Johnny took a sip of his drink. ‘And that would be?’
‘Last night, at the church. Where did Lucas learn to climb like that?’
Johnny laughed. ‘He is rather like a human fly, isn’t he? Apparently he told me he learned to climb as a child. His father’s palace has these enormous stone walls and his servant, cum bodyguard, came from some area of India where they are known for their climbing prowess, so he taught young Lucas how to scale the palace walls. And to defend himself.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Johnny waltzed off towards the booths holding his drink aloft. ‘You wouldn’t want to get in an argument with him.’
‘Oh, Clifford, how do they do it? I mean I’ve partied from Cairo to Cape Town but this lot party as if they have a death wish.’
‘Perhaps it is a matter of a stronger constitution, my lady?’
‘Great! Where can I buy one of those?’ From her favourite chaise longue, she warily eyed the sausage sandwich languishing beside her.
‘I shall enquire of Harrods, my lady. I believe one can purchase anything there.’
‘Oh, I wish you could. My head is thumping, my knees are throbbing and my stomach still thinks it is doing the Turkey Trot or the Monkey Hug or whatever the heck they were called.’
‘I suspect it is the Monkey Glide and the Buzzard Lope, my lady. The Turkey Trot I’m told is a little passé nowadays. Perhaps I should fix you a restorative?’
‘Oh no, not that Mongolian concoction my uncle used to swig that you fed me once before?’
‘The same. However, I do recall it worked its magic and brought you back from somewhere you described as akin to Hades?’
‘Hmm, maybe, but does it have to taste so revolting? It’s not supposed to be a penance.’
Clifford moved towards the drinks cabinet. ‘Actually, my lady, I believe it is. Incidentally, how was the party? Other than generously supplied with liquid refreshments, that is.’
‘Wild. Long. Loud. Which is precisely why I intend to slouch back up to bed in exactly’– she glanced at the clock – ‘five minutes.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Actually, that Beau Brennant chap was very charming, and he has a great many friends who reminded me of Albie. You know, arty types.’
Clifford was pouring various ingredients into a long glass. ‘Despite his young years, Lord Brennant has cultivated something of a reputation as a patron of the arts. The society papers often feature new musicians, painters or indeed poets he has championed.’
‘That would explain it. It was like he knew Albie well even though he said he’d only met him twice. It’s really odd, Clifford. Albie’s death appears to be as a direct result of the gang’s non-stop partying and yet it hasn’t held them back at all. It almost feels like they’re stepping up the pace in response. It was the same with Lancelot’s incarceration. I really can’t work it out.’
Clifford removed the sandwich and replaced it with the long glass. ‘Grief affects people differently, as you are… acutely aware, my lady. And yet one can’t help but wonder about their ethos of carpe diem, seize the day, as the Roman poet Quintus Horace Flaccus called it. It seems, as you say, that these bright young things have taken young Lord Fenwick-Langham’s incarceration and Mister Appleby’s demise as a signal to rebel even harder. And, it would seem, seize even more of the day.’
‘And most of the night!’ She leaned up on one arm and eyed the contents of the glass suspiciously. ‘So again, I owe the inspector an apology.’
Clifford looked at her quizzically.
‘He reckoned that by the end of the year they would all either be dead or locked up, with no help from anyone else and I’m rapidly coming to the same conclusion.’ She sighed. ‘Perfect! What a great time for me to have become an honorary member.’
‘My lady, at the risk of repeating myself…’
She glared at him. ‘Isn’t there another way for me to poke about and see what I can glean? That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it? And, yes, you would be repeating yourself rather ad nauseam. And the answer’s no, neither of us have come up with an effective alternative.’
‘Very good, my lady, then I shall report on the phone call you received earlier.’
She sat up. ‘Oh, was it the inspector?’
‘Regrettably not. You have received another invitation from Lady Childs.’
‘Coco? How come she’s already up planning more outrageous outings and I’m still in pyjamas! Okay, what ridiculous thing have they asked me to this time?’
‘Lady Childs didn’t specify, but she did include a piece of advice in her message; bring an extra strong bottle of stamina.’
Eleanor downed the glass in one go. ‘Oh help! Clifford, why didn’t you kill me yesterday!’
