He rushed over to me like an arrow from a bow, upending his filing system as he went. “There were sixty guests walking around on Saturday night and I haven’t even been able to eliminate my loony old sister-in-law! That’s how confounding this case is.”
“Very well. Next suspect. What about my father?” I asked, unsure whether I wanted an answer. “You might as well go through everything we’ve got on him too!”
“If you insist.” He smiled sympathetically before delivering the evidence. “Walter hasn’t been doing well in his work. In fact, he’s had to borrow money from me on a number of occasions. But then half of our suspects are in debt to someone and it’s still only circumstantial evidence.”
“The crossbow isn’t,” I replied, finding myself in the odd position of acting as the prosecution in my father’s mock trial. “It was found in his room which itself overlooked the spot where Maitland was shot.”
Grandfather hesitated. “Yes, but Walter wouldn’t have left the murder weapon right there for the police to find it. And, as your mother pointed out, though he’s hunted with a rifle all his life, do you really think he could shoot from that distance with any accuracy?”
This at least presented me with some small relief as my Grandfather became occupied by another tangent in his thoughts. “Our killer is an opportunist; Walter is an out-and-out planner. The killer couldn’t rely on the fact that Fellowes would leave his post, but they must have been aware of who the drinks he was serving were intended for.”
I jumped in with a thought of my own. “So that means they were present on your birthday when you told us about the bottle of champagne from your wedding.”
“That’s right. Which sadly only rules out young Adelaide, and George could have told him. But it’s clear the killer decided on his course of action that day. He prepared or bought the cyanide, carried it along to the ball, then waited for the opportunity to strike. Perhaps if Fellowes hadn’t abandoned his post when he did, our culprit would have found another way to achieve his goal.”
He leaned back on his haunches before continuing. “That notwithstanding, and though I believe the police will show there was poison in every glass of champagne, I can’t overlook the feeling that I was the main target. It was my speech and my celebration in my house after my decade-long hermitage.”
I smiled to myself then, thinking that I really had filled in a good ninety per cent of the outstanding holes in the case. Well… perhaps seventy-five, but I was almost entirely certain of the culprits and decided to prod him in the right direction.
“Of course, if Fellowes was working with another of our suspects, he could have-”
“No, no. That can’t be it.” Becoming weary from crouching for so long, he awkwardly stood back up and walked around the centre of the room in a circle. He cut a trail through the scraps of paper, like a child kicking up autumn leaves. “But it does raise that same question of why he was poisoned.”He came to a stop and gazed at the notes before rushing over to search for one on his desk. “My only theory was that… Now, where did I put it…? There it is. Yes, the only thing I came up with was that our assassin had no qualms about killing two members of the Cranley family but couldn’t bring himself to murder an innocent bystander. That still doesn’t tell us why he wanted Fellowes out of the way in the first place though.”
I’d got caught up in his manic energy and offered an answer. “Perhaps the poison didn’t act fast enough. Perhaps the killer planned to get rid of Fellowes in order to access the champagne, but he only got sick much later.”
He paused long enough to consider this. “Not a bad suggestion, Chrissy. But as the killer knew to use a fast-acting poison in the champagne, surely he’d have found a similarly potent toxin to deal with the butler.” He thought for a moment. “No, it simply has to be something that Fellowes saw on the night of the ball.”
“But we spoke to him, Grandfather. Even before the police arrived, we asked him what he’d seen when he left the drinks room and what was happening outside. He was with Cora and they heard my father running up the steps above them, but there was no one else on that side of the house. George, Maitland and Marmaduke were on the terrace beside the ballroom. Fellowes didn’t see anything.”
He looked at me then like I’d said something incredible. “You little genius!” He shook his head in disbelief and, for a moment, I was worried he was mocking me. “You brilliant boy, I could hug you!”
Before such an awkward outcome could arise, we were interrupted by an unexpected visitor.
“Good afternoon, Milord.”
“Fellowes!” Grandfather raced over to greet his supposedly faithful retainer. “How wonderful that you’re up on your feet again.”
It was painful to see the old man immediately charmed by that wretched character. Whatever instinct my grandfather possessed for judging the angels and demons of a person’s nature had been neutralised by Fellowes’s skilful machinations.
The butler’s brow was creased and he sent a glare in my direction, before replying in a sycophantic tone. “Thank you for your trust and support, Lord Edgington. I can’t say how much it means to me.”
“Good man, good man.” Grandfather rubbed his hands together and shifted his weight from side to side, as though he didn’t know what to say next. “I’m sorry to spring this on you, considering what you’ve just been through, but I have to invite some guests over this evening. Tell the staff to be prepared. We’ve another party to plan.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Despite my best attempts to save his blushes, Grandfather clearly wouldn’t listen to what I’d discovered. He was committed to his plan for the evening and so we headed to the petit salon to invite our guests.
“George?” the old man asked but didn’t wait for a reply. “I need you to be here by nine o’clock and bring young Adelaide with you.”
