Is that what her husband had hinted at over the Langham lunch when he said Carlton was batting for the wrong side, Ellie?
‘Did you happen to overhear what they rowed about?’
‘What didn’t they row about would be an easier question to answer. I was caught up in trying to keep the rest of the table from focussing on their disagreeable behaviour, so most of it missed my ears. I got the feeling that it was borne of ancient history between them, but I couldn’t swear to it.’
Eleanor dragged another part of Lord Farrington’s comments back from her memory. She threw a question out as nonchalantly as she could: ‘Perhaps Carlton disagreed with the principle of whatever property investment Mr Aris was considering with your husband?’
Lady Farrington shook her head. ‘That, of all things, should have been one thing Carlton and Aris wholeheartedly agreed on.’ She threw Eleanor a knowing look. ‘But there is no need to fish, Lady Swift. I need any hint of scandal over Aris’ death squashed. I’m sure the cook was guilty of a criminal oversight, but tongues will wag. It’s no use trusting the police. There was a time you could guarantee they’d play ball and the word of a lady over a servant meant something.’ For a moment she looked wistful. ‘You could rely on authorities to be discreet, but since the war, well…’ She waved her hand dismissively. ‘You, however, Lady Swift, are of our class and understand these things. Therefore, I will assist you in your investigation by offering any information I can.’
‘Thank you. I accept your offer of help in establishing just how Mr Aris died, Lady Farrington. But am I really that transparent?’
‘Quite the reverse, actually. I left the Langham lunch questioning my intuition that your empathetic concern over our disastrous dinner held anything behind it. But, as I said, I will not tolerate scandal, hence conducting my own investigation of you. Needless to say, I was pleased by what I heard.’
‘From whom, may I ask?’
‘You may not,’ came the crisp reply. ‘Now, you can ask me any questions you need, with the proviso I may not answer them all.’
Eleanor didn’t like being dictated to, but Mrs Trotman, and more seriously, her friend Mrs Pitkin, were relying on her and Clifford. She forced a smile and took out her notebook. ‘First off, why are you really offering to help?’
Lady Farrington smiled thinly. ‘I’ve already told you, I don’t want any scandal and that I may not answer all your questions.’
Eleanor sensed Lady Farrington obviously had another reason but she wasn’t going to tell Eleanor what it was, so she changed tack: ‘Right, I’ll start by asking about the chocolate fudge that Aris ate. Did Mrs… your cook, make it often?’
‘Yes, it was a favourite of Alexander’s. Only when Cook made it normally, she put peanuts in it.’
‘I was told that Mr Aris had eaten here before. Wasn’t it an awful—’
‘Hassle with his allergy? Absolutely! So why did we put up with it?’
The one thing Eleanor hated more than being dictated to was having her thoughts anticipated. Clifford was a master at it. ‘Yes, I was wondering that. And since you’ve removed the need for pretence, I shall also be direct. Was the reason anything to do with the property investment project Aris and your husband were involved in?’
Lady Farrington smiled drily. ‘Touché! As the Member of Parliament for this area, Aris was a useful man for being able to weigh influence locally, and in Whitehall. Rather quaintly, he agreed because he believed in the project from an ethical, as well as monetary, point of view. Alexander, however, is in it for the money alone.’
‘Which is why at luncheon the other day, Lord Farrington said Aris was a useful man to know?’
‘Quite! You will have heard of the Addison Act of last year, as the newspapers dubbed it?’
‘Regrettably last year, I was somewhat indisposed in South Africa.’
‘Of course,’ Lady Farrington replied without sarcasm. ‘The Housing Act was passed to burden local councils with the duty to provide improved housing for the lower classes.’
Eleanor smiled. ‘Very commendable.’
Lady Farrington snorted. ‘The war may be behind us, Lady Swift, but the majority of men sent to the front at the time bore the reduced health and fitness that results from poor housing. In these uncertain times, the powers that be are acutely aware that this time of peace may not last. Our soldiers need to come from healthier stock in the event of another war, which is why the government is insisting councils clear away slums and build the residents better housing. It isn’t out of the goodness of their hearts!’
