‘Let it alone!’ she hissed, adjusting it back to the mode de societé angle and fiddling with her matching parasol in embarrassment. ‘I already told you to keep your mitts to yourself!’ The Viscountess’ pronunciation of ‘you’ as ‘yuh’ seemed to offend her host, who winced visibly.
‘Forgive me, my dears, I must continue with the introductions.’ Lady Fenwick-Langham steered Eleanor to the next guests.
‘Lady Swift, Dowager Countess Goldsworthy and her delightful niece, Miss Cora Wynne,’ she announced with a flourish.
‘Good afternoon.’ Eleanor smiled at the elderly lady, marvelling at how tightly her ivory hair had been pulled into a bun beneath a neat tartan fantasia with half-length lace veil.
‘Delighted to meet you, Lady Swift,’ the dowager countess replied with a strong Scottish burr.
Before she could reply, a bellowing voice cut in. ‘So, you must be Lady Wift?’
‘Swift, with an “s”. Really, Colonel.’ Lady Fenwick-Langham tutted at the uniformed figure who had bowled into their conversation.
‘Can always count on Pudders to stuff it up,’ Lord Fenwick-Langham said with a laugh on his way past in search of more champagne.
‘Colonel Puddifoot-Barton, at your service.’ The military man saluted.
‘Delighted, Colonel.’ Eleanor saluted back.
‘Dear, dear, whatever next,’ he muttered and stood staring at her.
Lady Fenwick-Langham squeezed Eleanor’s arm and tactfully steered her away.
‘Is this the full group for luncheon, Lady Fenwick-Langham?’ Eleanor asked as they set off down the path on their left.
‘Yes, unless we are to be graced by the presence of my errant son. Oh, my dear Eleanor, I’m at quite my wit’s end to know how to turn him into anything useful.’
Eleanor smiled and patted Lady Fenwick-Langham’s hand, looped as it was through her arm. ‘All boys grow up one day, I’m told.’
‘Well, let us pray for that day to come sooner rather than later. Let us talk of the roses instead, my dear, it will calm my nerves.’ She paused and sniffed delicately at a crimson bloom. ‘The history of these glorious flowers fascinates me. There’s so much romance in their stories. This one’– she cupped the bloom – ‘Rosa gallica Officinalis, more commonly known as The Apothecary’s Rose or Versicolour. Can you believe that the crusaders fought to bring this exquisite bloom all the way from the Middle East to France?’
Eleanor nodded, distracted as a voice yelled across the garden.
‘What ho, Sherlock!’
Lady Fenwick-Langham raised her eyebrows. ‘When exactly did you say boys grow up, my dear?’
Eleanor smiled with a shrug as she watched Lancelot sliding down the stone balustrade of the staircase with his arms outstretched instead of using the steps. Jumping off deftly at the end, he gave his mother a peck on the cheek.
‘Afternoon, Mater.’
Lady Fenwick-Langham sighed. ‘Lady Swift, this is my son, Lancelot Germaine Benedict Fenwick-Langham.’
He ran his fingers through his hair and gave a boyish grin. ‘Lady Swift and I have already met. She’s been pursuing me in a most unladylike fashion.’ Seeing his mother’s red cheeks, he gave her a squeeze.
‘Lancelot!’ his mother shrieked in a hushed voice. ‘Where are your manners? Dear Eleanor, I am so sorry.’
Eleanor laughed. ‘Please don’t apologise, we have already met, though I can’t say there was any kind of pursuit.’
‘Nonsense, first you scramble halfway across Cartwright’s field…’
‘He prefers Thomas,’ Eleanor said.
‘Then you hang on to me like a leech riding pillion on my bike to Chipstone.’
Lady Fenwick-Langham stared at Lancelot, her mouth agape, then at Eleanor.
Eleanor stuttered. ‘Well, you see what happened was… I needed to get to the town hall… and Lancelot happened to be going.’
‘Harold, where’s that champagne?’ The hostess turned. ‘If you’ll both excuse me a moment.’
Once they were alone, Eleanor dug Lancelot in the ribs. ‘You total ape! How am I supposed to impress your mother if you go telling her tall tales about me? Especially saying I’m chasing after you and riding around on whatever silly name you’ve given your motorbike.’
Lancelot chuckled. ‘Be honest, Sherlock, you’ve been looking forward to seeing me ever since the invitation arrived.’ He cocked an eyebrow and stroked his chin waiting for her response.