Twenty-Four
‘Come on, my Friday night sprites, so bright, with a thirsty appetite,’ Lucas sang tunelessly as he eased his car to a halt.
‘How trite!’ Coco giggled.
Eleanor joined in. ‘Why thank you, kind knight.’
‘Watch the snake doesn’t bite,’ Millie finished as she slammed the door shut and stomped up the steps to the gold-fronted nightclub.
Coco slipped her arm through Eleanor’s and whispered, ‘Take no notice. She’d never admit it, but all this business with Lancelot has got to her terribly.’
Eleanor peered at Coco. ‘Has she tried to visit him?’
‘Good heavens, no! And see him incarcerated like a rat in a trap?’ She looked down at her hands. ‘It makes no sense. I still can’t fathom why he was there. I mean, it was all off.’
Eleanor stopped. ‘What was off?’
‘Oh, golly!’ Coco clapped her hands over her mouth. ‘Dash it, I’ve got so used to you being with us, I forgot you didn’t know.’ She seemed to struggle with her conscience. ‘Thing is, it’s a secret. None of us mentioned it to the police because, well, it would look terrible for Lancelot.’ She glanced around but the others had gone on ahead. ‘Lancelot’s parentals are struggling for cash, it’s hideously embarrassing. So he came up with a great wheeze to steal old Lady Fenwick-Langham’s precious diamond-and-ruby necklace. But then the blasted police said they would be at the ball that night, so Lancelot called it off. He’s perfectly innocent, Eleanor. We know Lancelot and he wouldn’t kill the colonel. But that bit about his plan to steal the necklace, it simply can’t get out.’
Eleanor turned to face Coco. ‘But why would he still have gone ahead with it if he knew the police were there?’
Coco stamped her foot. ‘That’s exactly it, he wouldn’t! He’s a complete joker but he’s not an idiot. Now promise you’ll keep this to yourself. It’s just between us, the gang?’
Eleanor nodded, one hand behind her back, fingers crossed. She changed the subject as they were ushered past the reception desk. ‘Where are we?’
Coco gasped. ‘You don’t know of the notorious Underground Club? Where on earth have you been hiding? Honestly, you are a peculiar fish.’ She paused and looked Eleanor’s face over. ‘I can see why Lancelot finds you intriguing.’
‘Intriguing?’ Eleanor laughed. ‘I’m not sure that’s the most complimentary description a chap can give a girl.’
Coco sighed. ‘It is when Lancelot says it the way he did. Oh look, there’s Millie, propping up the bar already. And wow, I don’t believe it, Johnny’s arrived before us. That has never happened, ever! Beaten by Pant Seat Seaton, impossible!’
‘Evening, oh sirens of silk, how are we all?’ Johnny rose as they arrived at the bar.
Eleanor cocked her head and smirked. ‘Pant Seat Seaton?’
Johnny made an aggrieved face and pulled out a stool for her. ‘Lady Swift, this rabble malign me terribly. I wish you would speak to them. They repeatedly slander my reputation by suggesting that I am, on occasions, a little tardy.’
Millie dropped three cubes of ice into her drink from a great height. ‘Tardy! You are, as our American cousin Ginny so aptly described you, “a constant, nightmarishly late arriva
l of unforgivable elegance”.’ She grinned at him and then frowned at Eleanor. ‘It was Ginny who dubbed him “Pant Seat Seaton”. He flies by the seat of his pants, which is what American’s call trousers, in case you didn’t realise.’
‘Eleanor must have been to the States, surely?’ Johnny gave her a questioning look.
Millie sniggered. ‘What, on her bicycle? With water wings across the Atlantic?’ The two sisters huddled together whispering and then broke apart as they roared with laughter.
‘Come on, Sisters Grim, share the joke,’ Lucas said.
Coco smiled at Eleanor. ‘Sorry, we weren’t being mean about you, well I wasn’t. It was just the image of you cycling across the Atlantic on a specially made bicycle with a paddle wheel.’ She broke off as her giggles bubbled up again. ‘In a bathing suit and frilly swimming hat. And… and then arriving on shore in New York and calmly declaring yourself to be Lady Swift of Little Buckford. And no, I don’t have a ticket from the steamer, you oaf!’
