Murder at the Spring Ball: A 1920s Mystery by Benedict Brown (romantic novels in english .txt) 📗

slick dance band, dressed in tightly fitted black suits, started in on a new piece of music. A buzz of horror and delight travelled about the room as it quickly became apparent that what they were playing was a good deal ‘hotter’ than their previous efforts. What they were playing was full-on American jazz.

My brother let out a squeal of absolute glee as he spun Margaret around him. Scandalising the family with immoral, corrupting music – which the national newspapers regularly railed against – was one of our butler’s more anarchic efforts. Conveniently absent, Fellowes must have known what sort of band he’d recommended, but I didn’t mind. I thought the melody rather catchy and might have gone for a dance myself if the man of the hour hadn’t appeared at that moment.

Lord Edgington timed his entrance to build suspense and made his appearance when the party was already roaring. It was another sign of the theatrical side to my grandfather’s personality that I had only glimpsed before. He stood in his dove-grey dress suit, with a silver cane in one hand and his top hat in the other, surveying his domain. Any fears I had that he wouldn’t approve of the hedonistic entertainment on display were soon quashed.

“This is just how I imagined it,” he projected for everyone to hear.

As he walked across the room, he shook hands with friends and waved at others like a film star. I almost expected him to spin his hat through the air, tap his cane on the floor and break into song. Instead, and far more wisely considering his age, he made his way to the small stage where the band were playing and waited for them to finish a speedy one-step.

The dancers came to a rest, the noise of chatter and laughter died down and he cleared his throat to speak.

“Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family, I cannot express how moving it truly is to see you all here.”

My father and grandmother, along with a large crowd from the neighbouring salon, had gravitated towards the respectful hush, but there were still a few guests missing. On cue, my second cousin Cora noisily tumbled into the room. Cora was a few years older than my brother and had been the golden child of the family (well mannered, perfect marks at school and a champion archer to boot) until she got to university and… well, things changed. She was dressed that night in what looked like a man’s suit, with her hair cut short and a monocle of all things in one eye. A gaggle of old ladies at the back of the room turned their ire upon her, but she laughed it off as Lord Edgington continued with his address.

“I consider this gathering to be a rebirth. A chance to make amends for the time I have wasted and, though I may be in the twilight of my life, I will expend no more of my energy on fear and regrets.” He paused and took in the gallery of faces looking up at him. “I’d like my three children and their families to come to the front.”

Mother, Father and Aunt Belinda moved through the crowd. Albert and I followed after and I spotted two of our cousins cutting a similar path. Fellowes now appeared with a small silver trolley with a magnum of champagne and eleven pre-filled glasses on.

“What about my son?” Grandfather continued. “Does anyone know where Maitland has got to?”

There was some polite laughter then, but the truth of the matter was that I hadn’t seen my uncle all night. The main Cranley clan had gathered in front of the stage by this point and Belinda was quick to snag the first glass of tipple.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll be here in a moment.” Grandfather carefully climbed down from the stage, took the empty bottle and held it up to his audience. “This champagne was given to me on the day that I married my beloved wife Katherine over fifty years ago. We promised that we’d drink it when the time was right. Somehow, though we attended the weddings of our three children and the christenings of all five of our phenomenal grandchildren, that moment never arrived.”

Uncle Maitland still hadn’t turned up and I could see that Grandfather was dragging out the proceedings. My cousin George finally strolled over from wherever he had been hiding and, in the crush for everyone in the family to get a glass of the historic libation, got bashed into by Maitland’s son.

“Honestly, Francis!” he immediately bellowed. “You’re clumsier than a clown.”

His flute had smashed into a hundred pieces on the glossy floor and, with the champagne all served, he had to settle for an unhistoric replacement from Todd. Aunt Belinda had long got tired of waiting and was already knocking back her drink. Finally, my uncle appeared from the hall and, once he had collected his champagne from grumpy Aunt Winifred and shouted at his children about nothing in particular, the toast could commence.

With great empathy in his eyes, Grandfather raised his glass towards his loved ones. “That’s what I wanted to bring you here to express. Please, don’t wait your whole lives for something you could already be enjoying today. Learn from my mistakes. Embrace this beautiful world we share and-”

It was at this moment that Belinda collapsed into a chair with a painful moan. She was clearly suffering and put her hands to her head like someone had drilled a hole through it.

“That’s the spirit, sis!” Uncle Maitland raised his drink to her. “Cheers.”

The glass was at his lips when my grandfather let out a deafening shout. “Stop! Don’t drink that.”

He tore the glass from his son’s hand, then ran to attend to his elder daughter. Aunt Belinda had not passed out in a drunken slump, her body was convulsing and her eyes were open. Tidal waves of agony passed through her body and despairing cries went up from the people around her