Murder at the Spring Ball: A 1920s Mystery

by Benedict Brown

  Coming to accept that he was not there to attack me, I took the moment to light all three arms of my candelabra before the match could burn my fingers. “What do you want?”

  He looked up at me and a rather unexpected smile sprang to his lips. “I told you last night. I need you to talk to your grandfather. You have to convince him that I wasn’t involved in the murder.”

  “Murders,” I corrected him, with a snarl. “Why don’t you convince me that you had nothing to do with them, and then we’ll see what Grandfather has to say on the matter?”

  He looked shocked then. “Did someone else drink the poison? I swear I didn’t have anything to do with it. You have to believe me.”

  I didn’t answer immediately. I thought about the way the great detectives in novels interview their witnesses and decided to keep the news of Maitland’s death close to my chest. If Marmaduke was lying, and knew what had happened that morning, he might yet give himself away.

  I shimmied back to lean against the headboard and plumped my pillows theatrically before replying. “Why would I believe a word from your mouth? If people have come to the conclusion that you were involved in my aunt’s murder, it’s because you gave them every reason to. You’re not exactly a sympathetic character.”

  He stifled a sob then. “No, you’re wrong about me. I swear.”

  Pleased with the impact my words had made, and enjoying a little revenge for the broken noses and twisted wrists he’d doled out to so many of my peers at school, I drove home the advantage. “So then why run away? Why not talk to Lord Edgington yourself? You’re as guilty as Dr Crippen.”

  I could see that old anger rise up within him, but then he cut it short.

  “I’ll tell you.” He sat up straighter, as if addressing one of our teachers. “But you have to promise that this won’t go any further.”

  “I’ll promise nothing.” I have to say that it felt rather wonderful to have so much power over him. For a few moments, I was invincible. “You’re lucky I don’t march downstairs this moment and tell the police that you’re here. At the very least, they could have you up for stealing food from the kitchen.” This was a trivial threat to make and I instantly regretted it.

  “Just hear what I have to say before you do anything.” His voice jumped higher. “That’s all I’m asking. If you think I’m lying you can tell the police, but I’ll be long gone by the time they get here.”

  I allowed myself a moment to examine him. He was still dressed in his suit from the ball, but it was stained and crumpled and I could only imagine the discomfort he’d suffered spending the night in the gamekeeper’s hut. Even his skin looked grubby and I was amazed at how fast the transformation had occurred.

  When I gave no answer, he began his tale. “George owes a lot of money and so I had my father call in a favour and bring me to the ball. But that wasn’t the end of it.”

  It was tempting to interrupt him again; to bellow another accusation of his guilt. I wanted to hear what he had to say though, so I kept my mouth shut and listened.

  “In return, my father told me to watch George whilst I was here. He said I was to follow him all evening and report back because your cousin had a task to carry out and he couldn’t be trusted to go through with it.”

  “What did he have to do?”

  His eyes shifted about the room. He looked scared that there was someone lurking behind the drapes, or hidden away in the wardrobe. “You have to understand, Chrissy, that my father is not someone I answer back to. When he tells me to do something, I say, ‘Yes, sir.’ I’ve never seen him become violent, but I have no doubt that he could.”

  “Answer the question, Marmalade.” The power had gone to my head! I don’t know how his nickname had emerged from my lips and, for a moment, I was terrified he’d launch himself across the room to blacken my other eye.

  “George isn’t the only Cranley who owes my father money. He came here to tell your uncle that, if he didn’t pay back his debts before the summer, he could expect trouble.”

  I breathed in theatrically, like an over-the-top hero on a radio drama. It wasn’t just the news of Maitland’s dilemma that surprised me, Marmaduke had used the present tense. So far at least, it really seemed as though he knew nothing of the second murder.

  “But what does that prove?” I asked. “Both men owed your father money. How could that have anything to do with the poison that was planted in the champagne?”

  He pondered his answer before continuing, his visage still gripped with fear. “I overheard them, you see. I did as my father asked me and, when I saw George head outside, I followed him out through another door. He spoke to your uncle further along the terrace and I hid in the shadows to hear.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Maitland dismissed the threat outright. Said he wouldn’t be scared of some boy, no matter who’d sent him.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “George didn’t like that, he seized your uncle by the collar and forced him against the wall. He said that things were about to get very nasty for him very soon if he didn’t do as instructed.” Marmaduke came to a sudden stop, as he relived the scene.

  I was gripped by his story and needed to know what came next. “So, what did Maitland do?”

  “That’s the thing; when Maitland wouldn’t give in, George went wild. He was shouting the place down. They were only twenty yards along the balcony from the entrance to the ballroom, If the band had stopped playing, everyone inside would have heard.”

  He turned to look through the curtains but continued with the next morsel of the story. “He said that it wouldn’t just be Maitland who would suffer, but his whole family. But it wasn’t enough. No matter what George said, Maitland laughed right back in his face. I must have leaned out too far from the bay I was hiding in, as that’s when George caught sight of me. Five seconds later, he’d stormed over and started pillorying me about the face.”