The other four collapsed with laughter at this, Johnny slapping Lucas’ back as he choked on his cigarette smoke.
Eleanor joined in the laughter. ‘Hilarious. Do you know that sounds a fine adventure? I’ll add it to my list.’
Johnny held a drink out to Eleanor. ‘You really have travelled, haven’t you? We were beginning to think Lancelot was making up stories. Your exploits were getting more and more fantastical. He told us you’d cycled around the world on a bicycle.’
‘And that you’d worked for Thomas Walker scouting out new routes for rich tourists.’
‘In India, Persia and South Africa.’
‘Well, how much of it is true?’
She stared at the four expectant faces in front of her.
‘Well, it’s all true.’ She grinned. ‘Except the lies.’
Millie sniffed. ‘Well, one only needs to buy a steamer ticket to be able to claim they have travelled.’
‘Quite so,’ Eleanor agreed.
‘What rot!’ Lucas cried. ‘I don’t believe you took a mouldy old steamer to the so-called land of milk and honey. Tell us the truth.’
Eleanor winked at Millie. ‘Actually, I sailed there from Peru with my parents. Well, they did the sailing, I was too young. That was before they… disappeared and I was sent to boarding school. I started my cycling adventures after that.’
‘What were your parents doing in Peru?’ Coco asked.
‘They were consultants to the Union trying to restore the country after its years of troubles. My father implemented educational and social reforms on the ground as it were.’
‘So, they built schools then?’ Coco asked as she sipped her drink through a straw.
Eleanor nodded. ‘Amongst other things.’
Millie picked an ice cube from her drink and crunched it loudly. Eleanor held her glass up. ‘Anyway, cheers! It’s fantastic to be seeing so much of you all.’
Lucas grinned. ‘You too.’
Coco and Millie intertwined their arms, glass in hand and giggled as they sipped each other’s drinks.
Johnny pulled out his cigarette case. ‘So, my Prince, are you up for it tonight?’
Lucas took a large gulp of his drink. ‘Bring it on!’
‘Good man!’ Johnny pinched both of Lucas’ cheeks in mock affection. ‘You’re in England, not India after all. Make the most of it.’
Johnny’s coat-tails flew behind him as he spun impressively on his heels. Eleanor noticed the admiring female glances. He banged the bar with his glass as he finished with a flourish. ‘Gang, I call this evening to order.’
‘Oh rather!’ Coco said. ‘What’s on our busy agenda tonight?’
Millie’s eyes sparkled. ‘Come on, Seaton, I’m feeling particularly wicked. I bet you can’t come up with anything new and exciting.’
‘Oh, I do love a challenge. Watch and learn, dear friends. You ain’t seen anything of the Seaton genius so far. You can bow down to my magnificence when we breakfast on the beach after tonight’s quest.’
‘Which beach? Brighton? Le Touquet? Blouberg?’ Eleanor asked.
Johnny emptied his glass. ‘Love the attitude, Eleanor. I bet you’re a better map reader than Coco too. But that’s for later, way later. I have another wheeze up my sleeve first.’
The range was roaring as the staff at Henley Hall bustled round the room, each intent on their duties. Only Gladstone let the industrious team down, snuggled as he was in his quilted blanket box with a selection of stolen slippers.
‘You know that really is a beautiful ballet, ladies.’ Eleanor smiled blearily over the rim of her teacup.
‘Ballet, my lady? Us not banging into each other is about as much dancing as Mrs Trotman should be allowed to do. She only tried proper dancing the once at the vicar’s evening garden party a few years back and broke her ankle!’
The cook glared at Mrs Butters for a moment and rubbed her foot.
‘Golly, Mrs Trotman, whichever dance were you doing? Must have been an awfully vigorous one.’ Eleanor said.
‘It was the quickstep, my lady. The vicar asked all the ladies to do a turn once round the lawn for the festivities, you understand. Well, you think he’d know the vicarage garden better than to lead me straight onto the sloping grass. I slipped and twisted my ankle. I remember feeling it go.’
Eleanor grimaced. ‘You poor thing! I assume Doctor Browning was on hand?’ Mrs Butters’ tittering confused Eleanor. ‘What am I missing?’