Eleanor pushed him playfully. ‘Actually, you weren’t the highlight of the invitation.’
‘Fibber!’ He took her arm as the gong sounded for luncheon. ‘Now, your job is to keep me free from the clutches of the delightful Miss Cora Wynne. Her aunt has got me in her sights as a wealthy suitor, the parsimonious old kilt.’
‘Lancelot! That’s no way to talk about a widow in her, what seventies or eighties? And Cora seemed sweet.’
‘Wet as lettuce, old fruit. I like my girls with spirit.’ He looked her up and down. ‘And with a peculiar fashion sense and a penchant for bicycles. Let’s eat, I’m famished.’ Grabbing her hand he pulled her down the path.
‘Stop, stop! Someone will see.’ She giggled, holding onto her hat. Despite her desire to behave correctly at this real society event, her competitive streak kicked in and she raced Lancelot to the dining room, easily outpacing him.
At the entrance, Lancelot gave Eleanor’s arm a gentle squeeze and then disappeared without explanation.
She snorted. Men! The minute you really need them, they disappear.
Sighing, she slapped on a smile and marched into the dining room.
Seventeen
‘Eleanor dear,’ Lady Fenwick-Langham said. ‘You are seated on the right, next to the dowager countess.’ She pointed down the impossibly long table dressed with ivory linen and flawless floral arrangements. ‘Delia dear, you are on the left beside the colonel. Cuthbert dear, you are to the left of the countess.’
Predictably, Lancelot was still nowhere to be seen. Even his father had made it to the table and stood as he waited for the ladies to finish seating themselves. He gave a ding on his champagne glass with his fish knife and in a commanding tone announced, ‘I declare this wonderful luncheon open. All sit.’
‘Harold, where do you suppose Lancelot is?’ Lady Fenwick-Langham looked at her husband with imploring eyes.
‘No clue, light of my life. Want me to send the dogs out to find him?’
Eleanor snuck a peak at Sandford who stared forward, the corners of his mouth curling slightly.
Lady Fenwick-Langham sighed. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming. It is such a delight to see you all together. Let us enjoy a splendid luncheon in friendship.’
Cora stole a look at Lancelot’s empty seat. This pulled Eleanor up short. She had been enjoying Lancelot’s attention. In fact, she realised she had been staring at the door waiting for him to arrive too. There was something about the way he made her feel… She pulled herself together. Until you’ve ruled him out as a suspect in your murder investigation, keep him at arm’s length, Ellie!
The dowager countess leaned past Eleanor to the hostess. ‘A long stint in service, my dear Augusta, that’s what he needs. You’ve pampered the boy terribly.’
‘Here, here,’ the colonel jumped in. ‘Youngsters without direction or leadership turn into a menace all too easily. I’d soon stamp that errant behaviour out of him.’
Lady Fenwick-Langham raised her hand. ‘Countess, Colonel, thank you for your thoughtful opinions. However, Lancelot is a fine young man, and it may have gone unnoticed that he is our son, so we will be the judges of—’
Just then the dining-room doors crashed open as Lancelot wobbled in on a bicycle and started a haphazard lap of the table. Eleanor covered her mouth with her napkin to hide her laughter. On his second lap, he produced a handful of small parcels from the handlebar basket and tossed one at each place setting.
‘Fortune tea cakes!’ Lancelot cheered with gle
e as he finished his final lap. ‘Pal of mine has just come back from San Francisco, these tea cake things are all the rage. Thought it a great wheeze to kick off the luncheon travel tales with a bang.’
Lord Fenwick-Langham saved the moment by splitting the awkward silence with a roar of laughter. ‘Enterprising initiative, son! What are they? Fortune cakes, you say?’
‘They’re to be taken at the conclusion of the meal, Harold,’ his wife said from the head of the table, with her mouth set in a thin line. ‘Thank you, Lancelot. A surprising addition to luncheon but we appreciate the thought.’
The colonel let out a contemptuous snort.
‘Pudders!’ Lord Fenwick-Langham cautioned. ‘Wind your neck in, man!’
Eleanor kept her gaze away from Lancelot’s, knowing she would lose her fragile composure if she caught his eye.
Viscountess Littleton spoke up with nervous excitement. ‘Lancelot is right, Lady Augusta, these fortune cookie fellows really are the ultimate. They are served in Golden Gate Park in a Japanese tea ceremony. When Cuthbert finally takes me back to The Hub, that’s what we Bostonites call home of course, we’re going to make the trip across the centre to visit. It is very firmly on our list of “must-dos”, isn’t it, Cuthbert?’
