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

the ball? To provide you with an alibi? Only he got panicked and ran off, and now you’re in a spot of bother of your own.”

Our grandfather had gone from defending George’s innocence to laying the case out for his guilt and it was very difficult to know which he believed the more likely scenario.

My cousin could see that his unflustered response was not having its desired effect, so he tried a different tack. “Really? I’m your eldest grandson; I would hope you could think better of me than that.”

“It’s not personal. I’m just doing my job. And if you look at it from my position, it is rather suspicious. We know you didn’t get on with your mother and that you run up debts everywhere you go. I hear it won’t be long before the bailiffs come calling. It would hardly be a surprise if you resorted to drastic measures in order to climb out of the hole you’ve found yourself in.”

His voice broke as he appealed to our sympathy. “But we’re family. Even if you think I’m guilty, doesn’t some part of you want to protect me?”

The Most Honourable Marquess of Edgington (to give my grandfather his full title) answered straight back. “I don’t know if you’re guilty, but I do know you’re a fool. You’ve jumped into bed with the wrong people and I’m not talking about Margaret Hillington-Smythe. If you owe Horatio Adelaide money, there’s not much I can do for you. Of course, if you don’t tell me the truth, there’s nothing I can do for you at all.”

The mere mention of Marmalade’s father was enough to strike fear into my cousin. Though there were countless rumours at school about where Mr Adelaide got his money I had no idea which of them were true.

Perhaps afraid of what the old man might turn up next, George swung his legs out of bed and pulled his white dinner jacket on. “You don’t know anything about me.”

I’ve no idea why I tend to feel sympathy for the wrong people, but for all his faults, I’d always liked my eldest cousin and couldn’t stand seeing him reduced to such a state.

“Listen to Grandfather, George,” I attempted. “He’s good with this sort of thing.”

His startled eyes fixed upon me. “Don’t get involved in matters which you haven’t the first clue about, Chrissy. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of this whole sordid business.”

He was fully dressed by now and halfway to the door. I thought that the interview was over but Grandfather shot to his feet to block our suspect’s path. “You may not see it, George, but I’m trying to help you.” His words were one long plea. “I could be the difference between you living a long, happy life on the estate you deserve to inherit and swinging from the neck at Pentonville Prison. So what’s it to be?”

George’s only response was a disgruntled snarl as he stepped around the old policeman and out of the room.

Chapter Sixteen

“He was lying,” I said once we were alone.

Grandfather was still staring at the door, but there was no chance George was coming back.

“They all lie, it’s what people do. What I don’t know is exactly what he was lying about.”

Not for the first time, I felt like everyone in Cranley knew more of what was going on than I did. “Grandfather, how exactly did the Adelaides become so rich?”

He looked around the bedroom then. It was white and nondescript, just like ten other guest rooms in Cranley. With this inspection complete, he turned to me and said, “Come along, Christopher, there’s something I need to confirm. I’ll tell you all about Horatio Adelaide on the way.”

Not feeling I had much say in the decision, I got up to accompany him and he started his tale. “When I first knew Marmaduke’s father, he was a lackey for the Foley gang. Back then, the Foleys were one of London’s most vicious crime families and Horatio did whatever he could for them. I arrested him myself a number of times, but he’d always find a way to wriggle free. He’s that kind of person, an opportunist who lands on his feet. But a few years later, when the Foleys were eliminated by their rivals, Horatio Adelaide was in the right place to inherit their empire.”

We’d made it back downstairs and turned towards the ballroom.

“So he’s a criminal?” I prompted.

Grandfather’s moustache wriggled a little before he replied. “Yes and no. You see, there were three things which Horatio wanted. He wanted to stay alive – so he knew it wasn’t a good idea to remain in the business which had got the Foleys killed. He wanted to maintain his newly found wealth – easier said than done in that world – and, perhaps more than anything, he craved respectability. He had no interest in being Harry Adelaide of Hackney so he changed his name, changed his business and cut ties with some of the more colourful characters he’d previously worked with.”

My Grandfather often spoke as though the message of what he was saying was incredibly simple. Maybe I was a dunce, but I couldn’t always grasp it.

“So… he’s not a criminal?”

That drew a laugh from the old boy. “Just listen and I’ll get there. Nothing Adelaide has ever been involved in is strictly legitimate, but he runs a fine line between legal and otherwise. He made his money in black market goods and counterfeiting but soon moved on to bigger things. He had a network already in place and simply changed the merchandise. With wealth came the opportunity to make a name for himself – or rather buy one. He purchased an estate in Hampshire, became the Baron of somewhere or other and sent his children to good schools.

“But, most importantly, this success led to more opportunities. He had plenty of money at a time when a lot of old English families were running out. So he’d give them