  The account of his beating forced him to stop once more and I couldn’t help but feel bad for the fellow. If there’s one person on the planet who I had never expected to feel sympathy for it was Marmaduke Adelaide. Yet I could see that, for all his brawn and bluster, he was just as scared as any boy our age would have been.

  I felt I had to ask the obvious question, nonetheless. “But why did he hit you? Wouldn’t your father have taken exception to that?”

  “Your cousin hit me because I was insignificant.” His voice had fallen even quieter. “He couldn’t very well send your uncle back into the party with bruises all over him, but no one would look twice at me. George hit me so hard that my head is still ringing, but his eyes were on your uncle the whole time and, when he was done, he dropped me to the ground and said, ‘I have my orders, Maitland, and you’ve had your chance. Don’t blame me for what happens next.’ Your uncle cut back into the house then and George gave me one more contemptuous look before following after through a side door.”

  I let these last details settle in my mind. If what Marmaduke was saying was true, my charming cousin, the heir to our family estate, was a brute and a blackmailer. He was in debt to a dangerous man and had threatened Maitland’s family, mere moments before the champagne was laced with poison.

  But was it enough to explain the murders? Maitland was the one whose debts had been called. If George was working for Adelaide, surely his own situation was not nearly so precarious. Would he really have poisoned our whole family just to dig himself out of a hole?

  “After what I’d heard, I was scared that George would try to kill me too.” Marmaduke spoke with great certainty then. He clearly believed that my cousin had murdered his own mother. It was almost too horrible to consider. “I’m not sure of the exact timing, of course, but it seems as though he would have had the opportunity to poison the champagne.”

  I didn’t want to traumatise the chap, but there were still holes in his story that I needed to plug.
“Do you know anything about the money the two men owe? Or why your father used George to threaten Maitland?”

  He shook his head despondently. “All I know is that your uncle has been in debt for years and my father is tired of waiting. He seemed to regard his sway over George as a real feather in his cap. He called him, ‘a charming young gentleman who can get into places where Horatio Adelaide will never be welcome’.”

  The revelations spun like a tornado, and it took me some time to settle on a response. “I believe you, Marmaduke. Maybe I’m a fool, but I think you’re telling the truth. If you repeat to my grandfather exactly what you just told me, he’ll know what to do next.”

  Marmaduke froze for three whole seconds before reacting. He pulled his arms into his chest and rolled his fingers into fists. “No chance. I’ll leave this minute and spend the rest of my days in the woods if I have to. I’m not going to go anywhere near George, or the police for that matter. Not until the killer’s been found. Your grandfather may have retired, but he still thinks like a bobby. He’d hand me over before I stepped through the door.”

  “No, he won’t. I promise. You’ve probably heard the stories about him, but Lord Edgington is different from everyone else.” I thought about these words and realised how true they were. “Over the last month, I’ve come to see that Grandfather is nothing like the man I imagined him to be. He doesn’t judge the world according to preconceived ideas or other people’s expectations. He analyses each new moment based on the evidence before him. I have no doubt in my mind that he’ll listen to what you have to say.”

  He shrugged then and I saw a flash of the Marmaduke Adelaide that I’d known from school. “Fine, take me to him. He’s darned ancient, anyway. It’s not as if he can keep me here by force.”

  As my former bully and now apparent ally got to his feet, I thought, Well, I wouldn’t be too sure of that, but said nothing more.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Grandfather hadn’t moved a muscle since I’d left him in the library after lunch. He was sitting in the same chair, his hands joined together in front of him and his elbows at right angles. He made no sign of having heard us as I knocked on the door and entered the room.

  “Grandfather?” I was worried for a moment that he was-

  “What do you mean by coming in here without permission?” He jerked back to life, his face, distorted with rage until he caught sight of me and relented. “Oh, Christopher, it’s you.”

  “I’ve brought Marmaduke Adelaide to see you. I thought you’d want to hear what he has to say.”

  He sat up in his chair but showed no surprise at the presence of our uninvited guest.

  “Indeed. Bring him in.”

  Marmaduke skulked along behind me as I made my way deeper into the sanctuary.

  “Good evening, Lord Edgington.” He sounded nervous again and I realised that, despite his unparalleled arrogance at school, there were some figures of authority he feared after all.

  “Well here we are, boy. What have you got to say for yourself?”

  I moved aside and Marmaduke took a step closer to my grandfather. “I’m very sorry to intrude, and for all the trouble I’ve caused. I know I shouldn’t have run away, but my father’s not a big fan of the police and-”

  “Let me tell you, Adelaide, the police aren’t too keen on your father either.” Grandfather took a moment to examine the lanky specimen before him. “That being said, I learnt in my career that, sometimes, the apple and the tree are infinitely far apart from one another.”

  He glanced at me then with a searching look that I didn’t know how to respond to. Apparently reassured, he turned back to Marmaduke and, in his stentorian voice, intoned, “If you’ve a story to tell me, then you had better begin.”

  Marmaduke clutched his hands together and ran through his version of events almost exactly as before. Grandfather fired off questions throughout but, when the boy’s tale was complete, the old man said nothing. He stared at my schoolmate with a perplexed look, as though figuring out a particularly tricky conundrum. I watched from my armchair as Adelaide stayed right where he was, awaiting his judgement.

