The Body in Bloomsbury

by Bianca Blythe

  “What nonsense,” Lionel said, using his most upper-class voice. “My mother owns this building, and Roland is my cousin. Not a murderer. What absolute drivel. Americans, right?”

  The constable seemed to waver, and his grip on his baton seemed to loosen.

  Cora’s heart sank.

  Was everything going to go awry now? When everything seemed so close to being sorted?

  “I swear this is the truth,” Cora said hastily.

  “These girls are quite insane,” Lionel said. “Thank goodness you’re here, constable.”

  “Well—” The constable frowned and turned to Cora. “So that skinny guy is a murderer.”

  “Yes,” Cora said primly. “Though his cousin was attempting to murder me.”

  “And yet I’m not the one holding the pistol,” Lionel said, continuing to deploy a far more regal accent than he normally did.

  “Yes, you better lower that pistol, Miss James,” the constable said.

  Veronica held the pistol steady. “I don’t like it when men order me about.”

  “I am an officer of the law.”

  “One who has not arrested these atrocious people,” Veronica said.

  “Right. I suppose I’ll have to haul you all into the station.” The constable scratched his helmet, and then frowned, as if realizing that scratching a helmet was far less satisfactory than scratching a head.

  Lionel smirked and nudged Rollo.

  “He’s going to run away,” Cora said quickly. “And then he’ll be gone forever.”

  The constable turned to her. “So you really mean to say that nice young gentleman is a murderer?”

  “He is.”

  “That body was discovered nowhere near here,” the constable chided her. “Now, I have all the respect in the world for you, but... You must understand I can’t haul this young man who appears decent to a police station just because of the word of a person who pretends to be a detective. It’s just not right. It’s the sort of thing that would make others laugh, and frankly, workplaces aren’t places for laughter.”

  “You mean you think you would be teased?” Cora asked bluntly.

  The constable’s face turned a ruddier color. “Naturally, I don’t care about such things. But it does raise a point, and well, the economy might be doing a bit better than before, but I’m still very grateful for my job and—”

  “I assure you,” Cora said, “You will only be praised for ridding London of this dangerous criminal.”

  “He’s not dangerous,” Lionel said sharply. “He’s my cousin. My mother—his aunt, owns this house. She will be most displeased when she learns about the behavior of the local constables.”

  The constable’s face had now reached an equally rare pale shade. “I don’t suppose you have any witnesses to your extraordinary statement, Miss Clarke?”

  She blinked.

  She didn’t.

  They’d all been in the room. They’d all heard Rollo confess to the killing, but they would all be silent.

  If only Veronica had been there.

  “I’m a witness,” Bess said abruptly.

  Cora blinked.

  Bess scrambled from the steps quickly, moving past Lionel and Rollo, as if they might kill her now.

  They didn’t.

  They just stared at her.

  “But Bess,” Rollo’s voice wobbled, and its tone was so endearing, that even Cora had to look away. She didn’t need to see the sorrow and betrayal in his face.

  When Cora looked at Bess, she saw only guilt.

  “You’re doing the right thing,” Cora said, and Bess nodded.

  “I know. I-I shouldn’t have let things get so out of hand,” Bess said. “It was the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me, and my life has been quite dull and this seemed exciting.”

  Cora nodded. She didn’t quite understand, but that didn’t matter.

  “I’m a witness,” Bess said, “that man should be arrested for murder and his cousin should be arrested for trying to murder Miss Clarke.”

  “Very well,” the constable said. “I suppose I’ll have to take you in. I don’t get many of these arrests, but I’ll try to remember the right words.”

  “Just cuff them,” Veronica said hastily.

  The constable removed his handcuffs, and soon he snapped them onto both Lionel and Rollo.

  “This is absolute nonsense,” Lionel blustered.

  “Then you’ll be released in no time,” the constable said sweetly.

  The doorbell rang. For a moment Lionel looked like he would take the opportunity to run, and Cora hastily went to the door.

  If Lionel was going to flee, she wanted to be nowhere near his path.

  Her legs still wobbled, and her entire body was stiff, as if not quite certain whether to believe she was actually going to be just fine.

  She shivered when she saw the tall frame of a man.

  Did Lionel and Rollo have any equally aggressive cousins?

  But when she opened the door, she recognized a coat that looked curiously like Randolph’s. Her heartbeat quickened, and she looked up.

  Randolph.

  He was here, and everything would be fine.

  And beside him was Pop.

  And beside Pop was Aunt Maggie.

  Cora’s heart soared. They were here. Randolph had found Pop. Had he been staying with Aunt Maggie? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that everything was going to be fine now.

  “Golly.” Aunt Maggie’s curly gray hairs jostled as she moved her gaze from Veronica’s pistol to Rollo’s and Lionel’s handcuffs to Police Constable Meeks. “London is dangerous. My poor dear girl.”

  “Are those the murderers?” Pop asked. “You want me to punch them, police constable?”

  “Er—that’s not necessary,” Police Constable Meeks said quickly.

  “What on earth’s going on?” Randolph asked.

  “Just closing up a murder case,” Cora said with an oddly high-pitched laugh.

