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

“Morning, George!” he sang, on his way over to the window to throw back the curtains and let the pale sunshine into the room. “Sorry to wake you, old boy. I thought we had better have a chat before things get out of hand.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Our first suspect stayed hidden beneath his sheets, but it wasn’t hard to tell why. George was not alone.

Grandfather was a step ahead as usual. “Awfully sorry to interrupt, Margaret. But I think you had better get back to your own room, don’t you?”

Margaret Hillington-Smythe, my cousin on my father’s side – so thankfully no relation of George’s – scrambled to pull on a dressing gown and bundled up her clothes. Barefoot, the poor girl picked her way across the room, then paused by the door. She looked like she had something to say, but changed her mind and ran out.

George himself was unrepentant. “Good morning, dear Grandfather. And what a beautiful morning it is.” He pushed himself up to sitting then leaned across to his bedside table to extract a long, thin cigarette from a golden case. “I didn’t get much sleep thanks to your friends from the force, but I’m always up for a chinwag.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of an interrogation, but your choice of word sounds a little friendlier.” Our grandfather pulled a chair to the end of the bed and so I copied him and we both sat down. “Perhaps you could start by telling us where you were last night before your mother died.”

My cousin took a long drag on the cigarette. He held the smoke down while staring at Grandfather, then released it in small puffs like a train. “I don’t see that there’s a great deal of sense in me answering your questions. You’ve surely all decided that I’m the one to blame.”

I’d been relishing the thought of seeing the famous Superintendent Edgington in action and he didn’t disappoint. His voice immediately soared and he struck a self-righteous note. “Do you really think so little of me that I would condemn a man with no evidence?”

George fired back an answer without fear. “That’s what you do in this family. Guilty until proven innocent will be the inscription on my tombstone.”

Grandfather crossed his legs and softened his tone. “You know, I’ve never thought badly of you, George. As far as I’m concerned, you can drink what you like and spend time with whomever you wish to. As long as you remain on the right side of the law, you won’t hear me say a word against you. But your mother is dead and I need to find out why.”

He took another puff. “And what’s little Chrissy doing here?”

“He’s my assistant.”

George sneered. “How adorable.”

It was funny to hear grandfather say this out loud. Technically, I was his assistant for the ball. My role in the investigation had never been discussed. It made me a little nervous as I found myself pondering the fates of the partners he’d had when he was in the police.

Grandfather returned to his original question. “So, where were you?”

“Oh, all right then.” He whistled through his teeth before continuing. “I’ll tell you exactly where I was. I was with Marmaduke Adelaide and he was with me. Ask him and he’ll confirm it.”

“You know full well we can’t. He ran away last night and no one’s found any trace of him. Besides, you didn’t answer my question. Where exactly were you?” Grandfather had perfected a sharp yet focussed tone of voice and I could tell he was happy to fall back into his old role.

“We were out on the terrace, getting some air.”

“Did you see my father?” I asked, as this was still the factor I was most concerned about.

A look of confusion crossed my cousin’s face. “No, I didn’t. Perhaps he’s the one you should be talking to.”

The old detective would not be dissuaded from his mission. “Tell me about your mother.”

George smiled. “Well, she wasn’t on the terrace. She was busy drinking herself to death.” A sad, cold laugh came out of him. It made me wonder how he could be so cruel and casual at such a moment.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Grandfather was losing his patience. “Can you think of any reason why someone wanted her dead?”

“Hmmm… money, I imagine. But surely it wasn’t just her they were trying to get rid of. And that’s another reason I couldn’t have had anything to do with the murder. The whole Cranley line would be extinct if Mother hadn’t been our canary down the mine.”

“Except you.” A childlike joy danced across my grandfather’s face right then.

“I’m sorry?”

I’d like to have stood up and given my grandfather the round of applause he deserved. Instead, I stayed silent and waited for him to tear George’s argument to pieces.

“You spilt your drink and went to get another before your mother collapsed. You made quite the fuss about it in fact, as though you wanted everyone to see exactly how you ended up without any champagne.”

George pulled a pair of glasses on to get a better perspective on the old man who was putting him through the mill. They had thick lenses which made him look rather a swot. It was no surprise, therefore, that I’d never seen him wear them before.

“So let me get this clear. You’re suggesting I attempted to kill our whole family so that I would be the heir to Cranley Hall?” He came to a stop and did a careful impersonation of someone deep in thought. “Wouldn’t it be rather obvious that I was behind the poisoning if I was the only one to survive?”

“I’m sure you’d have come up with some clever explanation, but the plan didn’t work, so we’ll never know.” Grandfather gave an absentminded shrug of his shoulders and looked down at his hands. “Is that why you invited young Adelaide to