Mystery by the Sea: An utterly addictive English cozy mystery (A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 5)

by Verity Bright

  The three of them stared wide-eyed at Clifford, shot each other a look and then nodded slowly.

  ‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘But surprising. Shall we?’

  Eleanor had to admit that even before they stepped inside, the theatre’s glittering facade held all the promise of a special night to remember. As the looped garlands of brightly lit white bulbs swung in the light sea breeze, they cast a dancing light the full length of the walkway. They also illuminated the gallery of colourful posters lining the front of the building, each giving a tantalising glimpse of one of the vast array of variety acts on offer.

  She watched Polly pause in front of the first, the maid’s mouth hanging open.

  ‘Excited?’

  The young girl turned to her, eyes wide with wonder, and nodded dumbly.

  From the inside pocket of his black chesterfield overcoat, Clifford produced five printed tickets. Stepping across to one of the young men in smart red waistcoats standing either side of the theatre’s doors, he handed them over before saying something Eleanor couldn’t catch. The doorman ripped four of the tickets in half and returned the other one to Clifford before gesturing for them to enter. Eleanor watched Clifford put the intact ticket into Polly’s hand with a rare smile.

  ‘To add to your souvenir collection.’

  Polly put it carefully into her coat pocket with a shyly whispered, ‘Thank you, Mr Clifford, sir. ’Tis perfect.’

  Eleanor thought she had seen the inside of enough theatres to take this one in her stride, but she had come unprepared for the circus-worthy spectacle that greeted them. As they took their plush red seats, which matched the flock of the horseshoe-shaped walls, she stared up at the tent-inspired domed roof, supported on sixteen gilded pillars. Extravagant painted plaster reliefs curved out over the seats below, each one a stage set in itself. Either side of the enormous stage’s ornate proscenium arch, a gold-curtained entrance harked back to the theatre’s origins as the world’s most lavish permanent circus.

  Looking around, she was surprised to see how much the theatre was filling up given how quiet the streets and the beach had been most days. Seated on her right, Clifford handed her a programme and passed another along for Mrs Trotman to share with the others.

  ‘Harry Randall, Ella Retford, Letty Lind, Wilkie Bard. Gosh, what a line-up!’ Eleanor cheered.

  ‘Plus Wee Georgie Wood and Arthur Roberts, my lady,’ Clifford said as he pointed further down the list of names. ‘Had we arrived in Brighton only a few months earlier, we could have seen Lillie Langtry perform. And we would have seen Charlie Chaplin delight the audience here again.’

  She remembered Clifford telling her that Charlie Chaplin was her late uncle’s favourite performer.

  He lowered his voice. ‘I believe, however, the ladies are in for a particular treat this evening. Among the many acts, a fair number are known for their ribald comedy.’ His hand went to the Windsor knot of his tie. ‘Hence my sitting on the end of our row.’

  She cocked a questioning eyebrow at him.

  ‘That, in line with your request, I may pretend I haven’t seen them tittering at the more inappropriate lyrics and antics, my lady.’

  She grinned. ‘I so appreciate you allowing them to enjoy themselves unreservedly. But then you’ll have to do me the same honour and pretend you haven’t seen me laughing either.’

  Within the first third of the three-hour show, they had been treated to a variety of acts – singers, a family of acrobatic jugglers, twin-sister ballet dancers and a skilled escape artist. But it was the contortionist’s wiry fox terrier who stole Eleanor’s heart every time he jumped up to balance on the top of the contortionist’s head. With each new act, another artfully painted backdrop rolled down to fill the back of the stage.

  By the halfway point, they had laughed, gasped in awe and clapped until their hands stung. Polly had also been through three of Mrs Butters’ handkerchiefs, as the magic of each act seemed to bring on more tears of wonder. And then the pantomime element drew an eruption of cheering and whistling as a heavily made-up dame swanned on singing saucy lyrics in a giveaway baritone voice. Eleanor stole a peep at Clifford and had to stifle a giggle. Staring straight forward with his lips pursed, he sporadically shook his head and fiddled with his tie.

  She nudged Mrs Trotman who had dissolved into hysterics and grinned at Mrs Butters who was busy wiping tears of laughter from her cheeks. This set the tone for the next half hour of the programme as artist after artist reduced the audience to louder and louder paroxysms of mirth. Even Clifford had trouble hanging on to his inscrutable butler’s expression.