Viscount Littleton gave a weak smile and looked across at Lancelot. ‘Love the entertainment, old man, but I’m confused. Why the bicycle?’
His wife tutted and folded her arms. Eleanor groaned and wished Lancelot was close enough to kick under the table.
‘In honour of our guest of honour, silly!’ Lancelot pointed at Eleanor and grinned. ‘You must have heard about her intrepid two-wheeled travels?’
Fearing the hostess’ luncheon plans would soon be in ruins, Eleanor looked to Lady Fenwick-Langham for guidance. The lady of the house patted her hand and smiled. ‘Dear guests, perhaps we should begin the meal, now that we have had the cabaret.’ She glared at Lancelot. ‘Let’s allow Lady Swift the chance to fortify herself before she regales us with her travel stories. Sandford, please.’ She nodded to the butler.
During the preliminary bouillon and sherry Viscount Littleton turned to his host. ‘I say, I heard one of the fellows we were on last week’s shoot with met with a rather nasty accident.’
Viscountess Littleton slapped her husband’s hand and hissed, ‘I told you not to bring up such matters at luncheon, it’s uncouth!’
The viscount smiled at his wife coldly. ‘Not at all, my dear, I merely wished to pass on my condolences.’
Before she could stop herself, Eleanor blurted out, ‘Did you know him well, Lord Fenwick-Langham?’
Lord Fenwick-Langham grunted. ‘Atkins? Only through your uncle. Atkins came to the estate to join the shoot a few times. Rotten shot.’
Lancelot laughed. ‘There isn’t a poohbah this side of Scotland who hasn’t joined Pater’s shoots. Every pompous old suit with a titled job and a stuffy, oak office has to be seen on at least one. You do know that Pater is one of the lead shots in the country, surely?’
Feeling as though she had just crawled out of a cave, Eleanor tried to wave his comment off. ‘Of course, silly.’ She frowned, trying to work out how to ask more about Atkins without arousing suspicion. Unable to, she asked anyway. ‘What did Mr Atkins do? I remember meeting him as a child at Henley Hall, but I never really knew much about him.’
Lord Fenwick-Langham drained his sherry. ‘He was some bigwig in Whitehall or some such, I believe. No idea what those johnnies do in those dreary offices all day.’
Viscount Littleton looked around the table. ‘I recall asking him the same question on the shoot. I think he said he was some sort of investigator, as it were.’
‘And what sort of investigator would that be?’ the dowager countess asked drily.
The viscount wrinkled his brow. ‘I don’t remember his exact reply. Something quite hush-hush, I think.’
Lord Fenwick-Langham grunted again. ‘Those Whitehall johnnies are always trying to justify their jobs and make out they’re more than they are. I imagine he was just another pen-pusher who thought he could handle a gun.’
Lancelot laughed. ‘I wonder if he was trying to fill his gun with ink when it went off! Probably couldn’t tell the difference.’
‘Lancelot!’ Lady Fenwick-Langham glared at her son. ‘The poor man’s dead. Have some respect. Now, I agree with Viscountess Littleton, I think that’s enough of that topic at the luncheon table.’ She turned to the dowager countess. ‘Countess, how was your journey down from the Highlands?’
The dowager countess finished her spoonful of bouillon. ‘Fiercely uncomfortable and tediously long. I fear this will be the last year I make the dreadful trip.’
‘What rot!’ Lord Fenwick-Langham waved his glass in her direction. ‘Daffers, old fruit, you’ve been saying this will be your last year of travelling down for the past fifteen years!’
‘Travelling does so improve a person we’re told,’ Viscountess Littleton said. ‘Especially abroad.’
‘Savages out there. A proper rabble and no mistake.’ The colonel ran his cuff over the medals hanging on his chest. ‘No place for women!’
‘And where would you say was “a place for women”?’ Lady Fenwick-Langham asked, looking coldly at the colonel.
‘At home. They only get themselves into trouble abroad. No idea how to behave around Johnny Foreigner.’
Lady Fenwick-Langham flushed with anger and looked to her guest of honour. ‘Tell me, dear Lady Swift, did you ever need a man to “escort” you abroad?’
The dowager countess turned to Eleanor. ‘Your husband, perhaps?’