  Randolph didn’t seem to mind and he just smoothed a loose strand of her hair from her face. “Sweetheart.”

  Her heart swelled.

  “Oh, would you lovebirds get inside,” Veronica said. “I want to witness the arrest.”

  “It’s not as interesting as in the movies,” the constable said, red-faced.

  “I think it’s quite interesting,” Veronica said. “I’ll especially think it’s interesting when they’re out of here forever.”

  The constable beamed. “The prosecutor will be wanting more information from all of you.”

  “Then he shall have it,” Veronica said grandly.

  “Splendid,” the constable said, and his voice became higher pitched.

  Veronica often had that effect on men, but she restrained from giving him a condescending smile.

  “I can’t believe I wasted time being free writing a thesis about you,” Rollo said irritatedly.

  “I would love to read it,” Veronica said.

  “I think that won’t be possible,” Cora whispered.

  “Right.” Veronica glanced at the handcuffs. “Pity. Next time, I’ll try to get my friend not to have fans arrested.”

  “I think you have enough,” Police Constable Meeks said gallantly.

  “Perhaps.” Veronica smiled. “Thank you again.”

  When the door closed, Veronica turned to Cora. “It’s a pity you had to arrest a fan,” Veronica mused. “I did like Rollo.”

  “I wasn’t arresting anyone,” Cora said.

  “Well, just gathering facts and calling the police so they haul him away,” Veronica said. “You came as close to arresting him as a civilian could.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” Cora said thoughtfully.

  “Now you’re going to have to tell me what happened,” Randolph said sternly.

  Aunt Maggie and Pop murmured agreement.

  So Cora told them.

  EPILOGUE

  “Are you certain you want to continue living here?”
Randolph asked.

  Cora nodded. “It’s still in a wonderful neighborhood.”

  “There are many wonderful neighborhoods in London,” Randolph said.

  “But none quite like Bloomsbury. Besides, Archibald likes it here, don’t you Archibald?”

  Archibald wagged his tail merrily.

  “Well, I won’t go against what you want,” Randolph said.

  “The dumbwaiter will need to be repaired,” Cora said. “I quite like it as an escape route.”

  “Talk like that makes me question whether you should still be living there,” Randolph said.

  Cora sighed. Rollo was in jail, and he would likely hang. He had murdered Mr. Tehrani after all. The judge fortunately did not seem to think it mattered that Mr. Tehrani was a foreigner or that Rollo had done it for the woman he loved, no matter how confused Rollo seemed to be during the trial that the judge did not consider those things to be of the same importance as Rollo had.

  Randolph and she strolled toward Soho. Pop was giving another performance tonight. They moved from street to street, the names famous from films and books and Cora’s heart felt full.

  “You look beautiful,” Randolph said.

  “It’s the cold,” Cora said quickly. “It makes my cheeks pinken. That’s all.”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s you.”

  And then he took her into his arms and kissed her, even though they were in the middle of the sidewalk, and even though passers-by shot them disgruntled looks when they separated.

  Before long they arrived at the club.

  “Cora!” Pop beamed. “Nice to see you. Tonight’s my last show.”

  “Truly?” Cora asked, and her heart tightened. “I didn’t know you were leaving so soon.” She glanced at the poster behind them which clearly advertised that Pop would be performing through the end of the next month.

  “I’m going to take that gig in Austria,” Pop said.

  “Austria?” Randolph sputtered.

  “What’s wrong with Austria?” Pop frowned slightly, and Randolph stiffened, perhaps aware that it wasn’t customary to point out instances of poor judgement to one’s sweetheart’s father.

  “I just meant they’ve recently been invaded,” Randolph said.

  “That doesn’t mean they’ve stopped appreciating music. Besides, invasion is too strong a word. They’ve recently welcomed the German government in,” Pop said, stressing the word “welcomed.” “Seems to me that they’re pretty happy about it.”

  “You can’t believe everything the newspapers say,” Randolph said stiffly.

  “Well, what else are we supposed to believe?” Pop asked, frowning slightly.

  Randolph was silent and the awkwardness intensified.

  Cora took Randolph’s hand in his. “Randolph works for the government. He knows some things.”

  “Hmph,” Pop said. “Seems to me the British government is spending a lot of time telling the public that everything is fine. I, for one, am going to listen to them. Or do you disagree with your prime minister?”

  “Chamberlain?” Randolph smiled, as if aware Pop was trying to catch him being disloyal. “Chamberlain is a fine man, and we’ll see if he can work out something with Hitler to ease the European tension. He’s going to give it his very best shot.”

  “I’m sure he will,” Pop said. “Chamberlain is well-educated. Hitler was just some failed artist-turned-thug.”

  “You mustn’t talk like that when you’re in Austria,” Cora said.

  “Oh, I respect him. How can you not? He found a path to power despite his significant disadvantages.”

  “Like not being actually German,” Randolph grumbled.

  “Yes, like that,” Pop agreed. “But I’m a singer. I have no interest in politics. I just want to make people happy.”

