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

She thought for a second, her brow becoming furrowed. “Well, yes actually, I did. As I was leaving the servants’ quarters this morning, that boy was there.”

“You mean, Todd?” My grandfather asked, jerking his head back in the direction of the house.

“No, the tall boy with red hair who was at the ball. The one the police were after.”

“Marmal-” I began and then felt a bit silly and corrected myself. “Marmaduke Adelaide.”

“If you say so,” Cora replied, but I could see her mind was seven miles away with her stricken lover. She was already drifting towards her car. “He was lurking around and it was odd because we rather caught one another. He knew I wasn’t supposed to be there and I knew the police were looking for him. It was a stalemate and so he smiled, shook his head cheerily and got out of my way.”

“Thank you, Cora,” my grandfather had to shout across the garden for the words to reach her. “I hope you can explain away any queries the police might have.”

Once she had gone, the old man fell into a silent fog of thought. He put his hands together and stared at a point beyond the end of his nose for some time. There wasn’t much I could do but wait. As there was no food left, Delilah took the opportunity to stretch her legs and went bounding across the messy garden after a wood pigeon.

“You haven’t drunk your tea, dear boy,” Great-Aunt Clementine kindly pointed out, so then I felt obliged to sip at the cold, milky brew. It tasted like bathwater but I showed my appreciation all the same.

I wondered how anyone thought it was a good idea to allow a person of her age and impairment to live all on her own with a staff of just five full-time servants. She was not exactly compos mentis. Her long white hair was fixed on the top of her head in a fashion which was far too young for her. Though she’d shed her eccentric ensemble from the previous evening, the outfit she now wore was tatty, creased and in a dull, floral fabric which looked older than she was.

In fact, everything about her was noticeably dishevelled, I doubt she’d brushed her teeth in a week, her fingers were black and grubby, as if she’d been foraging for food in Cranley Woods, and I couldn’t help worrying about the old girl. Drinking her disgusting tea was the least I could do.

She patted me on the hand once my cup was empty and said in her high, almost choral tone, “What a good boy you are. I’ll pour you some more.”

Luckily, this was the moment that Grandfather came back to us. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a clue what went on this morning at the house, have you, Clemmie?”

She looked a little concerned, perhaps fearing that she’d done something wrong and was about to be told off. “There was a ball, wasn’t there?”

“No, that was yesterday.” My grandfather attempted to hide his impatience.

“What was yesterday?”

“The ball!” My grandfather failed to hide his impatience.

“So then why were you asking about this morning?”

He groaned and appeared ready to give up when she spoke again.

“It was a lovely evening, I danced and sang and talked to so many wonderful people. Someone complimented me on my singing you know?”

“Yes, thank you. We were there. Though I wouldn’t put much stock in a compliment from Inspector Blunt.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not that scruffy little policeman, this was a man in a smart dinner suit, with a chiselled jaw and pure black hair like Rudolph Valentino’s. He popped up in the petit salon and startled me.”

I couldn’t say the words right then, so my grandfather said them for me. “Christopher’s father? Was it Walter you saw?”

In much the same carefree manner with which she’d entertained us in the smoking room the night before, she waved one hand through the air and said, “Well you know that I’m not good with names. He came rushing up the steps from the garden and it was quite a shock, as I’d dozed off for a moment. That’s why I sang to him; to calm us both down.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

I can’t say I’d seriously entertained the possibility of my father’s involvement in the crime until that moment. And, obviously, the fact that he was in the garden did not make him a murderer. What was troubling was that he hadn’t told us anything about it. He said he’d been on the terrace to get some air, not to traverse the house. So what was he doing out there?

“Todd, climb into the back seat please,” Lord Edgington told his chauffeur when we returned to the car.

The adventurous young fellow didn’t look too happy about this and I could see the excitement fade from his eyes.

“Oh, come along, man,” Grandfather yelled. “You can take the car out another day, but I need to talk to my grandson.”

He did as instructed, leaving me free to occupy the luxurious passenger seat – which Delilah immediately made more cramped by landing with a thump on my lap. A look of elation on his face, Grandfather pulled a pair of his own leather driving gloves on and started the engine.

“I want you to stay calm, boy.” He told me as we pulled out of Langford House and onto a country lane. “Just because your father has been hiding something from us, it doesn’t mean that he was plotting to kill you, me and our entire family.”

I nearly swallowed my tongue just then. “Thank you, Grandfather. But such a thought hadn’t entered my mind.”

“Jolly good.” The words came out as both apologetic and judgemental. As if he was sorry to promote such a dark hypothesis, but a little disappointed that I hadn’t struck upon it myself.

Though I may have been slow, my grandfather had certainly set the ball rolling. My brain