Murder at the Spring Ball: A 1920s Mystery Benedict Brown (good books to read in english .TXT) đ
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- Author: Benedict Brown
Book online «Murder at the Spring Ball: A 1920s Mystery Benedict Brown (good books to read in english .TXT) đ». Author Benedict Brown
âReally, Daddy,â Belinda began, âare you sure youâve thought this through?â
Lord Edgingtonâs voice rose to become a short poke in the ribs of everyone present. âI certainly have.â He nodded to his butler, who stepped forward to place an ancient magnum of champagne on the occasional table in front of his master. âKatherine and I were given this on our wedding day and spent our lives waiting for the right moment to drink it. I donât want to be like this old bottle gathering dust anymore. I want to fulfil my potential, so Iâve finally thought up a reason to pop the cork.â
My uncle was up next, with a sceptical question of his own. âBut a party? Donât you think itâs all a bit much (at your age)?â He didnât actually say these last few words, but the meaning was clear.
The look which Lord Edgington directed at his son spoke volumes. âNo. I do not. Cranley Hall always hosted a spring ball when I was a child, so Iâm reviving the tradition. I have a clear idea in my head of how I would like it to be, and all I need is someone to help me make it a reality.â
The sedate atmosphere in the room vanished as ambitious fathers pushed their offspring forward to be the lordâs assistant and mothers delivered stirring appraisals of their preferred candidateâs suitability. The opportunity to curry favour with the wealthy old patriarch, in what were surely his final years on the planet, was too good to pass up.
Grandfather soon silenced them. âIâve already made my decision.â His gaze passed over disappointed faces, searching for his chosen relative. âMy grandson Christopher will be helping me.â
All eyes turned to the back corner of the room, where I was daring myself to eat one of Cookâs appetisers.
âChristopher?â Father asked.
âOur Christopher?â Mother sought to confirm, her face mirroring her husbandâs for incredulity.
âThatâs right.â Lord Edgington straightened his back and looked at me with a knowing smile. âChristopher will be perfect.â
I froze with my mouth open and, for a moment, no one made a sound. A chunk of mustard-coated turnip made a break for freedom from my sandwich and, as it landed with a splat on the thick Chinese carpet, all hell broke loose.
Chapter Two
âI donât understand it,â my brother complained, once the furious crowds had dispersed and we were back in my large, opulent but blood-chillingly cold bedroom in the east wing of Cranley Hall. âI would make the most wonderful assistant. Why didnât grandfather choose me?â Albert collapsed dramatically into an armchair and put his hand to his head.
âWeâre not entirely sure.â My father still looked puzzled on the matter. âPerhaps⊠Perhaps the old fellowâŠâ
âIâve no doubt thereâs a very good reason for why Daddy chose Christopher. PerhapsâŠâ My mother was usually quick to smooth things over, but even she struggled to come up with an explanation. âPerhaps Daddy felt sorry for him.â
They looked in my direction, but I was ignoring them. A flash of colour suggested there was a redstart in the rose garden and I had my binoculars at the ready in case he should pop back out.
âFirst Evangeline snubs me for âPorkyâ Cumberland and now this.â My brother managed to swoon even deeper into his seat.
The redstart turned out to be a plain old robin and I decided it was time to stick up for myself.
âOr perhaps grandfather saw the potential in me that youâve all failed to notice.â I was chomping on a banana and horseradish sandwich. I have to say that it wasnât nearly as bad as it sounds. âThis might come as a shock, but itâs just possible that I was the best candidate.â
The two hairy caterpillars who lived on fatherâs forehead wriggled closer together and he tried to look cheerful. âYouâre right, Christopher. Thatâs the only explanation.â
My motherâs face brightened. âOf course. That must be it, but âŠâ She wasnât sure where to go from there. âWell, you hide your gifts so well, donât you, darling? Evidently your grandfather has wormed them out of you.â
I was used to such backhanded compliments from my family â and my teachers, friends and casual acquaintances for that matter. Itâs true that I was no genius and had yet to find the field in which I would excel, but I was still only sixteen. I was just starting out in the world and you shouldnât write a good man off before heâs had the chance to do so himself.
Sitting in a Directoire-style chair beside the unlit fireplace, my father used his businessmanâs instincts to cut to the chase. âSo, what did the old chap tell you about this plan of his?â
The truth is that I was as much in the dark about grandfatherâs announcement as any of them. âWell, nothing.â
In contrast to my father, Mother is a poet and likes to take her time. She contemplated the conundrum before replying with, âItâs very nice of you to be so loyal and keep it under your hat, but he must have said something to you.â
I was fairly certain she was wrong. âNo, he didnât.â
Albert narrowed his eyes suspiciously. âWhen didnât he say anything?â
I smiled. âQuite often actually.â
âListen here, Christopher.â My father walked over to the window and put one hand on my shoulder. âWhen was the last time your grandfather spoke to you?â
âIâd say⊠Yes, I think it was in 1915. Just before Grandmother died.â
The three of them stared at me like I had a dollop of banana on my face.
Mother broke through their astonishment. âTen years ago? How is that possible?â
âYouâre telling me youâve been living here for the last six months and he hasnât uttered a
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