  “Very good, Marmaduke,” was Grandfather’s appraisal when it came. “I’ll ring for Todd to take you home.”

  My schoolmate’s face fell even further, and I thought he might turn and bolt. Perhaps predicting what the boy was thinking, the old policeman spoke again. “But do not worry. I will explain what happened to the police and your father too if necessary.”

  He surged to his feet and over to a panel by the door with various buttons on. Normally, Fellowes would have acted as an intermediary between any lower staff members, but there was no other option and so Grandfather rang the garage directly.

  A few minutes later, the dashing chauffeur appeared in his usual green livery, with a smudge of grease on one cheek and the smell of beeswax about him. Grandfather issued his commands and Marmaduke turned to leave.

  “Wait one minute.” The old man held his right hand up like he was swearing on a bible. “I need you to pass on a message to your father; he’ll remember me.”

  “What is it?” Marmaduke replied, with a hint of his usual insolence.

  “Tell him that, if he had anything to do with the murders here this weekend, I will find out and there will be nothing he can do to stop me exacting recompense.”

  Even at seventy-five, my grandfather could strike fear into people and Marmaduke swallowed hard. His face blanching a little, he still had something to say to me before he left.

  “I’m sorry about the black eye, Chrissy. You know I only wanted to be invited to your party.” Before I could reply, he spun on his heel and hurried out after Todd.

  When we were alone once more, Grandfather started pacing the diagonal of the room to have the most space possible. I could tell he didn’t want me to interrupt, but if I was to be his assistant, I felt it only fair that I knew what he was thinking.

  “Doesn’t this prove that you underestimated George?”

  He stopped and looked offended. “Not at all, I have never over or underestimated another person in my life.” Clearly, this statement needed qualifying. “It merely surprises me that, if what your friend says is true – and we have no reason to believe otherwise – George is not the man I took him to be.”

  I considered for a moment whether what he and I had said was actually any different. It was too much of an enigma for me to solve, so I accepted that he was cleverer than me and asked another question.

  “But this does mean that George is the likely suspect, doesn’t it?” I didn’t quite achieve the self-assured tone I was aiming for and sounded as though I wanted him to set me straight on the matter.

  “Why in heavens would you say that?”

  “Because…” I stumbled over my reply. It was hard not to when trapped within my grandfather’s cold, grey gaze. “Because George threatened our family and then fifteen minutes later, we almost died.”

  “Why would he kill his own mother to hurt Maitland? Why would he have had poison with him? Just in case he fancied dabbling in a spot of mass murder?” His voice rose with each question.

  “Two birds with one stone,” I retorted, feeling unnerved by his lack of faith in my ability to construct even the most basic of motives for our suspects. “He could get Adelaide off his back and inherit Cranley in one go. He was never going to drink the champagne himself; his little stumble made sure of that.”

  Having raged at me one minute prior, Grandfather was now beaming. “That’s my boy, we’ll have you thinking like a detective in no time. But there’s one thing you overlooked.”

  “Oh, yes!?” I hadn’t calmed down even if he had. “And what’s that?”

  He walked over to his chair and took a folio of paper and a fountain pen, which he dipped in a bottle of ink before answering.

  “Sorry, the brain isn’t wh
at it was. I need to write these things down sometimes in case they escape me.” I didn’t quite believe him, but he finished the task and looked back up. “You forgot about Maitland himself. How do we know that he wasn’t the one to poison the champagne? Just because someone killed him after, it does not rule him out as a suspect.”

  The very concept of this came as a revelation to me. How could I have been so foolish as to ignore Maitland’s potential as a killer?

  “I’m not saying he did it, but you at least need to consider the possibility. Perhaps he killed Belinda, while hoping to get rid of the lot of us and, when George worked out what was going on, he shot Maitland for revenge.”

  It was all too much for me. I couldn’t keep hold of so many threads at once the way he could and I rather wished he’d let me look at his notes to get a better grasp on the case.

  “But…” I attempted once more. “Are you saying that Maitland would have murdered his own children? And Auntie Winifred too?”

  He straightened up and pulled the tails of his coat down tight to remove any creases as he considered the question. “Winifred, possibly, but I think you have forgotten something.” A pause, a flick of the eyes to the door, and then he continued. “Maitland stopped your cousins from drinking the champagne. It was just before Belinda collapsed. He made a big noise, saying they were too young for alcohol. They’re older than he was when I first gave him wine and it struck me as odd.”

  I was struggling to take in this barrage of new evidence. Whatever the outcome, it seemed increasingly likely that there was a killer in the family. I slumped into my chair and waited for Grandfather to deliver yet more tragic revelations.

  “Are we any closer to the truth?” he asked instead.

  I let out an exhausted breath. “Aren’t you the one to tell me that?”

  Back on his feet, he zigzagged about the room as if searching for an elusive clue. “I know what I know, but I want you to tell me why the story Marmaduke just told us doesn’t provide us with everything we need to identify the killer.”