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

can’t prove it,” I had to admit. “There’s no way to say she’s undeniably innocent.”

“Exactly!” He sat down rather proudly on the overlapping notes on his desk. “Do you understand what I’m saying now? We can’t rule out anyone until we can rule them out. And that’s been the problem with this case from the beginning. Too many suspects, too many avenues of thought. Even Maitland, may God rest his soul, can’t be excluded altogether from the investigation.”

He rushed over to me like an arrow from a bow, upending his filing system as he went. “There were sixty guests walking around on Saturday night and I haven’t even been able to eliminate my loony old sister-in-law! That’s how confounding this case is.”

“Very well. Next suspect. What about my father?” I asked, unsure whether I wanted an answer. “You might as well go through everything we’ve got on him too!”

“If you insist.” He smiled sympathetically before delivering the evidence. “Walter hasn’t been doing well in his work. In fact, he’s had to borrow money from me on a number of occasions. But then half of our suspects are in debt to someone and it’s still only circumstantial evidence.”

“The crossbow isn’t,” I replied, finding myself in the odd position of acting as the prosecution in my father’s mock trial. “It was found in his room which itself overlooked the spot where Maitland was shot.”

Grandfather hesitated. “Yes, but Walter wouldn’t have left the murder weapon right there for the police to find it. And, as your mother pointed out, though he’s hunted with a rifle all his life, do you really think he could shoot from that distance with any accuracy?”

This at least presented me with some small relief as my Grandfather became occupied by another tangent in his thoughts. “Our killer is an opportunist; Walter is an out-and-out planner. The killer couldn’t rely on the fact that Fellowes would leave his post, but they must have been aware of who the drinks he was serving were intended for.”

I jumped in with a thought of my own. “So that means they were present on your birthday when you told us about the bottle of champagne from your wedding.”

“That’s right. Which sadly only rules out young Adelaide, and George could have told him. But it’s clear the killer decided on his course of action that day. He prepared or bought the cyanide, carried it along to the ball, then waited for the opportunity to strike. Perhaps if Fellowes hadn’t abandoned his post when he did, our culprit would have found another way to achieve his goal.”

He leaned back on his haunches before continuing. “That notwithstanding, and though I believe the police will show there was poison in every glass of champagne, I can’t overlook the feeling that I was the main target. It was my speech and my celebration in my house after my decade-long hermitage.”

I smiled to myself then, thinking that I really had filled in a good ninety per cent of the outstanding holes in the case. Well… perhaps seventy-five, but I was almost entirely certain of the culprits and decided to prod him in the right direction.

“Of course, if Fellowes was working with another of our suspects, he could have-”

“No, no. That can’t be it.” Becoming weary from crouching for so long, he awkwardly stood back up and walked around the centre of the room in a circle. He cut a trail through the scraps of paper, like a child kicking up autumn leaves. “But it does raise that same question of why he was poisoned.”He came to a stop and gazed at the notes before rushing over to search for one on his desk. “My only theory was that… Now, where did I put it…? There it is. Yes, the only thing I came up with was that our assassin had no qualms about killing two members of the Cranley family but couldn’t bring himself to murder an innocent bystander. That still doesn’t tell us why he wanted Fellowes out of the way in the first place though.”

I’d got caught up in his manic energy and offered an answer. “Perhaps the poison didn’t act fast enough. Perhaps the killer planned to get rid of Fellowes in order to access the champagne, but he only got sick much later.”

He paused long enough to consider this. “Not a bad suggestion, Chrissy. But as the killer knew to use a fast-acting poison in the champagne, surely he’d have found a similarly potent toxin to deal with the butler.” He thought for a moment. “No, it simply has to be something that Fellowes saw on the night of the ball.”

“But we spoke to him, Grandfather. Even before the police arrived, we asked him what he’d seen when he left the drinks room and what was happening outside. He was with Cora and they heard my father running up the steps above them, but there was no one else on that side of the house. George, Maitland and Marmaduke were on the terrace beside the ballroom. Fellowes didn’t see anything.”

He looked at me then like I’d said something incredible. “You little genius!” He shook his head in disbelief and, for a moment, I was worried he was mocking me. “You brilliant boy, I could hug you!”

Before such an awkward outcome could arise, we were interrupted by an unexpected visitor.

“Good afternoon, Milord.”

“Fellowes!” Grandfather raced over to greet his supposedly faithful retainer. “How wonderful that you’re up on your feet again.”

It was painful to see the old man immediately charmed by that wretched character. Whatever instinct my grandfather possessed for judging the angels and demons of a person’s nature had been neutralised by Fellowes’s skilful machinations.

The butler’s brow was creased and he sent a glare in my direction, before replying in a sycophantic tone. “Thank you for your trust and support, Lord Edgington. I can’t say how much it means to me.”

“Good man, good man.” Grandfather rubbed his hands together and shifted his weight from side to