  Then another backdrop change heralded a shift in mood as a beautiful young woman stepped from the wings and captivated the auditorium with angelic renditions of several popular songs. Before long, the entire audience was swaying and singing along. Then all too quickly, she was gone and the next act was being announced. Eleanor watched the ladies whispering excitedly and then Clifford nodding to himself as a magician completed trick after trick at lightning speed.

  In the brief pause as the stage was cleared again, Clifford turned to Eleanor.

  ‘Enjoying the show, my lady?’

  ‘Enormously. I can’t think of anywhere I would rather be. Or with any other people.’

  ‘Most heartening to hear.’

  It was the next act that really caught Eleanor’s attention. ‘Ooh, a quick-change artist! How on earth does she get through so many outfits so swiftly!’

  ‘Perhaps, my lady, you could go to the stage door and ask the lady for a few pointers?’

  ‘Don’t be daft. She’s not going to give her secrets away. Besides,’ – she gave him a puzzled look – ‘why would I want to be able to do that?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Although, such a talent might enable you to finally arrive on time for functions and perhaps meet the meal schedule at the Hall more effectively?’

  She laughed, but shook her head. ‘Nice try!’

  Twenty

  They spilled out onto the pavement at ten o’clock, with their ears still ringing from the raucous clapping and whistling as the final curtain had fallen. Despite the late hour, the still surprisingly mild evening air was the perfect complement to their high spirits. The other theatregoers adjusted their capes and coats and gradually dispersed, the couples arm in arm, leaving Eleanor and her staff still debating which act was their joint favourite.

  Eleanor suddenly stiffened and tapped Clifford’s elbow. ‘Look!’ she whispered, making sure the ladies couldn’t hear. ‘Over by the doorway of that public house.’

  ‘Ah, Mr Longley and his partner in kidnapping, Mr Blunt, deep in a very animated conversation,’ said Clifford.

  ‘And, helpfully, Longley is hurrying off somewhere. Let’s collar his vertically challenged friend while we can.’ She slapped her forehead. ‘But wait, we can’t leave the ladies to walk back to the boarding house alone, it’s far too late. Suppose Longley decides to include them in another kidnapping attempt?’

  ‘Not a problem, my lady.’ He strode over to a man in a thick coat and a peaked cap. ‘Ladies, her ladyship has one last treat lined up for you this evening.’ He gestured towards the man’s small open hansom cab, which had seen better days but looked sound enough.

  Mrs Trotman gasped. ‘Us? Riding back in style?’

  ‘Whatever will my friend at the boarding house say?’ Mrs Butters said, clearly delighted with the idea. Polly’s jaw fell to her chest as she gaped at the two women.

  ‘Enjoy your ride, ladies,’ Eleanor called.

  Clifford pressed several coins into the man’s hand. ‘Escort these ladies to the actual door of their lodgings.’ He held up another coin before adding it to the others. ‘And do not leave until they are all inside.’

  The ladies gone, Eleanor and Clifford crossed the street to where Bert Blunt was tightening the belt on his overcoat, despite the mild weather. 'Well, what a coincidence,’ Eleanor said, stepping in his way. ‘Did y
ou enjoy the show?’

  He stared at her, eyes wide. Then he looked to Clifford and swallowed hard. ‘I, erm, wasn’t in the theatre, miss.’

  ‘Even more surprising then that we should have ended up on the same street tonight.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Well, you probably know the answer to that better than I do.’ She smiled innocently as his eyes repeatedly pulled away from her stare as she searched for signs of bruising from where she had elbowed the second kidnapper. Defeated by the shadows, she waited for him to reply.

  ‘Erm, do I?’ He ran his hand round the back of his neck. ‘Well, I’d best be getting along.’

  ‘My thoughts entirely. Seeing as we’re fellow guests at the Grand, we’ve every reason to get along.’

  ‘No, miss, I meant I ought to be on my way.’

  She shook her head. ‘You’re not much like your friend, you know? He made conversation quite the chore, but you’ – she stepped towards him making him shrink backwards – ‘you are eminently easier to chat to. But then they say opposites attract, don’t they?’