The housekeeper stepped across to the table and topped up Eleanor’s tea. ‘Between us ladies only, the good doctor was a tad worse for wear, having heavily sampled the parsnip wine. Trotters, bless her, was even more undignified in the morning. It’s a wonder she didn’t turn the air as blue as her ankle.’
‘Whatever was the problem in the morning?’
The cook and the housekeeper shared a look. Mrs Trotman nodded for Mrs Butters to continue with the story.
‘He’d only bound her ankle up so tight as to make it bloat like a puffball mushroom overnight. Polly, what was it you said when you saw it?’
The maid shook her head.
‘Come on, my girl, it’s alright to speak up when the mistress is taking tea in the kitchen, so long as you mind your manners.’
Polly blurted out, ‘I said Mrs Trotman must have swapped one leg with an elephant, looked like someone had stuck it on for a laugh, like.’
Eleanor grinned around the table and then winced. ‘I have to confess my feet are agony after all that dancing the last few days.’
Mrs Butters shook her head. ‘What we need is an Epsom bath for your feet, my lady. Polly, when the two big kettles have boiled, take them to her ladyship’s room, my girl.’
She patted Eleanor’s arm. ‘Mind you, salts won’t work their magic if you don’t keep off punishing your feet for a while.’
Eleanor groaned. ‘Trust me, I’m done with dancing, treasure hunts, partying and absolutely everything else I’ve been caught up in these last few days. This investigating a murder business is much tougher on the body than I realised.’
Mrs Butters tutted gently. ‘Well, your late uncle will be sorry to be missing you and your gang’s rebellious shenanigans, I’m sure.’
Eleanor laughed, then lapsed into a quiet reverie. ‘I wish you had met my parents, Mrs Butters. You can’t be a rebel if there aren’t any rules. I’m afraid to many looking on, I must have appeared as if I was raised like a wild child of the woods. I believe the polite term now is “bohemian” although I remember the whispered gypsy remarks my parents forever shrugged off as we moved around with their work.’
The housekeeper collected Eleanor’s tea things and laid them out on a tray. ‘If it isn’t impolite to say so, my lady, from where we’re all standing it seems they raised you better than could ever be said. They obviously nurtured your kind heart and let you blossom into the good-hearted and resourceful lady you are today. Can’t ask for more than that, I say.’
Before Eleanor could clear the lump in her th
roat, Clifford stepped into the kitchen. ‘My lady, will you still be requiring the car at ten o’clock this evening?’
Eleanor rapped the table with her teacup, spilling most of it and making Gladstone wake up with a jerk. ‘Absolutely not, Clifford, thank you. We need to find another way to get information. This undercover stuff with Lancelot’s cronies is killing me. And, more importantly, as we discussed before, it’s taking too long. We… he… hasn’t got that much time.’
In the silence that followed, Mrs Butters exchanged a look with Mrs Trotters. ‘Begging your pardon, my lady, your footbath is probably ready if Polly hasn’t made a mess of it.’
Eleanor nodded. ‘Only a short crawl up to my bedroom then, that sounds wonderful. Clifford, later will you help me sort out any clues I might have amassed among all these blisters and cuts? Those rocks were ridiculously sharp last night when we were swimming.’ She groaned at the memory. ‘And why is the Atlantic so blessedly cold!’
Clifford raised a finger. ‘That is due to it being precisely one third less wide at the equator than the Pacific, my lady. The Atlantic current also often mixes with the significantly colder—’
At that moment, Polly burst through the door, as white as a ghost. ‘Th-th-there’s a… thing… in the bath!’ And with that she fainted into Clifford’s quick-thinking arms.
Eleanor looked round the bemused faces. ‘Ah! Yes, of course, poor Polly. My bish there. Clifford, I wonder if you wouldn’t mind returning the “thing” somehow. It’s probably missing its friends. It’s from Oxford Zoo.’
‘Would it be rude to enquire what exactly the thing is, my lady?’
‘Not at all, Clifford. It’s a penguin, of course.’
Twenty-Five
‘Agh!’ Eleanor sprung forward. ‘What the—? Get off!’ The bed sheet wrapped itself around her flailing arms as she thrashed about looking like an unravelled Egyptian mummy.
Death at the Dance: An addictive historical cozy mystery (A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 2) Page 18