“Why should I?” I heard him grumble down the line. He’d clearly been asleep when the telephone rang. “I’ve only recently returned from my ancestral backwater. Why would I want to go back so soon?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll change my will and leave everything I own to Battersea Dogs Home!” He slammed the telephone down on its hook and, with a satisfied smile on his face, stroked his long white beard. “If someone had spoken to your cousin like that a decade ago, he might not be the disaster that he is today.”
With George crossed off his list, he informed Great-Aunt Clementine’s staff that he’d be sending a car to pick her up for dinner. It was a widely known fact that the old thing was always up for a party, so we didn’t imagine any resistance on her part. Cora was still on the property and so, with these arrangements made, there was only one suspect left to include. Straightening his back regally and sucking his stomach in, Grandfather needed to ask his enemy for a favour.
“I’m telling you that if you bring Walter Prentiss to my house this evening, I’ll hand over the killer.”
Inspector Blunt’s tone was so gruff and aggressive that I struggled to work out what he said in reply.
“IF YOU £*+> $%&* %-& FOR ONE SECOND THEN, I’LL $%&* £%*!…”
Grandfather was not intimidated. “What harm can it do, man? You can bring as many officers as you like and leave Walter in irons for all I care. He’s not likely to escape.”
The scratchiness of the line decreased as Blunt replied in a marginally less agitated manner. “Fine, but I’ll be watching you, Edgington. Don’t go getting any funny ideas.”
“Well, that set me straight,” my grandfather barked back. “I can promise you this, Blunt, by the end of the evening, you’ll be thanking me.”
The inspector let out an oddly witch-like cackle. “I look forward to you proving me wrong.”
Grandfather put the phone down but stayed rooted to the spot, peering off through the window at the dramatic black sky. “What a very unpleasant man he is.”
/> I, on the other hand, was a very cowardly man. I knew that my lovely old grandfather was setting himself up for ridicule, and should have grabbed him by the arm and made him listen to reason.
Instead, I meekly enquired, “Grandfather, are sure you want to go through with the meal this evening?” The least I could do was check.
His eyes became tiny slits and I knew how all those criminals he arrested must have felt being interviewed by the steely Superintendent Edgington. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.” There was a definite, unspoken why? in his voice which I felt I had to answer.
“I just thought you might prefer to do things quietly, instead of making a big performance of it.”
He leaned on the telephone table, as if the effort he’d already undergone was too much for him. “That’s where you’re wrong, my boy. It may sound petty, but any chance I get to show up that repugnant inspector is very much worth taking. Now, fetch your tailcoat as this evening’s soiree will be a white tie event.”
He nodded with his usual military air and marched off to get ready. I did as instructed and, a little while later, was the first to arrive in the large, airy dining room. I was convinced that the evening would not go to plan and sat waiting for the others in a fog of nerves, as Halfpenny laid the place settings around me.
If nothing else came from the dinner, at least I got to see my father again. After a day in a cell at St Mary-Under-Twine police station, he was in a sorry state. His normally perfect hair was bedraggled, his clothes were somehow stained and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Two constables escorted him into the room, with the diminutive inspector hurrying along after them.
“Walter, you poor thing,” my mother pronounced, when she arrived in the dining room moments later. Dressed to the nines in her best crimson gown, she positively sparkled as she ran over to him.
“Um, stand back please, madam.” Blunt lunged to place himself between my parents. “That is a prisoner whose hair you are currently stroking. As far as I’m concerned, he is not here in his role as your husband.”
The inspector hadn’t opted for irons and shackles at least, but set the two constables to guard the door. Once my mother had apprehensively sat down beside my father, the veteran officer retreated to an alcove to watch the proceedings.
George, Cora and Great-Aunt Clementine were the next to arrive and took their places alongside me, but there was no sign of Marmaduke.
“Grandfather won’t be happy you came alone,” I whispered to George, in an attempt to be discreet.
“Oh, do be quiet, Chrissy.” Any charm that he’d displayed that morning was absent once more. “Just so you know-”
He didn’t have to finish his statement as, at that moment, a tall, heavily set man with arms like tree trunks and legs like Nelson’s Column barged into the room to sit in Grandfather’s chair at the head of the table. He had wavy red hair and wore a flamboyant suit of thick, purple damask. He looked like a well-dressed boxer, which wasn’t far from the truth.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” His deep, booming voice was exceedingly well-polished but had a distinctly arrogant undertone. “My name is Horatio Adelaide. Lord Edgington and I go back years. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see me.”
There was a murmur of disapproval from the other diners, as the identity of the intruder became apparent. Apparently oblivious, my schoolmate’s father looked about the room as though he was considering purchasing Cranley Hall.
Grandfather must have had a spy planted to tell him when all the guests had arrived as he appeared forthwith. He paused on the threshold as he took in the unusual congregation. I thought he might react to Horatio Adelaide occupying his seat but, instead, he nodded cheerfully and walked to the far end of the table.