  ‘We’re not friends,’ he said cautiously. ‘No, no, we’re, erm, cousins.’ He gestured to his short stature. ‘He took the height for both of us, as you can see, miss.’

  ‘Well, how are you enjoying it?’

  Blunt looked even more confused. ‘Enjoying what, miss?’

  ‘You know, your cousin said you were both here for the sea fishing?’ Is there such a thing in Brighton, Ellie?

  He shook his head vehemently. ‘No, Noel and me, we’re on our holidays, that’s all we’re here for. Get out of London for a bit, hole up at the seaside, like.’

  Eleanor let out a laugh. ‘Gracious, you said that so forcefully you made it sound as if you are running away from someone. Or perhaps you were running after someone?’

  He shuffled his feet. ‘Not doing any running. Got a problem with me leg, you see. Short, and I got a limp. Life’s cruel like that.’

  ‘Hmm. I never really thought of life as being cruel, more that it’s people who can be. Like when you hear that someone took a man’s life in our very hotel. Did you know him, by the way?’

  ‘What? The bloke who died?’ He shook his head again. ‘Never met him. Don’t, erm, even know which bloke it was.’

  ‘Strange,’ she said slowly, ‘your cousin, Noel, did.’

  His head jerked up to stare at her. ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes. He knew that it was my husband. Still, luckily you weren’t caught up in any of the nasty business seeing as you were busy all evening. Oh, I hope you won by the way.’

  He looked over her shoulder as if hopeful for an escape route. Pausing, he cleared his throat before answering. ‘No, Noel beat me. Always does.’

  ‘Ah, poker takes a lot of dedication to master, I believe. It was poker you were playing, wasn’t it?’

  He nodded but pointed down the street. ‘Poker it was. I ought to be shuffling on my way. Noel will be waiting for me.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said with well-hidden mock surprise as she looked around, ‘I assumed you had arrived here together. You seem quite the inseparable pair.’

  ‘No, no. I just, erm, popped down on my own to’ – he gestured to the public house behind him – ‘have a pint.’

  Eleanor smiled and stepped aside. ‘Then don’t let me hold you up. We’ll see you around the hotel. How long are you staying for?’

  ‘Noel hasn’t decided yet. Night to both of you.’ And with that, he scurried off as fast as his limp would allow.

  She watched him go and then turned to Clifford. ‘It must have been a difficult series of card games, seeing as one was playing rummy and the other—’

  ‘Poker. Well done, my lady.’

  As they reached the entrance steps of the Metropole Hotel where they had taken tea the day before, she paused. ‘Good call, Clifford. Their late bar will be open for ages. We can go through the muddle of information we’ve learned on the case so far. But, in hindsight, we probably should have picked up a hansom cab like the ladies. If our kidnappers had decided to have another go, we might not have been able to fool them so easily.’

  Without replying, he handed her the collapsible umbrella he was carrying.

  She was surprised at its weight until the penny dropped. ‘Clifford, it’s not just an umbrella, it’s a cosh!’

  ‘Correct, my lady. His lordship made some judicious modifications to turn it into a weapon.’

  ‘Good old Uncle Byron,’ she said fondly. Not only had he been somewhat of an eccentric, he’d also been an inveterate inventor. In fact, one of his inventions, a kind of plough cum battering ram that could be attached to the front of the Rolls had saved her life. Unfortunately, all his inventions hadn’t been able to save his own. The piercing memory of her conversation with his murderer, who she and Clifford had finally caught not long ago, was etched forever in her thoughts.

  Peering sideways at Clifford, she could see he was painfully reliving the same moment. ‘We got justice for Uncle Byron,’ she said softly.

  He smiled at her with genuine warmth. ‘Indeed, we did, my lady, and I am eternally grateful to you for the part you played in doing so. And rest assured, I shall do my utmost and beyond to achieve the same for Mr Eden.’

  She smiled back at him. ‘Thank you, Clifford. We might, however, achieve it more comfortably out of this biting wind?’

  Twenty-One

  As Clifford dealt with their coats, Eleanor concluded the Metropole’s silver and mirrored chic bar to be a favourite of theatregoers. She chose a table where they wouldn’t be overheard and slid onto the high-legged upholstered seat. Her nails drummed on the marble top as she waited for Clifford to join her.

