Briefly, she told DCI Seldon all that she and Clifford had discovered. After she’d finished, there was a brief pause before the Inspector came back on. ‘Lady Swift, as I said at the police station, there is no point in my telling you to desist from your investigations, as I’ve learned in the past. I’ve also learned you have an irritating knack of being right, and even though the evidence you’ve recounted is far from conclusive, I’m willing to play ball. For now.’
Eleanor was amazed. ‘That’s very… compassionate of you, Inspector.’
DCI Seldon grunted. ‘My… my mother was falsely accused of theft and dismissed from service when I was ten. Back in the 1890s, times were even harder and the word of an employer, especially a titled one, against a servant always prevailed, so I understand Mrs Pitkin’s position. Times have changed, but she would have no chance against the word of Lady Farrington, with her husband being the Earl of Winslow, as you say. And, yes, my hands would be tied.’
Eleanor was amazed the Inspector had told her about his mother. He was such a private individual. And the 1890s? That would make him somewhere between thirty and forty. She shook her head. Focus, Ellie, this isn’t about you. ‘So, what can we do? I can’t refuse to tell you where Mrs Pitkin is, but—’
‘Lady Swift, let’s both pretend this phone call never happened. But between us, I’ll hold you responsible for Mrs Pitkin. I’ll have to put out a warrant for her arrest, but I can delay that for twenty-four hours at most.’
Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, Inspector, I really appreciate that.’
She put the phone down and hurried to the kitchen. The ladies were all there, busy with chores. ‘Mrs Trotman, I’m so sorry to interrupt, but something urgent has arisen…’
As they reached Chipstone, Eleanor glanced sideways at Clifford.
‘Come on then, spill the beans! What tortures have you got lined up for me?’
‘Tortures, my lady?’
Mrs Butters and Mrs Trotman pretended to be busy looking out of the window.
‘You know what I mean. You insisted I needed to “increase my efforts” in the final days leading up to the last debate. However, I feel we must go over everything we know about the Aris and Carlton murders thoroughly. There must be something we’re missing.’
Clifford nodded. ‘I was not suggesting you had been slacking. Merely that as you are now standing without the support of the Women’s League, you need to reach as many people as quickly as possible with your message. And that we can then reconvene and discuss the case.’
She nodded back. ‘Agreed. Although, we’ve got one day at best, it seems. We’ll get this out of the way as swiftly as possible and afterwards put our minds to getting a breakthrough in our investigations. So, come on, what have you arranged?’
He cleared his throat. ‘An address to the Women’s Institute, which the Women’s League will also attend, I’m afraid.’ He hurried on at her look. ‘Then a brief policy discussion with the members of the Shopkeepers’ Union, followed by a question-and-answer session at the Reading Room.’
She groaned. ‘That sounds hideous! I didn’t hear the word “elevenses”, “lunch” or “fruitcake” in any of it.’
Mrs Trotman patted Eleanor’s shoulder from the back seat. ‘Not to fret, my lady, Butters and I packed a splendid picnic to keep your strength up.’
Eleanor turned to her three loyal staff. ‘Thank you, ladies. And thank you for coming along today. I would be lost without your support.’
‘’Tis our pleasure,’ Mrs Trotman said. ‘And I can’t thank you enough for all you are doing for poor Martha.’
Eleanor smiled over her shoulder. ‘You don’t have to thank me, Mrs Trotman. I should not sleep in my bed if anything happened to that poor woman on account of these false accusations that have been brought against her. Now, Alfie and his gang should be along any minute. If you and Mrs Butters organise the search party, once Clifford and I are finished, if you haven’t found her, we will join you.’ She tried to sound more optimistic than she felt. Mrs Trotman had sent word to her sister where Mrs Pitkin had been staying, but she had found the cook’s room empty and her belongings gone. Had she somehow heard that she was going to be charged with manslaughter, or had she just decided she’d been enough of a burden and decided to…? She shook her head. There’s no point in thinking like that, Ellie.
Outside the closed Town Hall, the ladies tumbled from the Rolls. Eleanor stared up and down the road. ‘Clifford, are you sure the troops know what time to be here?’
