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

I was a little shocked to be honest as I didn’t have a clear idea of what I wanted to say.

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” I waited to see whether he would explain what was obvious so that I didn’t have to. “The killer can’t be anyone in the immediate family. It would have looked very odd if he was the only one not drinking just before we all died. Even George spilling his champagne couldn’t have covered his guilt.”

“So that reduces our suspect list nicely.” Grandfather made it sound like I was really onto something.

“Exactly. It means we’re only left with Fellowes, Clementine, Marmaduke and Cora.”

He slumped down in a chair then and I could tell he was thinking over the enigma that lay before us. “Go on, who’s your money on?”

Everything had been happening so quickly that I’d lost track of the possibilities. I took a moment to remind myself why I was angry.

“It has to be Cora.”

“I see,” he replied, with all the calm in the world. “Why?”

“For the reasons you laid out already. Her grandfather was supposed to inherit Cranley and, as there was no male heir, you took his place. All of this should have gone to her father and, eventually, she would have been a very wealthy woman. She was nowhere to be seen when the champagne was being served and very much in the vicinity of the armoury when Maitland was murdered. I hardly think Clementine can offer her a reliable alibi and you can’t deny that Cora completely failed to explain any of that when I asked her.”

He rolled his shoulders and raised his chin before responding. “I can’t, but I don’t have to. Cora has other reasons for keeping her counsel and we’ll interview her in good time.”

There was no point in pursuing my theory with him if he wasn’t going to listen. I clearly hadn’t learnt my lesson though, as I instantly offered up another suspect.

“Fine, then if it wasn’t her, it must have been Marmaduke Adelaide.”

He actually laughed at me then. He tipped his head back and had a good chortle at my expense. “Why on Earth do you say that?”

“Because the boy’s a savage, he has criminal connections, he hates me and I doubt that you’re his father’s favourite person after you arrested him so many times. Add all that to the disappearing trick that Marmalade performed last night and it spells guilty.”

I thought that the terrier of Scotland Yard might at least be interested in this theory, but he barely even considered it.

“Why do you call him Marmalade?”

I sat down in the chair in front of him and leaned forward to reply. “Well, his name is Marmaduke Adelaide and he’s got ginger hair.”

“A little obvious, though, isn’t it? Surely you could have come up with something more creative.”

Not knowing how to respond to this, as I’d always thought it a particularly witty piece of word play, I went on the offensive once more. “You’re totally missing the point. Marmaduke physically assaulted me two days ago. There’s no blacker soul than his and I think he’s the killer.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Along with Fellowes?”

That stumped me again. “No… Or actually, yes.” New ideas were forming by the moment and I decided to see where they would take me. “Last night, Adelaide threw the stone at the drinks room window to give Fellowes the sign to make himself scarce, then ran upstairs to poison the champagne. He wasn’t in the house today when Uncle Maitland was killed, so someone else must have been involved and Fellowes is the only person I know here with a shady past that you make a point of never talking about.”

I realised there was a piece of the puzzle that I’d left out and raced to correct myself. “And George… Well, George gave the boy an alibi because he’s in debt to Marmaduke’s dad.” I clicked my fingers with glee, feeling really rather proud of myself. All loose ends tied up; case closed once more!

He did something then that I really wasn’t expecting. Tossing the long flanks of his coat from his lap, he started to clap. “Bravo, my boy. I take it all back, you are the pinnacle of creativity. I don’t know if we’ll make a detective out of you, but you’ve certainly got a future writing for theatre. Bernard Shaw himself would struggle to come up with quite such an engaging plot.”

My initial excitement at his enthusiasm soon wore away. “So you don’t think I’m close to the truth then?”

He leaned forward to confide in me. “I’m not saying it’s impossible, Chrissy, but I’m afraid it is rather unlikely.”

I had lost my combative edge and wanted to understand what his superior mind had gleaned. “Why?”

He did not hesitate to tear my idea from its roots. “Your whole argument is based on the concept of Marmaduke Adelaide’s innate degeneracy. Such lazy misconceptions are the first resort of the frightened and ignorant. When a murder is committed, we like to imagine that some random, savage beast has come in off the streets to satiate his bloodlust. I can honestly tell you that, in all my years on the force, I heard of few such cases.”

He paused and turned his head slightly, as if reappraising me. “It is a comfort to think that these dark incidents can be explained away so easily. In actuality, the evil we search for lies far closer to home. My parents’ generation were obsessed with such ideas. Look back through the fantastical inventions of the last century – to Frankenstein, Dracula, Jekyll and Hyde. People long to understand the savagery they encounter and so they create monsters to hide the fact that it is ordinary humans we should be frightened of.”

“But you don’t know Marmaduke. He takes such pleasure in hurting the boys at school. He gave me this!” I pointed to the bruise around my eye that had now turned purple.

Grandfather smiled a little then.