‘If I might offer a contrary opinion, my lady, I was not insinuating, it was a statement of fact. The inspector has a challenging task in meeting the demands of two powerful forces pulling him in opposite directions.’
‘Riddles, all riddles! Be clear, man! What forces?’
Clifford poured her a cup of coffee and set the pot down on its mat.
‘In my experience, Detective Chief Inspector Seldon has always been a very dedicated officer. But, beneath the policeman and the commitment to justice, lies a man.’
Eleanor stared at the tablecloth puzzled. Then it dawned. ‘Are you suggesting that… that he likes me?’
‘I suspect more than likes, my lady.’ Clifford straightened his collar and stood silently.
Eleanor vigorously stirred several lumps of sugar into her coffee. ‘No, no, no! Don’t you see? This is a disaster.’ Her cheeks coloured. ‘How on earth is he going to see justice done for the colonel if his brain is clogged up thinking about… well, anything else?’
‘I think the problem is larger still, my lady, given the circumstances in which the chief inspector found young Lord Fenwick-Langham. The accused was not alone at the scene of the crime, I understand?’
‘No, the inspector basically said I’m as much a suspect as Lancelot. Something about us being in it together or that I’m protecting him.’
Clifford nodded. ‘As I suspected, which means…’
Eleanor groaned. ‘Which means I have to clear Lancelot’s name to clear my own.’ She turned her fork in her hands. ‘The thing is… I found Lancelot standing over the poor colonel… with the apparent murder weapon. I don’t know what I would do if he was found…’
Clifford tidied the condiments on the table, lining up the jam, mustard, breakfast relish, salt and pepper in a neat row. ‘Guilty, my lady?’
Eleanor buried her head in her hands. ‘You know the worst part of it all? I felt that every time I answered one of the inspector’s questions, I was hammering another nail into Lancelot’s coffin.’
‘You had no choice, my lady. You had to tell the truth.’
She looked up. ‘I know, but Lancelot isn’t a killer. He didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t… kill.’
Clifford straightened his shoulders. ‘Forgive the directness of my question, my lady, but how can you be sure?’
‘Because it’s Lancelot we’re talking about! Come on, Clifford, you’ve seen him grow up. Ask Sandford, he’s terribly fond of Lancelot. Do you think he would have any doubts about Young Master Lancelot’s innocence? Of course he wouldn’t.’ She stared at her knife.
‘My lady, I share your thoughts about the accused. In my experience—’
‘Do you mind if we don’t refer to him as “the accused”? It has a horrible, sort of, well, finality to it.’
‘My apologies. It is also my experience that young Lord Fenwick-Langham is not of the disposition to commit such a heinous act as that of taking a man’s life. But’ – lines furrowed his brow – ‘even if you and I signed affidavits to that effect, it isn’t going to sway a jury. We need some evidence.’
Eleanor hung her head. ‘I realise that,’ she murmured. ‘Oh, why did he get himself into such a situation, the monstrous fool!’ She slammed her spoon onto the crown of her soft-boiled egg with the last word, imagining Lancelot’s infuriating face grinning up at her as the shell smashed.
Clifford dabbed a serviette over the tablecloth to remove the worst of the splashed yolk.
‘Sorry, Clifford. I’m not quite myself this morning.’
‘Normally you do manage to contain your breakfast mostly on your plate, my lady.’
She appreciated his attempt to make light of her outburst. ‘Clifford, can I talk to you?’
‘I rather imagined we had been conversing for nigh on half an hour.’
‘I mean really talk to you. I’ve only got you to confide in. And Gladstone, of course, but he’s absolutely hopeless. All that turning his head to the side and pretending he’s listening when all he’s really doing is wondering if I said “biscuit”.’ Gladstone shot up at this and dropped his comforting, if rather heavy, head in her lap.
The corners of Clifford’s mouth turned up perceptibly. ‘I appreciate the compliment that I am the preferable choice for a confidant over an elderly, greedy bulldog.’
‘You know what I mean. Your natural aptitude for logic and reason is what Lancelot needs. I’ve already made things so much worse.’ She slumped back against her chair.
‘It is my belief, my lady, that one cannot make things worse by telling the truth. If, that is, it is a situation where the truth should be told, which I devoutly believe this is. Your statement to the chief inspector was accurate and true, was it not?’