Eleanor held the countess’ eye. ‘Actually, I’m a widow. My husband was killed during the war.’
The dowager countess nodded. ‘Aye, many were. Were you married long?’
‘No, only four months.’ And that was a few too many, she wanted to add. She’d met him in South Africa, a few months before war broke out. She’d been swept off her feet by the dashing officer. Until, that is, he disappeared two months later pursued by the South African authorities. She never found out for what, but the last she’d heard of him, he’d been shot by his own side for selling arms to the enemy.
Before the dowager countess could continue her interrogation, Lady Fenwick-Langham intervened. ‘I’m sure Eleanor doesn’t want to talk about such matters, perhaps she can be allowed to answer my original question?’
Eleanor smiled gratefully at her hostess. ‘Thank you, Lady Fenwick-Langham. And to answer your question, I can’t say that I ever did need a man to escort me abroad, even when married. I feel that the point of travel is to see what one is made of when difficult circumstances arise. To rely on one’s own mettle, as it were.’
‘Bravo!’ Lancelot cheered. ‘Score one to Mater and Eleanor. You going to take that lying down, Colonel?’
The colonel obviously wasn’t. ‘Of course, there’s travelling and then there’s travelling. It’s all very well floating elegantly round the nadirs of tourism in a few capital cities, taking in a painting and a ruin. I, however, was referring to navigating the wilds beyond civilised Europe.’
Viscount Littleton had clearly had enough of the colonel’s pompous attitude and innocently asked, ‘Forgive me, Lady Swift, but I thought I had heard that you had been abroad in the deserts and jungles? Have I mis-imagined your tour à la bicyclette? I pictured you far past the border posts of civilised Europe.’
Eleanor beamed back at him, ignoring his wife’s angry hiss. ‘Really, I’d hate to bore you all with any of my inconsequential travel tales.’
‘Oh, please do!’ Cora said.
Lord Fenwick-Langham and Lancelot banged their soup spoons on the table, shouting, ‘Speech, speech!’ Viscount Littleton clapped along, ignoring his wife’s death glare. The colonel just sat back in his chair and stroked his moustache. Only the dowager countess shook her head.
‘Lady Swift, please consider the impressionable mind of my niece. I do not wish to spend my summer fending off her re
quests to embark on some caper with a carpetbag and a bundle of banknotes.’
‘Aunt Daphne.’ Cora clucked her tongue. ‘I don’t think Lady Swift’s travels resemble Phileas Fogg’s fictional adventure in Around the World in Eighty Days.’
‘Too right,’ Lancelot blurted out. ‘Sherlock never had a Passepartout. You didn’t, did you?’
Keen to avoid awkward questions about the origin of Lancelot’s nickname for her, Eleanor hurried to answer him. ‘Well, in truth, there were many occasions when the company of a valet would have been helpful. Cycling solo can be quite a lonely pursuit, if I’m honest. But no, I almost always travelled on my own, whether in Europe or beyond.’
‘Almost always?’ Lancelot’s voice was quieter now. Cora frowned and leaned forward to be more in his line of sight.
The colonel couldn’t contain himself. ‘Dash it, do you mean to tell us that you, a woman, cycled around the subcontinent?’
Eleanor laughed. ‘Of course not, Colonel. I only cycled part of the subcontinent… on my way around the world.’
There was a brief hush and then the table erupted, the colonel’s voice cutting across the din. ‘Around the world! A woman? On a bicycle? Impossible!’
The table quietened down to listen to Eleanor’s reply. ‘Actually, Colonel, I can take no credit. I was only following in the footsteps of the indefatigable Mrs Londonderry, who was the first woman to cycle around the world in 1894. Although I believe I may have pedalled quite a lot further than Mrs Londonderry.’
Despite her annoyance that Eleanor was taking centre stage, the viscountess couldn’t help herself. ‘Do tell us more, Lady Swift. Might one ask exactly what you were doing on your travels?’
Lady Fenwick-Langham answered for her. ‘Delia dear, Lady Eleanor was Thomas Walker’s Trailblazer. She mapped out and organised many of the routes of his travel company’s inaugural tours of India and more. It is a remarkable achievement, my dear.’
Her praise touched Eleanor. ‘That is kind of you. I did indeed meet Mr Walker but not until the end of my world trip. He offered me a job scouting out new routes. I was exploring a possible safari route in South Africa, the company’s latest travel destination, when I received the news of my uncle’s passing.’
A Very English Murder Page 11
