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

“This is just the first stage, Chrissy. I have so many ideas for what comes next.” Well-hidden behind his impressive whiskers, his mouth betrayed no signs of happiness, but his eyes were wide. “When I was a child, this estate was the jewel of the county. My family were famous for the balls they hosted and we will be once more.”

I had to ask myself what possible role I could have in any of this. Luckily, he read my mind.

“I’ll be overseeing the restoration of course. If I close my eyes, I can see exactly how this place was fifty years ago and how it will be again very soon.” He came to a halt and I could tell that he was away with his memories until something pulled him back to the present day. “What I need from you is to organise the party itself. You’ll have to think about what food we provide and what sort of entertainment there will be.”

“Can I choose the music?” My voice went up sharply as I gave away how excited this made me. As the elder child, my brother had always been the one to decide which concerts our family attended, which records we listened to on Father’s gramophone and even which band played at my sixteenth birthday party.

“That’s right.” The ends of his ice-white moustache jerked up a little. “What sort of music do young people listen to these days? In my day it was all Wagner. I used to go crazy for the chap and my parents couldn’t stand him, I…” He stopped speaking then. I think my eyes might have glazed over – as is the right of any adolescent when an older relative starts reminiscing about their youth.

“I suppose you’ll want some sort of band.” He pronounced the final word in a long, disdainful manner as if it were a terrible insult. “But I’m warning you now, I won’t tolerate too much shimmying and shaking. I like to think I have a modern view of the world, but there’s progress and there’s outright bedlam…”

He could see that I’d faded out of the conversation again and stopped himself to affirm, “Yes, you can choose the music.”

It was my turn to clap my hands together. “Thank you, grandfather. I won’t disappoint you.”

“Make sure that you don’t.” Lord Edgington was a pacer and, now that my initial duties were established, he set off in the direction of the Italian gardens to consider what else needed to be done. “We’ll have to make up a list of who to invite of course. I doubt many of my old friends are alive these days but perhaps we’ll be lucky.”

I felt I should be taking notes as he hurried off in front of me. “Will all the family be there?”

I managed to catch up and he reflected for a moment before answering. “Of course they will. Still, I wish your great-aunt Clementine would stay at home. The woman could sleep for England and she’s barely got a wit left in her head.”

A thought occurred to me then which made me panic. “Grandfather, if it’s not too impertinent to ask, when exactly were you thinking that we might-”

“Really, Christopher.” He came to a stop in front of the large, oval reflecting pool. “You’ll never get anywhere in this world by mumbling.” He sounded like my father.

I fought my nerves to get the question out. “When will the ball be taking place?”

“The first weekend in June, of course. When else would we have a spring ball?”

“But that’s-”

“Three weeks, yes.” He sounded like he relished the challenge. “Plenty of time to get this place looking… what’s that word you young people like?”

I had no idea what he was talking about. “Nice?”

“Spiffing; that’s the one.” I believe there was an actual smile on his face right then.

Personally, I don’t think there’s anything more embarrassing than when adults attempt to sound like they’re still young. I was busy trying not to hyperventilate though and didn’t have time to worry about such a minor detail.

“Three weeks?” I managed to exhale.

My eccentric forebear threw his hands in the air like an over-dramatic continental type. “Exactly. And what an adventure it will be.”

I steadied myself by sitting on a bench only for Delilah to immediately launch herself onto my lap. She gazed at me with a look of great sorrow and I knew that she understood exactly how I felt. I might possibly, conceivably (but probably not) have told my grandfather how insane his plan sounded but then his arms dropped to his waist and his good cheer dissipated.

“I don’t understand what I was thinking, locking myself away all this time.” He stood with his back to me. I didn’t have to see his face to know that there was a reserve of sadness running through him. “After Katy died and then the war took its toll, I just…”

Delilah jumped off me to comfort her master and I decided to do the same. Well, not the rubbing myself against his ankles part, but by finding a way to hearten him.

“Three weeks will be just the right amount of time to get ready for the ball.” I’m a terribly unconvincing liar and my voice came out in a crackle. “Cranley Hall will be beautiful and it will be a day that none of us will forget.”

He pursed his lips together, and kept his eyes on the enormous stone edifice before us. The eastern façade of the hall looked like Zeus had kicked it from the top of Mount Olympus to land in a pretty garden in the south of England.

He responded with a soothing lie of his own. “That’s right, Christopher. It will be child’s play. We must simply put our heads down and seize the moment.”

It was around then that I realised just how much I’d missed him. I was only six when he’d retreated from the world. I’d already lost my grandmother