Eleanor pursed her lips. ‘Sounds rather callous on paper.’
‘Yes, but the families that are given access to the newly-built council housing will greatly benefit, would you not agree?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘And Alexander and I, will benefit greatly as the housing will be built on land that we own.’
‘Ah! That’s cleared up why Aris was—’
‘Worth the trouble of making sure there were no traces of peanuts anywhere he went? Yes. Although if you have an allergy so severe you are going to die, it’s just a matter of when.’
Eleanor mentally shook her head at Lady Farrington’s callousness. ‘And Mr Aris’ allergy was that severe?’
Lady Farrington finished lighting a cigarette. She offered one to Eleanor, who declined. Her hostess drew on the cigarette and blew out the smoke in a long, thin trail. ‘The way the man went on about it when he accepted a dinner invitation, you’d have thought just being in a room with a peanut would have been enough to kill him. Men! They are such children sometimes.’
Eleanor hurried on to her next question: ‘Who amongst your guests that night was aware of Mr Aris’ allergy?’
Lady Farrington shrugged. ‘It was common knowledge.’
Drat, Ellie, that doesn’t help. ‘Well, who amongst the guests would have known that your cook would prepare,’ she looked down at her notebook, ‘chocolate and peanut butter fudge?’
She realised she was hungry and reached for an almond and a date.
Lady Farrington looked at Eleanor with a hint of grudging admiration. ‘I see you really have done this before.’ She thought for a moment, tapping her cigarette over a silver ashtray. ‘Most of the guests had been to one or two previous functions, I suppose, but whether Cook prepared fudge, I don’t know. Even if she had, it wouldn’t mean she was doing so again.’
Eleanor looked down at her questions: so far she’d drawn a blank.
‘Do you know any reason someone might want to—’
‘Murder Mr Aris?’ Lady Farrington laughed shortly. ‘I rather imagined that was what you were going to find out? You and that butler of yours. I understand that he has assisted you in previous investigations.’
Eleanor shrugged. ‘Fabulously unseemly, isn’t it?’
Lady Farrington gestured towards the bell rope. ‘I assume you wish to visit the room where Mr Aris died? Do you think your butler will have had time to grill my staff yet?’
‘Indeed I do,’ Eleanor agreed cheerily. ‘But wha—?’
Lady Farrington rose as effortlessly as if she weighed less than paper. ‘If, my dear, you are going to have your butler fabricate a story about a car breaking down, better not make it a Rolls.’
Eleanor smiled despite herself.
The Farringtons’ butler appeared. Lady Langham instructed him to take Eleanor to Clifford, then turned to her: ‘I’ve some things to attend to, so Clements here will see you out when you’re done. I hope you live up to your reputation, Lady Swift.’ She half turned away, then turned back: ‘And I would ask that you don’t mention any of this to my husband. Alexander has enough to worry about at the moment. Just keep it between ourselves.’
Having met up with Clifford and Clements departed, Eleanor whispered, ‘This is all very peculiar. Lady Farrington has not only given permission for us to snoop, she has offered to pass on any information she can.’
Clifford lowered his voice as w
ell. ‘Indeed, my lady. Mr Clements, the butler, had already drawn up a guest list for the night of Mr Aris’ murder, including where everyone was sitting.’
He handed it to Eleanor, who ran her eye down the list.
Lord Farrington
Lady Farrington
Mr Oswald Greaves
Mr Ernest Carlton
Mr Arnold Aris
Miss Mann
Mr Stanley Morris
Mr Duncan Blewitt
Mr Vernon Peel
Lord and Lady Fenwick-Langham (cancelled)
She copied the names carefully into a fresh page of her notebook.
Clifford waited until she had finished and added, ‘He also informed me that Lady Farrington had instructed the staff to provide us with any information we might require.’
‘Odder and odder! Still, might as well take advantage of it.’ She stared intently at the names on her list and then at the table. ‘I say, Clifford, if we are to believe Mrs Pitkin, then the fudge containing the peanuts must have been introduced up here, at the table, not in the kitchen. Which means those sitting either side of Mr Aris would have had the best opportunity!’