  ‘Refreshments are on their way,’ he said and then lowered his voice. ‘Again, my apologies for my reduced formality as we resume our pretence of my being your guardian.’

  She smiled and accepted her notebook and fountain pen. A waiter appeared with a loaded tray of drinks and delicious-looking appetisers.

  Clifford gestured to the mini plates of devilled eggs, potted cheese and crackers, bacon soufflé tartlets, dressed prawns and mixed olives. ‘Despite the lateness of the hour, I have noted you often find fortification of great assistance when engaged in deep thinking.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She smiled as she dived in. ‘They do look divine.’ During a pause, she opened her notebook and groaned at the untidy jottings. ‘I’m sure it’s just a matter of time, Clifford, before your impeccable organisation and meticulous attention to detail insidiously work their way into my psyche, wouldn’t you say?’

  His eyes twinkled. ‘Let us hope not, my lady. If influence transfers one way, it would surely also do so the other way.’

  She chuckled. ‘And the idea of your having to operate with my less structured way of working fills you with dread, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I should say it would be more accurately described as “horror”, were I to be truthful.’ Quickly holding up a finger as an astonished laugh burst from her, he continued. ‘However, I would unquestionably be the better man if I could.’ He picked up his glass. ‘Perhaps we should raise a toast to complementary attributes.’

  Feeling cheered by his unwavering support, she raised her glass in return and then spun her notebook round to face him. ‘Then please help my thoughts which are uncharacteristically scrambled by emotion this time. Where do you suggest we start?’

  ‘With a…’ He blanched looking at the jumble of notes and doodles. ‘A new, slightly more ordered, apologies, I meant updated, timeline of events?’

  ‘Top-notch idea.’ She turned to a new page and rewrote then updated the list of their chief suspects.

  Rex Franklin – was in charge of firing squad – saved Hilary’s life

  Noel Longley – denies knowing Hilary, but tried to kidnap me and Clifford

  Bert Blunt – definitely Longley’s partner in crime, also denies knowing Hilary, also definitely second man who tried to kidnap me and Clifford

&n
bsp; Grace Summers – denies knowing Hilary, but knows a lot about me!

  Willem de Meyer – booked in after Hilary same as other suspects, but so far haven’t managed to talk to him

  ‘Right, so far we’ve learned—’ Her pen scratched across the paper as she added a new heading – ‘Timeline’ – which she underscored twice. Then below it she wrote down everything they had been told.

  9.30 p.m. – Miss Grace Summers seen by Longley going into Hilary’s room

  10.45 p.m. – Desk clerk wishes Hilary good night

  11.35 p.m. – Rex Franklin goes to Hilary’s room – finds Hilary dead – searches room – finds nothing

  She looked up and wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s not very detailed, is it?’

  ‘Admittedly it is a trifle lacking in substance at the moment.’

  ‘Dash it, Clifford! This doesn’t constitute a timeline. It’s only three entries long, and yet it covers almost two hours. The murderer seems to have covered their tracks too well. We need to seriously speed up our progress.’

  ‘Perhaps. Although as the insightful Leo Tolstoy reminded me last night in War and Peace, “the two most powerful warriors are patience and time”. Both must be maximised to be as effective as possible.’

  She resisted the strong urge to roll her eyes. ‘Well, I insist on being in charge of “time” and I say we need to work faster. You can have “patience”, I’ve always found her intensely irritating.’

  ‘I thought that was prudence?’

  ‘Her too. Now, let’s move on to the alibis our suspects have given us. Perhaps there’s a clue in them we’ve missed, though the real problem is that suspects always lie.’

  He nodded. ‘It is an unbecoming trait.’

  She turned to the page with a doodle of a pair of legs, which ended at the waistband and the diminutive male figure next to them. ‘Let’s start with the odd couple. Longley denied being half of the kidnapping team, but I didn’t believe anything he said. Oh, Clifford!’ She clapped her hand over her mouth as this came out loudly enough for the patrons of the bar to turn and stare at them. ‘Oops! Why didn’t I think of it before? When I was bundled into the passenger seat of the kidnappers’ car, I noticed the driver was sitting on a cushion.’