace of poison on his clothes from last night, we’ll find it. We have all sorts of modern techniques an old codger like you wouldn’t know anything about.”

  I think this insult was almost more upsetting to my grandfather than the idea of the wrong man being arrested. He was about to bite back, but held the words in at the last moment. Blunt tipped his hat to us and breezed from the room.

  Once we were alone, Grandfather let out a frustrated cry. “Why do I let that supercilious prig get to me? It was the same when we worked together. He took every opportunity he could to undermine me.” He hit his hand against the side of his head three times in fury. “Why did I threaten to call his superiors? I was playing up to every assumption he’s ever had about me.”

  I thought it wise to bring him back to the topic at hand. “Perhaps there are more pressing matters, Grandfather?”

  “Yes, of course.” He stopped his nervous movement and put a hand on both my shoulders, as if he had some wise words to impart. “I expect that Cora will already have left, so seek out Todd and get him to prepare one of the cars. I’ll make sure the doctor is coming to see Fellowes and meet you at the main entrance.”

  “Wait, why Cora? Why now?”

  “All in good time, Chrissy.”

  Blunt’s announcement had given my grandfather the impetus that he required. He was a tornado of pent up energy as he blew from the room. Once he had gone, I had to pause just to catch my breath.

  I went to look for the chauffeur in the kitchen. He was nowhere in sight, but Delilah latched onto me, as I set off to my next port of call. I found Todd in his usual retreat, the barn where Grandfather kept his car collection. He was polishing the MG 14/28, which looked like it had never been driven. In fact, some of the cars in there were so new that the only journey they’d been on was from the manufacturer’s factory to their new home. It was one link to the wider world which the old man had maintained. His car collection had grown substantially over the years of his seclusion, even if he’d never gone to visit them.

  I launched my question at the under-worked chauffeur as soon as I was through the double doors. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Cora, have you?”

  Todd didn’t look up but continued with his careful attention to the front of the sports car’s bonnet. “She left a little while ago. The police interviewed her first and then she took Clementine home so I didn’t have to.” His knowledge of the comings and goings at Cranley Hall were rivalled only by Fellowes’s own. “Have you ever noticed how that old woman smells of pine cones all year round?”

  “Yes, I have. I think it’s rather sweet really. Like she got lost in a forest somewhere and had
to spend the night.”

  Todd looked at me like I was a knife, fork and spoon short of a place setting. His quietly judgemental manner reminded me why I’d come.

  “Grandfather says you’re to get the car ready.”

  The elegant young chap could hardly believe what I was saying. “I’m taking Lord Edgington out?”

  I frowned, no longer quite sure if this made sense. “Well, I think that’s what he meant.”

  He looked down the barn at the small fortune in automobiles which Delilah was happily running between. I spotted a Lagonda, two Alfa Romeos, several Rolls and even a couple of American cars Grandfather had imported over.

  “Which car does he want?”

  “Oh,” I was once more bamboozled by a truly simple question. “He didn’t actually say. What about the…” I pictured some of the more stylish young detectives I’d read about in novels and considered which car they would choose. “Yes, I think the Aston Martin should do the trick.”

  It certainly did the trick for Todd, who jumped in the air like Chaplin in ‘The Kid’. “Master Chrissy, you’re a star!”

  I don’t know when it was that everyone decided I should be called Chrissy, but I still didn’t like it. Of course, I was not about to tell Todd that. He had a suave worldliness about him which made me rather envious. I’d seen the way that Alice and even Cook looked at him and had my fingers crossed that I’d lose my puppy fat, – which my mother insisted was adorable – find a hairstyle that suited me, and turn into the leading-man type that women go wild for.

  I should probably have crossed my fingers a little harder.

  It was fun to see him run off between the two rows of automobiles, like my happily wagging companion. While several other cars were no doubt more expensive, the pale grey Aston Martin Cloverleaf was a thing of true beauty and, most importantly for Todd, had been built for speed.

  Its unblemished interior sparkled. It was all leather, steel and chrome, with the very latest in modern gadgetry set into the dashboard. Our chauffeur didn’t even need to crank the engine to get it started. He merely turned the ignition and it hummed into life, like a spell had been cast over it. Delilah bounded up into the passenger seat and barked for me to join them.

  Clearly elated at the prospect of the journey before us, Todd eased the car out of the barn, with all the tenderness of a father encouraging his child’s first steps.

  “I reckon she could hit eighty miles an hour on a straight,” he informed me, but I don’t know anything about cars, or velocity for that matter, so I smiled and nodded. I climbed into the hollowed-out rear seat and Todd roared along the gravel lane to the main drive.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Grandfather was already waiting for us at the front of the house and a look of wonder crossed his face, which was only rivalled by his chauffeur’s.

  “That’s more like it!” he said, practically running over to board the stunning vessel. “Good choice, Todd. Away we go.”

  Our driver turned to wink at me, and I didn’t mind him taking the credit. I was slightly less happy that big, fluffy Delilah decided to jump on top of me in the back seat to spend the journey whipping me with her tail.

  But, oh what joy it was to speed down those English lanes in the unexpected heat of early June! With the cover drawn back and the wind in our hair, we felt like the gods of Olympus taking flight from the Earth. It was enough to make me forget the terrible things we’d witnessed over the last twenty-four hours and trust once more that everything was right with the world. Sadly, there were rather a lot of flies about that day and the ones that didn’t end up in my eyes, went straight down my throat. Delilah did not seem troubled by them and let out yelps of glee the whole way there.