“Welcome everybody, I’m so glad you could come.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lord Edgington was clearly looking forward to his second social event of the season, but would make us wait for the highlight of the evening.
“We have some important matters to discuss, but first, we must dine together like old friends.”
He spread his arms out in front of him and Fellowes walked forward to whisk the domed silver covers off two dishes in the middle of the table. They held a selection of fine continental meats and smoked salmon, and there were more plates laid out with rich pâtés and hors d’oeuvres. It was quite the treat to start the meal with and almost compensated for the no doubt unconventional nature of the forthcoming courses.
Grandfather took his seat and Halfpenny immediately served him an assortment of cold cuts.
Blunt jumped down from the windowsill he’d been perched on, like Zacchaeus from his tree. “Excuse me, but I didn’t come here this evening to watch a bunch of toffs stuffing their faces.”
“You’re right,” his former colleague agreed. “I would much prefer it if you joined us. There are provisions for your men too, if they so wish.”
There was a spare seat at the table and another area already laid out in the petit salon for the constables. Grandfather looked back innocently at the inspector who was clearly torn over the best answer to such a tantalising offer. He peered at the culinary offerings which spanned the length of the table and then back to our patient host.
“You’re trying to pull the wool over my eyes! Well, let me tell you, you can’t butter me up, so don’t even try.”
I could understand entirely why he’d say this. Wool and butter, of course, should never meet.
My grandfather remained calm. “There is no obligation, Blunt. I simply considered that you might like to break bread with us.”
Blunt thought a little longer and his two constables exchanged glances, obviously hoping they’d get a chance to sample Cranley Hall’s offerings.
“I’ll sit down,” he eventually replied, as if he were doing us a great favour. “But I won’t eat anything.”
“Jolly good!” Grandfather watched as the petulant little man took up the spare place at the table and his officers happily dashed from the room.
There was silence as we started eating. Clearly no one felt we should make eye contact and we stared down at our plates. Knives screeched against porcelain, our servers rushed about with drinks and condiments, but no one spoke until Grandfather broke the silence.
“How nice to see you after all this time, Horatio.” He glanced across at the once disreputable criminal with a truly welcoming expression.
“And you, Lord Edgington.” The man smiled on half of his face. “It seemed right that I should come here in my son’s stead, given that you will all be talking about him.” There was a challenge buried in his words but Grandfather refused to be baited and the conversation petered out once more.
Being a Cranley, I imagine that I have lived through more awkward dinners in my life but I certainly can’t think of an example. I expected some rabble-rousing from George or a little entertainment from old Clementine, but they were as meek as my mother and Cora, both of whom looked like they’d rather be having a tooth removed than participating in this uneasy performance.
The main course was served and everyone regarded Cook’s oddly triangular pie, attempting to work out what on Earth she had produced. The hush that had fallen over us had an eerie quality to it by this point and the only attempt at communication was an occasional command to the staff, issued in an apologetic whisper. Eyes darted up from the meal and then back down again and I had to imagine that everyone was wondering the same thing; am I going to be the one he pins the blame on?
Well, practically everyone. I knew that I was in the clear and was busy dealing with the knowledge that this whole sorry show could have been avoided if I’d had the courage to tell Grandfather who was really responsible for the killings. Just as I thought I might scream out my confession, the old man threw in the towel… or his napkin at least.
�
�Very well, that’s enough.” He balled it up and, rising from his seat, flung it across the table to land in a heap in the centre. “I thought we might have one last civilised evening together before going through the particulars, but this is even less pleasant than a lifetime behind bars. It’s high time I put you out of your misery.” He paused to watch the reactions of those assembled.
Despite his previous claim to the contrary, Inspector Blunt had filled plate after plate with food. He was the only one who continued tucking into the pie, even after grandfather called order. Horatio was smiling, his eyebrows raised in perpetual enquiry, Clementine had finally come to herself and was humming a pretty melody and the others wore anxious masks in place of their regular features. I took particular notice of Cora who, as well she might, remained stunned into nervous silence.
To break the tension, Grandfather spoke again. “I requested your presence here this evening to reveal that the person who stole my children from me is-”
“No!” This single word echoed about the room and forced every last person there, from insignificant Halfpenny the footman to chirpy Great-Aunt Clementine, to turn in my direction. Slowly, reluctantly, but seeing no other option, I rose to my feet. “Or rather… I mean…”
Now that I had started, I couldn’t quite remember what I wanted to say. Grandfather’s thick brows had closed in on one another to make one long, prickly bush on his forehead. It was a look of both curiosity and judgement and the pressure it loaded upon me somehow sparked me into life.
“I mean to say that, Grandfather and I have been investigating together and, as the novice in this case, he has offered me the chance to present my findings.” I was talking nonsense of course, but the curiosity in him won out and he sat back down to listen. “My aunt and uncle were murdered for the oldest reason in the world.”
Murder at the Spring Ball: A 1920s Mystery Page 20