Murder at the Spring Ball: A 1920s Mystery Benedict Brown (good books to read in english .TXT) 📖

“I don’t care if she’s my cousin! I just want a girlfriend.”

Our father had apparently broken the news of exactly who Albert had been dancing with and my brother retreated into the corner to be alone.

“How are you doing, old chap?” Father asked. He was awfully good at hiding his feelings and there’s nothing like tossing an ‘old chap’ into a greeting to make everything seem normal.

“I’ve been working on the investigation with Grandfather. We’ve narrowed down the list of suspects.” I still wasn’t privy to the names of everyone on that list, but my family didn’t need to know that.

My mother, who was staring into space and had not even blinked until now, heard what I said and came to life. “Well done, darling. I’m sure you’re a wonderful help to your grandfather. How do you think he’s coping?”

Though she was putting a brave face on things, I could see in her eyes just how much sadness she was battling through. Those deep brown orbs glistened under the light of the chandeliers, as the reality of her sister’s death permeated her every thought.

“I’m doing what I can.” Boys at Oakton Academy are taught from an early age that it’s essential not to discuss, show or, in fact, possess any emotions in public. “Grandfather is on the trail of the killer. There’s no doubt about it.”

My father frowned, before declaring in a solemn voice, “It doesn’t bear thinking about what would have happened if Belinda hadn’t drunk before everyone else.”

My mother did not like the way he’d expressed himself and directed a disapproving look in his direction. “Oh, so everything’s fine then? It’s only Belinda who died. As long as we’re all right, nothing else matters.”

He swiftly crouched down to comfort her, though the gesture was born more of appeasement than apology. I thought about going back to see Grandfather, or up to my bed for that matter, but before I could decide what the best course of action was, I’d been cornered by the very last person I wanted to talk to.

“Christopher, you’ve got to help me.” With his hair tussled and his tie askew, Marmalade had made it through the party and out the other side, but it was his face that had borne the brunt of the damage. His cheek was bleeding and there was a bruise beneath his right eye that mirrored my own. It was hard not to think that some justice had been served.

“What happened to you? You look like you’ve been mugged by a gorilla.”

His voice was deeper than normal, as if he had a point to prove. “I went into the garden and fell down in the dark. Never mind that, I need you to talk to your grandfather for me. I need you to tell him I was with you when that woman was murdered.”

“Why should I do anything to help you? I didn’t even want you here tonight.” It probably wasn’t the moment to bring up such petty issues, but forgive me for still being upset about the black eye he’d given me.

“Please, Chrissy. I know we’re not friends, but this is serious. They’ll think I’m the killer, I know they will. Did you hear that policeman? He’s a savage. As soon as he finds out who my father is and that I don’t have an alibi, I’ll be for it.” The plummy tone he normally spoke in had worn off and more popular expressions broke through.

“Why would they think that, Adelaide? Where were you before she died?”

He had no interest in explaining himself and checked that no one was listening before stepping in closer. “Just do what I told you.” His usual malevolence rung out once more. “Your grandfather can get me off the hook, I know he can. One word to the police and he’ll smooth it all over. Do it, or I’ll-”

I wasn’t in the mood for another threat from him. “It’s too late for that. He already knows you weren’t in here before the toast. In fact, you’re one of the very few people who was absent at the time that the champagne was poisoned.”

“Poison? I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

I paused to watch his reaction. I’m not one to take pleasure in the suffering of others, but, I have to say, he had it coming. “I’d run if I were you, Adelaide, before the police get wind of what you’ve done.”

I could see that he wanted to even up my face with his fist, but there was no time for that. Taking a quick glance around the room, he looked to see which of the exits were unguarded, then casually strolled over to the French windows.

With my typical Christopher-ish weakness, I felt a little sorry for him. The desire to help him almost overcame me, so I forced myself to shout, “Watch out, he’s making a break for it!” and Blunt caught sight of him just in time.

All the police officers and even my Uncle Maitland ran to intercept him, but that just meant he was free to double back and run out to the corridor. Lithe and lanky Marmalade had been sprint champion at every school sports day since we’d started at Oakton and the comparatively round bobbies didn’t stand a chance.

The last thing he shouted as he disappeared from the room was, “Thanks, Chrissy,” and Inspector Blunt looked mortified that he’d already lost a suspect.

“Well, go after him then, you bunch of idlers,” he admonished the nearest officers before his words faded to silence.

Still struggling to work out whether I’d intentionally helped Marmalade escape, I spotted the wry expression on my grandfather’s face as his own nemesis suffered his first defeat.

Chapter Thirteen

The natives – by which I mean the great and good of Surrey – were becoming restless. There was only so long that the police could keep everyone there before one of the distinguished guests threatened to write a highly critical letter to The Times or call up