Eleanor nodded glumly.
‘Then you have done young Lord Fenwick-Langham the best service possible in, what I admit, is a perilous situation for him. You have presented one of the country’s finest investigative minds with the facts as you know them.’
‘But all the facts point to Lancelot being… guilty.’
‘This is true.’
‘And the inspector doesn’t like Lancelot because… oh, dash it! Because he thinks I like Lancelot and the inspector likes me, according to you.’
‘This is also true.’
‘Then please explain how you see any hope for Lancelot when I’ve basically stood on a dais and pointed him out as the murderer.’ She held her hands up in despair. ‘And when it seems the inspector is dying to get him out of the way.’
‘One does not have all the answers immediately.’
‘Come on, Clifford. We both know the real killer is currently walking free and we made a great team over that dratted murder in the quarry case.’
Clifford coughed pointedly. ‘After, that is, you’d stopped accusing me of trying to kill you.’
Eleanor waved the objection aside. ‘There was a tiny matter of that, yes. But after that, I thought it all went swimmingly well.’
Clifford nodded. ‘However, I have a grave concern that we are up against an even bigger hurdle this time.’
‘Don’t worry, Clifford, I shan’t accuse you of trying to murder me again, I promise.’ Eleanor paused, frowning. ‘Assuming, of course, you don’t try and kill me. I know on rare occasions I can be a tad annoying.’
‘I shall, my lady, practise the art of self-restraint.’ Clifford bowed magnanimously. ‘However, I refer us back to the opening of our conversation and the difficulties of being objective when one is emotionally caught up in the case.’
Eleanor closed her eyes and nodded. ‘I know, I know. I’m in the same place as the inspector, dash it.’
Clifford poured her another coffee. His voice soft, he continued, ‘Nevertheless, I believe young Lord Fenwick-Langham is most fortunate to have such a lady as yourself fighting his corner.’
Eleanor was taken aback. ‘How so?’
‘I have had ample chance to observe your dogged pursuit of justice, combined with your ceaselessly enquiring and resourceful mind.’
‘Thank you.’ Eleanor smiled. ‘But I think you meant stubbornness?’
‘Indeed. And, of course, you like to be proven right.’
‘Who doesn’t?’ She laughed. ‘Seriously though, where do we begin?’
‘Perhaps the most informative source might be young Lord Fenwick-Langham himself?’
‘Good idea! I’ll shove some more appropriate togs on.’ She looked down at her silk pyjama bottoms and housecoat. ‘And we’ll go talk the inspector into letting us see Lancelot.’ She dropped a quick kiss on the top of Gladstone’s head and then jumped up and instantly frowned at the ring of the doorbell.
‘Excuse me, my lady, the door,’ Clifford said needlessly.
‘Well, whoever it is, please send them away sharply, we’re too busy for visitors.’
A moment later, as Eleanor was draining her coffee cup, Clifford returned. ‘Lord and Lady Fenwick-Langham to see you, my lady.’
Six
&nbs
p; A few minutes later, Eleanor entered the drawing room. Lady Langham rose from the Regency striped sofa.
‘Eleanor, my dear, we’re most dreadfully sorry to call unannounced.’
‘Yes, apologies, old girl.’ Lord Langham stared at Eleanor’s teal silk blouse and silver pleated skirt. ‘Dragged you out of your pyjamas by the look of it.’
‘Harold!’ Lady Langham slapped his hand.
Eleanor smiled. ‘It is a delight to see you. How are you holding up?’
‘Oh, my dear, it’s so awful.’ She pulled a flowered, lace handkerchief from her sleeve. ‘We haven’t slept a wink. And I can’t seem to eat the merest morsel.’
Lord Langham took his wife’s arm and guided her back onto the sofa. ‘Very bad business. Simply don’t understand what that Seldon fellow is up to.’
‘Er… Clifford, tea!’ Eleanor said.
He nodded and stepped from the room, failing to stop Gladstone from shouldering his way in.
Lady Langham dabbed at her nose. ‘Eleanor, my dear, we didn’t know where else to go. It’s such a delicate business and… oh, I am sorry, perhaps we shouldn’t have come.’
Lord Langham put his hand in her lap and closed his fingers around hers.