  “You’re good at that,” Cora said, remembering all the people in the nightclub. There’d never been an evening when every table hadn’t been full, and there’d never been a night when people hadn’t been transfixed.

  “I know.” He winked.

  “Well, be careful,” Randolph said. “And keep in touch with Cora. I know she’ll appreciate that.”

  Pop stared at Randolph, and a smile formed upon his lips. “You know, normally I might be irritated at your abundance of protective instincts. But since you’re seeing Cora, I actually think that’s quite a good quality. You know, she has a habit of getting herself into trouble.”

  Randolph grinned. “I know.”

  “I should never have let her star in the Gal Detective series,” Pop said, shaking his head. “It just gave her ideas.”

  “Nonsense,” Cora said. “I don’t try to find trouble.”

  “It just seems to find you, hmm?” Pop’s eyes twinkled. “You know you might not be that dissimilar from your old man after all.”

  Cora felt her cheeks warm.

  “You’ll take care of her?”

  “I sure will,” Randolph said, squeezing Cora’s hand again.

  “What’s going to happen to your show?” Cora asked, anxious to change the subject.

  Pop smiled. “I recommended a great singer to the nightclub. They’re going to contact her soon.”

  “What’s her name?” Cora asked.

  “Well, she’s been going by the name Cora Clarke.”

  Cora widened her eyes. “You want me to take over?”

  Pop nodded. “You’re up for it.”

  “But I’ve never done that before.”

  “Nonsense. You’ve been singing and dancing since you were little. No one is more up for it than you. You’ve got the gift. I have it, and your mother has it too.”

  “But I left Hollywood.”

  “I shouldn’t have pressured you to stay. Look, I get it. You don’t like acting. That’s fine. Plenty of people do like acting, and you don’t have to compete with them. But you can’t tell me you don’t like the other things. I know you too well.”

  Pop was right. She did enjoy singing and dancing.

  “Their next performer is scheduled to arrive in May. Until then, the role is yours. Luckily, the nightclub owner saw your work the other night. He was sold. He even mentioned that your name would be a bigger draw than mine.”

  “I doubt that,” Cora said.

  Pop shrugged, and his eyes sparkled.

  “I’ll have a lot of work to do,” Cora said.

  “Better that than solving murders,” Pop said. “And if you find you don’t like it, you can think about switching to directing or producing. Maybe you can get some other people lined up to perform, so you don’t have to do it all yourself.”

  Cora’s heartbeat quickened.

  Pop was right. This was something she could do. This was something she was good at.

  She’d been foolish to run away from her life all together. She had learned some things in the past.

  “Come,” Pop said. “Let me introduce you to the club’s owner.”

  Cora followed him inside. Randolph still held her hand, and Cora’s heart still tapped a pleasant rhythm in her chest.

  “Let me get him,” Pop said. “Wait here.”

  “Do you think he’ll really be fine?” Cora asked.

  “I hope so,” Randolph said.

  Cora nodded. Strange things were happening in Europe. But if anyone would be fine there, it would be Pop.

  Excitement thrummed through Cora as she gazed around the club. This would be where she would perform. This would be where her new career would start.

  She was grateful she’d managed to escape from Lionel and Rollo. Mr. Tehrani had died too young, but his murder would be avenged, and now her life could continue as before.

  Randolph took her into his arms, and everything around Cora was warm and wonderful.

  He removed her hat. “The problem with these things, is that they’re not suited for kissing.”

  “Is this a time for kissing?” Cora’s voice trembled, and her heart beat against her ribs.

  Randolph swept he
r into his arms. “It certainly is.”

  THANK YOU FOR READING The Body in Bloomsbury. I hope you enjoyed it.

  Murder at the Manor House is the first book in the Sleuthing Starlet series. The next book in the series, A Continental Murder, is releasing later in 2019.

  Join Bianca Blythe’s list to learn when the next book is released and about other promotions and news.

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Born in Texas, Bianca Blythe spent four years in England. She worked in a fifteenth century castle, though sadly that didn't actually involve spotting dukes and earls strutting about in Hessians.

  She credits British weather for forcing her into a library, where she discovered her first Julia Quinn novel. Thank goodness for blustery downpours.

  Bianca now lives in California with her husband.

  THE SLEUTHING STARLET

  Murder at the Manor House

  Danger on the Downs

  The Body in Bloomsbury

  A Continental Murder – Coming Soon!

  WEDDING TROUBLE

  Don’t Tie the Knot

  Dukes Prefer Bluestockings

  The Earl’s Christmas Consultant

  MATCHMAKING FOR WALLFLOWERS

  How to Capture a Duke

  A Rogue to Avoid

  Runaway Wallflower

  Mad About the Baron

  A Marquess for Convenience

  The Wrong Heiress for Christmas

  Murder at the Manor House

  Murder. Manor homes. Malfunctioning chandeliers.

  Hollywood starlets are supposed to be happily on set in sunny California, and not trapped in drafty manor houses during ferocious snowstorms.

  But after Cora Clarke’s best friend and fellow actress elopes with an English earl, Cora visits England to help her friend brave the aristocratic disapproval of her new husband’s family.