  Though protected by his driving goggles, Grandfather had lost his initial buzz of excitement and seemed perturbed by our situation once more. His visage was not the easiest to read. It was hard to tell whether he was reliving Maitland and Belinda’s deaths, working through his hypotheses on the case, or preparing for the interview he was about to embark on.

  “We’ll go to Langford House first, Milord,” Todd explained. “If Cora isn’t there, we can always drive on to Holly Tree Cottage.”

  He was distracted for a moment before finding his reply. “Very good, Todd. I need to have a word with my sister-in-law anyway. Whether the old thing will make a jot of sense is another matter.”

  Langford House was one of the minor residences in the Cranley family’s possession. It had been occupied throughout its history by spinsters and dowagers. When her husband died in the First Boer War, Clementine was shipped out of Cranley Hall to make her home there. I have no doubt it was once a grand building, but it had fallen into decline under her stewardship.

  The façade of the grey stone property was patchy and crumbling. The garden, which my great-aunt had once kept immaculate, was now overgrown. There were leaves and fruit still rotting on the ground since last autumn and the whole place looked like it needed a good clean. Yet, there was something charming about the scene that made me miss my own family home. It suited the nice old lady who lived there and, no matter what anyone might think of her mental state, I could imagine enjoying the life she had.

  There was a Crossley 19.6 was parked beside of the house and, racing ahead of us, Delilah soon found Cora taking tea with her grandmother in the wild back garden.

  “Beautiful weather for ducks,” Clementine called across to us as we made our way to a once-white table under the shade of a greengage tree.

  My grandfather looked up at the blue sky above us with an exaggerated twist of his neck. “What on Earth are you talking about, Clemmie? The day couldn’t be finer.”

  As if the sound needed time to travel over to her, Great-Aunt Clementine didn’t reply for a moment and then, in a most indignant tone said, “And who says ducks can’t enjoy a bit of sunshine?”

  He offered up a mocking smile. “As much as I always love our conversations, my dear, we’re mainly here to see your granddaughter.”

  Cora hadn’t moved a muscle since we’d arrived. With her hands gripping the armrests, she looked as though she were bracing herself for a car crash. She still wore the long, narrow trousers and cream jacket she’d had on at the ball, but her normally smooth hair was unkempt.

  “Perhaps you’d prefer to talk to us alone, eh, Cora?” Grandfather suggested and she pushed her boyish fringe from her eye before replying.

  “No, Christopher can stay.” She glanced across the garden, as if she had no interest in looking at my grandfather directly. When he didn’t reply, she realised his implication and added, “Oh, you mean Grandmother? There’s nothing I can’t say in front of her.”

  Cora reached one slender hand across the table to the woman who had largely raised her. As her parents had died when Cora was still young, the two women had always been close. My cousin had only left the bucolic surrounds of Langford House for a place of her own a few years earlier, though this may have precipitated the small estate’s decline.

  Nestled in beneath a thick Welsh quilt, the old lady smiled affectionately at me just as Todd appeared from the conservatory with two more chairs. He nodded silently and returned to his far comfier seat back in the Aston Martin.

  “If you’ve come all this way to accuse me of murder, then it was a wasted trip.” Cora reached into the small, sequined purse on the table in front of her and extracted a cigarette and some matches. I took careful note of what was written on them, as, so often in detective novels, matchbooks provide a vital clue to the identity of the killer. I couldn’t see how the fact she preferred Swan Vestas over Bryant and May’s own brand particularly helped me though.

  “And what makes you believe that we had entertained such a possibility?” Grandfather stroked the bristles on one side of his face as if considering his own question.

  Cora studied him for a moment and in a brisk, work
manlike manner replied, “Oh, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Who would benefit more from your family being brushed out of existence in one fell swoop than I would?”

  “It’s true that, had the killer’s plan been executed, the Cranley estate would have transferred to your grandmother and ultimately you.” Cora scoffed but the old man hadn’t finished speaking. “But, please remember, I held you as a tiny baby, Cora. I watched you growing up and I like to think that I took on the role your own grandfather would have occupied. So, you’re wrong, I don’t believe you could be guilty of such a horrific crime.”

  I was once again confused as to why a man who had built his reputation as a ruthless, hard-nosed police officer could go so lightly on a suspect. If Cora was responsible for the murders, she had him wrapped around her finger.

  “I imagine that the rest of the family are simply desperate to see me behind bars.” There were cracks beginning to show in her steely persona. Her voice sounded as though it might break altogether and I was trying to judge whether it was all just an act. “I’ve never really fitted in with the Cranleys, have I? When I was little, Maitland called me wild and Belinda treated me like some kind of savage because I once visited my parents in Africa and came back nut brown.”

  A thread of pure anger suddenly emerged in her. “It isn’t much better now that I’m an adult either.” She adopted a voice then that sounded just like my stuffy aunt Winifred. “A woman with short hair and trousers! Whatever next? Women soldiers? A lady prime minister? The very idea doesn’t bear thinking about.” She had to catch her breath after these theatrics. “Dear George runs up gambling debts wherever he goes, seduces half the debutantes in England and you all think he’s marvellous, and yet I’m the black sheep?”