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

several excited squeaks from younger members of the family. Even my brother Albert looked a little more cheerful as a party meant the promise of new young ladies, who would break his heart all over again. My mother smiled up proudly at her distinguished father, but her siblings clearly did not approve of the announcement.

“Really, Daddy,” Belinda began, “are you sure you’ve thought this through?”

Lord Edgington’s voice rose to become a short poke in the ribs of everyone present. “I certainly have.” He nodded to his butler, who stepped forward to place an ancient magnum of champagne on the occasional table in front of his master. “Katherine and I were given this on our wedding day and spent our lives waiting for the right moment to drink it. I don’t want to be like this old bottle gathering dust anymore. I want to fulfil my potential, so I’ve finally thought up a reason to pop the cork.”

My uncle was up next, with a sceptical question of his own. “But a party? Don’t you think it’s all a bit much (at your age)?” He didn’t actually say these last few words, but the meaning was clear.

The look which Lord Edgington directed at his son spoke volumes. “No. I do not. Cranley Hall always hosted a spring ball when I was a child, so I’m 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.”

The sedate atmosphere in the room vanished as ambitious fathers pushed their offspring forward to be the lord’s assistant and mothers delivered stirring appraisals of their preferred candidate’s 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. “I’ve already made my decision.” His gaze passed over disappointed faces, searching for his chosen relative. “My grandson Christopher will be helping me.”

All eyes turned to the back corner of the room, where I was daring myself to eat one of Cook’s appetisers.

“Christopher?” Father asked.

“Our Christopher?” Mother sought to confirm, her face mirroring her husband’s for incredulity.

“That’s right.” Lord Edgington straightened his back and looked at me with a knowing smile. “Christopher will be perfect.”

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

“I don’t understand it,” 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. “I would make the most wonderful assistant. Why didn’t grandfather choose me?” Albert collapsed dramatically into an armchair and put his hand to his head.

“We’re not entirely sure.” My father still looked puzzled on the matter. “Perhaps… Perhaps the old fellow…”

“I’ve no doubt there’s a very good reason for why Daddy chose Christopher. Perhaps…” My mother was usually quick to smooth things over, but even she struggled to come up with an explanation. “Perhaps Daddy felt sorry for him.”

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.

“First Evangeline snubs me for ‘Porky’ Cumberland and now this.” 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.

“Or perhaps grandfather saw the potential in me that you’ve all failed to notice.” I was chomping on a banana and horseradish sandwich. I have to say that it wasn’t nearly as bad as it sounds. “This might come as a shock, but it’s just possible that I was the best candidate.”

The two hairy caterpillars who lived on father’s forehead wriggled closer together and he tried to look cheerful. “You’re right, Christopher. That’s the only explanation.”

My mother’s face brightened. “Of course. That must be it, but …” She wasn’t sure where to go from there. “Well, you hide your gifts so well, don’t you, darling? Evidently your grandfather has wormed them out of you.”

I was used to such backhanded compliments from my family – and my teachers, friends and casual acquaintances for that matter. It’s 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 shouldn’t write a good man off before he’s had the chance to do so himself.

Sitting in a Directoire-style chair beside the unlit fireplace, my father used his businessman’s instincts to cut to the chase. “So, what did the old chap tell you about this plan of his?”

The truth is that I was as much in the dark about grandfather’s announcement as any of them. “Well, nothing.”

In contrast to my father, Mother is a poet and likes to take her time. She contemplated the conundrum before replying with, “It’s very nice of you to be so loyal and keep it under your hat, but he must have said something to you.”

I was fairly certain she was wrong. “No, he didn’t.”

Albert narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “When didn’t he say anything?”

I smiled. “Quite often actually.”

“Listen here, Christopher.” My father walked over to the window and put one hand on my shoulder. “When was the last time your grandfather spoke to you?”

“I’d say… Yes, I think it was in 1915. Just before Grandmother died.”

The three of them stared at me like I had a dollop of banana on my face.

Mother broke through their astonishment. “Ten years ago? How is that possible?”

“You’re telling me you’ve been living here for the last six months and he hasn’t uttered a