Clifford nodded. ‘That is a sound theory, my lady. Unfortunately, it is immaterial as I was informed that before the toasts, the assembled company left the table to mingle and so forth.’
‘Blast!’ Eleanor looked back at her list. ‘Well, I asked Lady Farrington who would know the cook was making that particular fudge beforehand, and she reckoned no one did. But if no one knew, then—’
‘No one could have made a peanut-laced substitute. Unless, rather than switch the peanut-less piece for one with peanuts, they somehow added peanuts to the original peanut-less piece on Mr Aris’ plate.’
They both considered this option for a moment, before both shaking their heads in unison.
‘Too risky and complicated,’ Eleanor said. ‘I think we have to assume that someone must have prepared a “special” piece of fudge laced with peanuts beforehand.’
Clifford nodded. ‘Indeed. Which means that someone at the table must have known Mrs Pitkin would make fudge. And yet, it seems, no one could have.’
Eleanor nodded, and turned around. ‘Where does that lead?’ she asked, looking at a nearby door.
‘Those at the table would have seen their meals arrive through that door. It leads directly to the second butler’s pantry, I believe.’
Eleanor made a face. ‘Second pantry! Henley Hall is quite large enough for me. Here, I’d feel like a pea left in a canning factory that has closed down.’
‘Henley Hall is much more manageable, my lady.’
‘It’s much more than that, Clifford. It’s like a home. Lady Farrington herself said living here felt like living in a museum. It doesn’t feel at all homely.’
Clifford nodded. ‘I believe that is due to the strained relations above, and below, stairs. At Henley Hall, you have admirably continued the tradition set by your uncle of maintaining harmony amongst the staff.’
‘Thank you, Clifford. Although I think I only achieved that after I stopped accusing you of trying to murder me when I first arrived.’
‘True, my lady. The point is the relationship between Lady Farrington and the staff is acrimonious at best. She has been through three cooks in three years and as many footmen, maids and gardeners.’
Eleanor sighed. ‘Why do some people have to be so difficult? Now, what can you add that you found out downstairs?’
‘Apart from obtaining the guest list, and the names of servants that evening, I found out a certain matter that may, or may not, have a bearing on the case in hand.’
Eleanor’s eyes were wide. ‘Go on?’
He gave a discreet cough. ‘At the risk of giving the impression the staff were indiscreet, my lady, there is talk. Talk of there being a substantial rift between his lord and ladyship, which has become something of a chasm since Mr Aris’ demise.’
Eleanor let out a long, low whistle. ‘She wasn’t terribly complimentary about her husband, I have to say. So why…’ Eleanor scratched her nose, deep in thought. ‘Ah! With Aris dead, they’ve lost the powerful supporter they needed to make sure this housing plan went ahead on their land. Maybe it’s more serious than she made it out to be. Perhaps they are in debt and need the money from the sale of the land to stave off bankruptcy? I can see that would put a tremendous strain on an already difficult relationship.’
‘That is how I have surmised the situation to be, my lady.’
Eleanor shook her head. ‘Which still doesn’t explain why she wants us to find out who killed Aris when she’s already laid the blame squarely at the cook’s door. And why she wants to keep the fact that she is helping us a secret from her husband.’ She looked around the room in despair. ‘We’re getting nowhere. With the second pantry door being over there and the number of servants coming and going that night, we can’t even say if the murderer was one of the guests, or the servants.’
‘Actually, my lady, fortune has favoured us, and Mrs Pitkin, there.’
Eleanor stopped examining the table and spun round. ‘Well, we could certainly do with some. What have you learned?’
‘If you recall, Mrs Pitkin insisted that she had locked all peanuts away?’
‘Yes, she said she’d asked your Mr Clements to lock them in the butler’s pantry.’
‘Exactly, my lady, and Mr Clements corroborated this. And that Mrs Pitkin also insisted all staff scrub surfaces and their hands.’