‘Yes, we bally well should. Eleanor, old fruit, look, it is dashed awkward, as the old girl has just said, but we need help and you’ve proved yourself such a resourceful girl.’ The couple looked at each other and nodded.
Eleanor looked from one to the other. When she had first arrived at Henley Hall she’d known no one. The Langhams had invited her over to the Manor and treated her as an old friend from the very beginning. Now she wanted to return the favour. But how?
A tap at the door heralded Clifford’s return with a full china service tea tray. Finger pastries delicately cocooned in lace paper doily cases filled the tiers of the silver stand.
‘Thank you, Clifford. Please do continue, Augusta.’
Her guests seemed to hesitate. She glanced at them, and then at Clifford. Of course, her butler was present and they had come to discuss a very personal matter. ‘That will be all, Clifford.’
Lord Langham jumped up. ‘I say! Perhaps Clifford might stay, what? Might need the both of you, eh? Brains and bravado, so to speak.’ He laughed uneasily and sat back down.
‘Absolutely!’ Eleanor said with relief.
‘Oh, Harold!’ Lady Langham took his hand in hers. ‘Perhaps I should do the talking.’ She paused, then seemed to make up her mind. ‘Eleanor, we were so impressed with all that you achieved back during that terrible business…’
‘Rotten business!’ her husband mumbled.
‘Yes, well, you and Clifford solved both murders and put the murderer away at great peril to yourselves.’ She paused and smiled weakly.
Eleanor nodded at Clifford who set about serving the tea. ‘That’s very kind of you to say.’
‘Well, the thing is. Would you be willing to help us? It’s absolute rot that Lance could have killed Pudders, and we’re desperate to see justice done for both of them,’ said Lord Langham.
‘Of course, Clifford and I will be delighted to look into the matter. We’re rather a team when it comes to, well, that sort of thing. Please do go on. Rest assured the conversation will not leave this room.’
Clifford offered Lord Langham a second milk jug.
‘Top hole, Clifford, much obliged.’ He winked at Clifford who poured what looked suspiciously like a large whisky measure into his tea.
‘So,’ Eleanor said, ‘shall we forget any awkwardness about whatever needs to be said? The whole situation is quite wretched, but isn’t that what friends are for?’
Lady Langham rose and hugged Eleanor tightly. ‘So like your uncle, my dear girl. So like him.’
Clifford passed the cake stand around. Lord Fenwick-Langham reached for one, hesitated, and then took two.
‘I say, Eleanor old thing, can you send your marvellous cook up to the Manor to teach ours how to make these simply delicious little beasts?’ He took a bite and nudged his wife. ‘Launch in, dearest, no point in beetling round the bush.’
Lady Langham stared at her tea. ‘It is the most awful thing to happen to the family since… well, I won’t bother you with our family tragedies.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I… fear that we’ve brought all this catastrophe on Lancelot’s shoulders ourselves.’
Eleanor looked from one to the other. ‘But how?’
Lady Langham laughed nervously. ‘There’s no easy way to say it, my dear. Regrettably, we’re… in temporary straitened circumstances. You know how it is when a few investments go awry.’
Eleanor nodded even though she had never had any money to invest in anything. Until, that is, she had unexpectedly become lady of the manor, inheriting her uncle’s modest fortune.
Lord Langham thumped the armrest, making Gladstone look up from beside Eleanor’s feet. ‘And then the tax ogre comes banging on the blessed front door demanding his pound of meat. Just when things are already on the wonk money-wise. Bally nuisance, especially when it upsets my good lady wife so.’
His wife smiled fondly at him and took up the story. ‘I decided the only answer was to sell my necklace.’
Eleanor caught her breath. Straitened circumstances indeed! ‘Isn’t that the one…?’
Lady Langham nodded slowly, her chin on her chest. ‘Yes, the one Harold gave to me on our wedding day.’
Lord Langham’s face flushed. ‘I feel dreadful that we’re in this bally awful position. Poor Augusta shouldn’t be troubled by nonsense like this. Couldn’t let her send the old sparkles to auction and then have to face the rah-rah set looking down their sniffy noses, gossiping behind our backs. So I told her there was no way we were going to sell it.’
Eleanor waited for one of them to continue. But finding only silence, she spoke first. ‘Please do excuse my fluffy brain. I don’t quite understand the connection with your unfortunate situation and Lancelot’s current predicament?’