At that precise moment, a herd of boys in short trousers, hand-me-down jumpers and caps ran out of the narrow passageway alongside the Town Hall.
Eleanor clapped her hands. ‘Captain Alfie, Sergeant Billy, how splendid to see you all!’
‘Mornin’, miss.’ Alfie pulled off his cap, which prompted the others to do the same. At his salute, they shuffled into a semblance of a line and waited expectantly.
Despite the potential seriousness of the situation, Eleanor couldn’t help but smile at the boys’ excitement. ‘First of all, thank you all so much for coming. Your usual payment is ready and waiting in the form of pennies and meat pies.’ Alfie dug Billy in the ribs and grinned.
She took a deep breath. ‘If you’ll wait a moment for instructions.’ She turned to her staff. ‘I suppose I had better get off to meet with the Women’s Institute, though quite what I’m going to say, I’ve no idea. Clifford, are you alright helping the ladies organise things this end?’
‘Indeed, my lady. And then I shall collect you in thirty minutes and deliver you to the Shopkeepers’ Union meeting.’
‘So kind!’ She turned to the ladies: ‘And good luck with the search.’
Almost two hours later, Eleanor was seriously flagging.
‘Just the Reading Room left, my lady.’ Clifford eased the Rolls to a stop. ‘Word is that you are making quite the impression this morning. My congratulations.’
She ran her finger along the intricate pattern of the inlaid dashboard. ‘It’s hard to stay focussed and say anything sensible with this murder business going on. How can I concentrate on answering questions about how many stalls to allow at the town fair or whether out-of-county pork is allowed at the market?’
Clifford nodded. ‘An interesting question. Might one ask how you responded?’
‘Apparently, rather amusingly. All I said was “only if the crackling went as crispy as our home-grown pigs”.’
His lips twitched.
‘I don’t see what’s so funny about that. I’ve no idea what they were on about or why they think it’s important. Two men have died in their town and yet everyone is carrying on as if nothing has happened.’
‘Perhaps because life does carry on, my lady.’
‘I know.’ She looked round at the flint-and-stone houses with their smartly-painted front gates and neat hedges that finished where the top end of the high street started. ‘Who would have guessed these sleepy villages and market towns are such hotbeds of political intrigue, murder and vice? Actually, most of the Women’s Institute meeting was taken up discussing the question of Mrs Pankhurst being given a six months jail sentence for sedition. Many of the women were sympathetic, but most thought she’d gone too far. I think Miss Mann may have been right when she said this area is fifty years behind London.’
‘Indeed, my lady. I am not sure how much murder and vice take place in the Reading Room, but I believe your audience await you. Afterwards we’ll head back to the Hall. The ladies should be back there by then.’
‘And hopefully, they’ll have located Mrs Pitkin. There’s no news?’
He shook his head. ‘Perhaps there will be better news at Henley Hall.’
Eleanor nodded, but in her heart she wasn’t so sure.
Back at the Hall after a light tea, Clifford and Eleanor retired to the morning room. There had, indeed, been no news of Mrs Pitkin, but Mrs Trotman had assured them that they had enough people looking already. Clifford had agreed
, suggesting their time could be better spent trying to get a breakthrough in the case rather than join the search party as originally intended.
Eleanor took out her notebook and turned to the list of those who attended the dinner the night of Aris’ death.
‘Right, Clifford, it’s essential we make some serious progress. If, and I say if, these murders are politically motivated, the last debate is tomorrow and then the election early next week. It’s possible the murderer may strike again.’ She didn’t need to say any more, Clifford’s serious expression said it all. Eleanor hurried on: ‘And we still haven’t located Mrs Pitkin. We must find her before… anyway, we simply must find her.’
‘The ladies will find her, my lady, have no doubt. The best thing we can do is to find Mr Aris’ killer.’
‘And in the process, hopefully find Carlton’s killer.’
‘Indeed, my lady. And I can open the proceedings with interesting news. I received additional information which appears to clear three parties of Mr Carlton’s murder.’
‘Oh, what?’
‘That was Miss Abigail on the phone just now. She sent word that the police have ruled out Mr Morris in connection with Mr Carlton’s death. It seems he was seen at the time of the murder by at least a hundred people at a very public exposition of seventeenth-century painters. He was there in his capacity as Chairman of the Arts Committee for Buckinghamshire.’