‘She could have been covering herself, Clifford. You know, if she was the one who…’
‘Possibly, my lady, but one of the kitchen maids also confirmed that she helped Mrs Pitkin make the fudge. And then Mrs Pitkin left her to finish the decorations on top – the Farrington coat of arms in red icing, I believe. The point is the maid insists she was with Mrs Pitkin the whole time the fudge was being made. And then Mrs Pitkin was engaged in other duties and never returned to the table whilst the maid was decorating the fudge.’
Eleanor frowned. ‘But surely the maid told the police all this?’
Clifford nodded. ‘As I said, my lady, about the strained relations above and below stairs?’ He lowered his voice. ‘I cannot imagine that Lady Farrington wanted this information to come out, but Mrs Pitkin has more support amongst the servants here than I think Lady Farrington imagines. After being taken to the depths of the wine cellar, I was told, in strict secrecy, that the kitchen maid was told to tell the police that Mrs Pitkin finished the fudge. And told that she couldn’t confirm Mrs Pitkin’s innocence one way or the other.’
Eleanor gasped. ‘Who told her to say that?’ But she already knew.
‘Lady Farrington, on pain of instant dismissal with no references. I believe several other staff received similar warnings. As you know, my lady, like Mrs Pitkin, to be dismissed without references is tantamount to a ticket—’
‘Straight to the workhouse!’ Eleanor shuddered. ‘What happened to the fudge after the kitchen maid finished decorating it, though?’
‘She gave it to the footman, who was waiting. Apparently, it was already late in the making and was taken directly to the table, where it was put on display, then cut into bite-sized pieces and placed on each guest’s side plate. It seems it is a tradition that, as the chocolate fudge has the family crest on, it is eaten as a kind of toast after dessert. Each piece is but a mouthful.’
‘And was the toast taken immediately?’
‘I had the same thought, my lady. No, the fudge was placed on each guest’s plate with the dessert.’
‘Was there any left over?’
‘A few pieces – they were placed on the larger of the serving tables.’
‘I see.’ Eleanor tapped her front teeth, deep in thought. ‘Then Mrs Pitkin can’t be guilty, I feel. Not only because her story is corroborated by the rest of the staff, but also because… unless… But wait…’ She frowned. ‘Did the police test the remaining pieces of fudge?’
Clifford shook his head.
‘I have no idea, my lady. I do see, however, where your mind is going. If there were no traces of peanuts in the remaining pieces of fudge, then again, Mrs Pitkin is innocent.’
Eleanor nodded. ‘Yes, because the peanuts must have been introduced after the fudge was cut – and Mrs Pitkin couldn’t possibly have done that.’ She frowned again. ‘But DCI Seldon is in charge of the case. He knows what he’s doing.’
Clifford nodded. ‘The Chief Inspector is indeed a fine policeman, my lady, but he can only have tested what is there.’
Eleanor gasped. ‘You mean…’
Clifford nodded again. ‘After Mr Aris’ death, the staff were told to wait in the kitchen until the police arrived. All the guests had eaten their fudge, as I said, it was a mere mouthful, but when the footman looked to retrieve the remaining fudge from the sideboard, it had—’
‘Vanished!’
Ten
Eleanor set off purposefully to the morning room for a hearty breakfast. Campaigning would take concentration and energy and other stuff she imagined was essential but had no idea about.
Whilst campaigning, however, she was determined to continue her investigation on behalf of Mrs Pitkin, especially having established her innocence to her and Clifford’s satisfaction. Eleanor had been keen on contacting DCI Seldon and telling him what they had found out. Clifford, however, had sounded a note of caution, pointing out that it would still be the servants’ word against that of Lady Farrington. And her husband was an earl and sat in the House of Lords. Even if DCI Seldon believed them, what could he do? His hands would be tied. The only solution was to find Aris’ murderer themselves and present it as a fait accompli.
So far, she had Carlton pegged as a suspect and the odious Mr Blewitt after Miss Mann’s revelation. She also had the Farringtons listed, but it was hard to reconcile them as suspects as it seemed they needed Aris very much alive for the business deal. Thus, she decided she needed proper fortification this morning if she was going to make any headway in campaigning or investigating.
A Witness to Murder: An unputdownable cozy murder mystery (A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 3) Page 8