Lady Langham accepted another cup of tea from Clifford with a nod. ‘Well, that’s just the wretched point, you see. We can only imagine he heard us twittering on about what a ridiculous ghastly mess it all is with the finances and… and if we held a ball we might strike lucky, as it were… with a burglar.’
‘And not just any burglar. The best!’ said Lord Langham. ‘You know, that fiendishly brilliant safecracker who’s been looting the Home Counties for the past goodness knows how many months.’
Eleanor looked blank.
‘Oh, come on, old fruit, you can’t play the new girl in town over this. Even you must have heard about it. He’s got away with literally thousands, if not tens of thousands, of pounds’ worth of shiny trinkets.’
Ah! That explains why the inspector arrested Lancelot on suspicion of similar burglaries, Ellie. He must think he’s this thief.
Lady Langham tutted. ‘They’re far from trinkets. This man knows his jewels. He only targets the best. I’m sure Clifford is aware of this burglar’s crime roll so far.’
Clifford nodded. ‘I have read the reports, my lady. The rogue in question seems to be most accomplished indeed.’
‘Hence you believing he would be tempted to… steal yours?’ Eleanor finally felt she had caught up.
‘Precisely!’ Lady Langham pointed at her. ‘Do you see why we presumed there was a fair chance he might target us if we held a masked ball and, well, advertised?’
Eleanor sat back in her seat. ‘I’m clearly missing something most pertinent. I get that Lancelot possibly heard you planning that the ball might be a target for this jewel thief, but you’d have lost your jewels. How would that have helped?’
‘The insurance, my lady,’ Clifford said.
‘Ah, of course, silly me.’
Lord Langham sighed. ‘Well, it wouldn’t have been fraud, you see. The necklace would have been stolen, that was the supposed genius of it all. Of course, putting on the ball cost us a packet of money we never had, but we hoped the insurance money would
cover that as well.’
‘Very neat,’ Eleanor mused. ‘But supposing the thief hadn’t shown up?’
‘That was a possibility,’ Lady Langham said. ‘But it would appear he never got the chance. Lancelot seems to have taken it upon himself to beat the thief to the punch, the poor, silly darling.’
Something in her sadness pulled at Eleanor’s chest. ‘Look, I’m struggling to grasp all this, but one thing I’m sure of: Lancelot might have planned to take your jewels to help you out, but he’d never have… hurt the colonel. He simply wouldn’t.’
Everyone concurred on this point except Clifford, who busied himself with the tea.
Eleanor remembered that Lord Langham had been a friend of the colonel’s. ‘And my sincere condolences, Lord, er… Harold. He was a most extraordinary gentleman.’
Lord Langham sighed. ‘Thank you, my dear. Truth be told, he was a total pain in the rump most of the time, silly old fool. But he was a decent sort beneath it all. Not his fault you know, never found a good wife like I did to shake some sense into him.’
Lady Langham rubbed his shoulder. ‘It’s such a tragedy. And it was supposed to be a party. Even if it was one planned with an ulterior motive.’
‘You really mustn’t blame yourselves for any of it,’ Eleanor said. ‘Honestly, I don’t even believe Lancelot did steal your jewels.’
The Langhams shared a quick look.
‘How so, my dear?’ Lady Langham said quietly.
‘I was in the room.’ She glanced at Lord Langham, and hurried on, ‘You know, after the poor colonel had been killed. And the safe, well, it was swinging wide open. I didn’t notice until the police thundered in and the inspector declared the safe empty and the jewels gone. The point is, they searched Lancelot on the spot and no one passed me on my way to the room. Furthermore, despite the inspector’s boorish insinuation, I know I am not Lancelot’s accomplice.’
Lady Langham’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘He didn’t! You mean he actually accused you of being involved? Oh, the mess we’ve caused. I am so sorry, my dear.’
‘You don’t have to apologise, Augusta. The point I’m trying to make is this: Lancelot didn’t get a chance to steal the jewels. Someone else must have beaten him to it. And… and I believe that someone else also killed the colonel.’ She thought back to DCI Seldon’s words. There’s no way anyone entered the room between the time of the colonel’s death and my men arriving. She groaned inwardly.
Death at the Dance: An addictive historical cozy mystery (A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 2) Page 4