Eleanor gave an exaggerated yawn. ‘My idea of absolute torture.’
‘But not Mr Morris and, fortunately for him, it means his alibi appears to be watertight. All the more so as he was over forty miles away in Stony Stratford. And Miss Abigail’s second snippet of insider information concerns our communist friend Mr Greaves.’
Eleanor looked at him expectantly. ‘Another alibi?’
Clifford nodded. ‘Mr Greaves was at the Chipstone Working Men’s Club at the time of Mr Carlton’s death.’
‘And he has sufficient witnesses, does he? Because,’ she bit her lip, ‘isn’t that close to Carlton’s home?’
‘Indeed. However, Mr Greaves is known to a great many members of the club. Over a dozen confirmed he didn’t leave the premises between his arrival at 7.30 p.m. and closing time when the barman swept him out into the street, well after Mr Carlton’s demise. And thirdly, the night of Carlton’s murder, Lord and Lady Farrington were attending a twenty-first birthday ball at Templey Court, near Windsor. It was in all the society papers.’
‘Oh dear, all of our chief suspects seem to have been ruled out! So, let’s see where we are. We are running desperately short of time, so let’s go down the list ruthlessly and stick mainly to Aris’ death. I still think we’re right to assume Aris and Carlton were murdered by the same person, so let’s see who we end up with. Agreed?’
‘Agreed, my lady.’
She scoured the list of names, reading out the notes aloud:
‘“Lord Farrington – no known motive – needed Aris’ support for a housing project on his land – possible bankruptcy if not?” Nothing new to add to him except him and his wife have an alibi for the time of Carlton’s murder. Mind you, with their money and connections, I wouldn’t have thought it difficult to get someone to do the actual killing for them. Even so, why would he murder Carlton?’
‘Perhaps, my lady, to exact revenge if he suspected Mr Carlton of killing Mr Aris? Or, indeed, if he feared, now Mr Aris was dead, that the land deal might swing back in favour of Carlton’s land. Unless, that is, Mr Carlton was taken out of the proceedings, as it were?’
‘Brilliant, Clifford! That just leaves the mystery of Lady Farrington.’ Eleanor tapped the pen on her chin. ‘It’s possible that she was protecting the person Carlton was blackmailing about the fudge, assuming they both knew who killed Aris?’
Clifford nodded. ‘True, my lady.’
She shook her head in frustration. ‘Still, they officially have an alibi for one of the murders, so they’re both out at this point. We have to be ruthless, as I said.’ She carried on down the list.
‘“Oswald Greaves. Aris tried to get him imprisoned and his party banned.” Again, nothing new in relation to his motive for Aris’ murder, but he does have an alibi for Carlton’s, so for the moment he’s out.
‘“Ernest Carlton – lost to Aris three times. Could be dumped by his party if lost again. Also fell out with Aris over a woman.” Well, along with Aris’ ex-law partner Peel’s revelations, Carlton certainly had enough reasons to kill Aris. Only trouble is, he’s now dead. And the most likely scenario seems to be he was trying to blackmail Aris’ actual murderer, with the clean fudge we found under his desk as collateral, and it went wrong. So again, he’s out.
‘“Arnold Aris. Dead (poisoned by peanuts).” Unless it was suicide, and he then came back from the grave and murdered Carlton, I think we can move on. Although, I hadn’t thought that it could have been suicide on Aris’ part?’
Clifford nodded. ‘Neither had I. Most interesting, but for the moment, I fear we will have to stick to the notion that Mr Aris’ death was not voluntary.’
‘Again, agreed. Who’s next? “Miss Mann – no known motive. Aris’ main supporter of Women’s League and women’s rights in the area.” Well, she has no motive we can find out for Aris’ death. Equally, however, she has no alibi that I know of for the time of Carlton’s death and she did dislike the fellow. Mind you, most of Chipstone and beyond disliked Ernest Carlton, so if that were a motive, we’d have more suspects than I could fit in my notebook.’
‘True, my lady.’
