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

“Yes, I have. I think it’s rather sweet really. Like she got lost in a forest somewhere and had to spend the night.”

Todd looked at me like I was a knife, fork and spoon short of a place setting. His quietly judgemental manner reminded me why I’d come.

“Grandfather says you’re to get the car ready.”

The elegant young chap could hardly believe what I was saying. “I’m taking Lord Edgington out?”

I frowned, no longer quite sure if this made sense. “Well, I think that’s what he meant.”

He looked down the barn at the small fortune in automobiles which Delilah was happily running between. I spotted a Lagonda, two Alfa Romeos, several Rolls and even a couple of American cars Grandfather had imported over.

“Which car does he want?”

“Oh,” I was once more bamboozled by a truly simple question. “He didn’t actually say. What about the…” I pictured some of the more stylish young detectives I’d read about in novels and considered which car they would choose. “Yes, I think the Aston Martin should do the trick.”

It certainly did the trick for Todd, who jumped in the air like Chaplin in ‘The Kid’. “Master Chrissy, you’re a star!”

I don’t know when it was that everyone decided I should be called Chrissy, but I still didn’t like it. Of course, I was not about to tell Todd that. He had a suave worldliness about him which made me rather envious. I’d seen the way that Alice and even Cook looked at him and had my fingers crossed that I’d lose my puppy fat, – which my mother insisted was adorable – find a hairstyle that suited me, and turn into the leading-man type that women go wild for.

I should probably have crossed my fingers a little harder.

It was fun to see him run off between the two rows of automobiles, like my happily wagging companion. While several other cars were no doubt more expensive, the pale grey Aston Martin Cloverleaf was a thing of true beauty and, most importantly for Todd, had been built for speed.

Its unblemished interior sparkled. It was all leather, steel and chrome, with the very latest in modern gadgetry set into the dashboard. Our chauffeur didn’t even need to crank the engine to get it started. He merely turned the ignition and it hummed into life, like a spell had been cast over it. Delilah bounded up into the passenger seat and barked for me to join them.

Clearly elated at the prospect of the journey before us, Todd eased the car out of the barn, with all the tenderness of a father encouraging his child’s first steps.

“I reckon she could hit eighty miles an hour on a straight,” he informed me, but I don’t know anything about cars, or velocity for that matter, so I smiled and nodded. I climbed into the hollowed-out rear seat and Todd roared along the gravel lane to the main drive.

Chapter Twenty-One

Grandfather was already waiting for us at the front of the house and a look of wonder crossed his face, which was only rivalled by his chauffeur’s.

“That’s more like it!” he said, practically running over to board the stunning vessel. “Good choice, Todd. Away we go.”

Our driver turned to wink at me, and I didn’t mind him taking the credit. I was slightly less happy that big, fluffy Delilah decided to jump on top of me in the back seat to spend the journey whipping me with her tail.

But, oh what joy it was to speed down those English lanes in the unexpected heat of early June! With the cover drawn back and the wind in our hair, we felt like the gods of Olympus taking flight from the Earth. It was enough to make me forget the terrible things we’d witnessed over the last twenty-four hours and trust once more that everything was right with the world. Sadly, there were rather a lot of flies about that day and the ones that didn’t end up in my eyes, went straight down my throat. Delilah did not seem troubled by them and let out yelps of glee the whole way there.

Though protected by his driving goggles, Grandfather had lost his initial buzz of excitement and seemed perturbed by our situation once more. His visage was not the easiest to read. It was hard to tell whether he was reliving Maitland and Belinda’s deaths, working through his hypotheses on the case, or preparing for the interview he was about to embark on.

“We’ll go to Langford House first, Milord,” Todd explained. “If Cora isn’t there, we can always drive on to Holly Tree Cottage.”

He was distracted for a moment before finding his reply. “Very good, Todd. I need to have a word with my sister-in-law anyway. Whether the old thing will make a jot of sense is another matter.”

Langford House was one of the minor residences in the Cranley family’s possession. It had been occupied throughout its history by spinsters and dowagers. When her husband died in the First Boer War, Clementine was shipped out of Cranley Hall to make her home there. I have no doubt it was once a grand building, but it had fallen into decline under her stewardship.

The façade of the grey stone property was patchy and crumbling. The garden, which my great-aunt had once kept immaculate, was now overgrown. There were leaves and fruit still rotting on the ground since last autumn and the whole place looked like it needed a good clean. Yet, there was something charming about the scene that made me miss my own family home. It suited the nice old lady who lived there and, no matter what anyone might think of her mental state, I could imagine enjoying the life she had.

There was a Crossley 19.6 was parked beside of the house and, racing ahead of us, Delilah soon found Cora taking tea with her grandmother in the wild back garden.

“Beautiful weather for ducks,” Clementine called across to us as we made our way