‘Now, “Stanley Morris – no known motive.” Well, he may have had no motive in Aris’ case, but he certainly did in Carlton’s. However, fortunately for him, and unfortunately for us, he has an alibi for Carlton’s death, so he’s out.
‘“Duncan Blewitt – head of cabal that wants to put anti-women’s rights candidate in seat Aris held. No known motive.”’ She sighed. ‘He’s the opposite of Morris, really. No known motive for wanting Carlton dead, unless he was going to kill all the candidates one by one until there were none left, but a powerful motive to want Aris dead. And no alibi we know of at the moment for the time of Carlton’s death. He’s a keeper. And, yes, we need to interview him sharpish – I shouldn’t have put it off.
‘“In delay there lies no plenty,” as Shakespeare put it.’
‘Fair point. Anyway, let’s move on. We’re not counting Lord and Lady Langham as we know, that leaves… “Vernon Peel – no known motive but definitely hiding something.” Well, that’s wrong now! We know that Aris ruined Peel’s business, and revenge is a definite motive for murder in my book. Peel might have said he wanted Aris back, but he would say that wouldn’t he, if he murdered Aris?’
‘True, my lady. And he has no proven alibi for the time of Carlton’s death, even though it must be said he also has no motive we know of. Unless, that is, you count envy of Mr Carlton’s “charm and poise” as Mr Peel put it as a possible motive?’
She shrugged. ‘Probably not, but no matter, he’s a keeper as well.’ She ran down the page and copied several names to a fresh sheet. ‘Right, if our murderer killed both Aris and Carlton, and didn’t use a hitman, then our possible culprits are… Miss Mann… Duncan Blewitt… and Vernon Peel. Unfortunately, none of them have a motive for both murders. In fact, some of them don’t even have a motive for one.’
Clifford digested the information for a moment. ‘And if we allow that Mr Aris and Mr Carlton’s killers may be different people?’
‘Well, theoretically, everyone at the table the night Aris died. I admit, the first list we’ve ended up with doesn’t look quite right.’
Clifford nodded slowly.’ I agree. However, given the situation we find ourselves in, I propose we concentrate on our first list.’
Eleanor nodded. ‘It’s no good, Clifford, I’ve been putting it off. He’s such a nasty piece of work, but we need to interview Blewitt.’ She shuddered and rubbed her arms. ‘I’m not looking forward to that. And then we must find out wha
t Lady Farrington is up to. Alibi or no, I’m sure she is the key to all this. Somehow, I’m going to have to call her bluff.’
Thirty
The following morning Clifford drove Eleanor back to Chipstone, leaving the ladies to catch up on housework until they returned and collected them for the afternoon’s campaigning and searching. The day before had turned up no trace of Mrs Pitkin. Mrs Trotman put on a brave show, but Eleanor noted Mrs Butters with her arm around her in the kitchen afterwards.
This morning Gladstone was in his bed by the range, doggedly watching over his now-burgeoning leather slipper collection. He’d stolen every pair he could find as part of his protest at being left behind the day before. After playing tug with him for five minutes, Eleanor had abandoned trying to rescue the right one of her favourite pair and left him to it.
On the way into town, Clifford spoke up: ‘Excuse my suggesting it, my lady, but before we accost Mr Blewitt with a raft of impromptu questions, perhaps a well-thought-out plan might be in order? If he is the perpetrator of one or both murders, I feel prudence is our essential companion this morning.’
‘Well, where is she then? Have you hidden her in the boot?’ She opened the glovebox. ‘Or in here, perhaps?’
‘Most droll!’
‘Lighten up, Clifford. I need to be in good spirits to deal with blasted Blewitt shortly.’
‘My lady, I promised your late uncle…’
‘I know, that you would do your utmost to keep me safe. And an admirable job you do, one I greatly appreciate. Perhaps it might ease your concerns if we remember that I did navigate my own way around the world, mostly alone. It’s not easy to outrun anyone with ill intentions whilst climbing the Himalayas on a bicycle, they’re really rather steep, but I managed it. On one or two occasions, actually.’
A Witness to Murder: An unputdownable cozy murder mystery (A Lady Eleanor Swift Mystery Book 3) Page 21
