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

“You see, far from contradicting the possibility of his guilt and providing him with an alibi for the second killing, it was Fellowes’s apparent poisoning which gave me the evidence I needed.” Another big pause, as I felt I deserved a moment of glory. “That’s right, our loyal servant poisoned himself!”

This was the discovery which had changed everything for me. George, Mother, Clementine and, well, pretty much everyone in fact let out an astonished gasp. Emboldened by my success, I was just about to hammer my point home when Grandfather interrupted.

“Wait, wait, wait!” I bet he wished he’d kept hold of his napkin to throw it down dramatically just then. “I’m afraid I have to interrupt you, Christopher. You’ve got it all wrong.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Our eyes locked onto one another’s, but I wasn’t giving up so easily.

“I’m sorry, Grandfather, but they’re guilty as sin. You couldn’t understand why the killer used one poison for the family and another for your butler, but that was because it was never meant to kill him. Not only did it make us assume his innocence, it gave Cora – the expert archer – an alibi at the time that Maitland was shot. Think about it for one moment. I saw her running from the armoury immediately after he died, what if she hadn’t been visiting her sickly beau but, in actual fact, was the person who’d pulled the trigger?”

In the end, it wasn’t my grandfather who contradicted me, but his old rival.

“Hold on there a second, son.” Blunt raised one finger enquiringly. “But what exactly do you think your uncle saw them doing before your aunt died? You haven’t explained that.”

“They killed him because…” These interruptions had injected any amount of doubt into my mind and I struggled to get my thoughts in order. “Because… Well, he must have caught them with the poison, mustn’t he?”

The inspector made a clicking sound with his cheeks. “Nope. I interviewed Maitland Cranley on the night of his sister’s murder and he didn’t say anything about Miss Villiers.”

When Grandfather spoke, his voice was far kinder than I could have hoped. “If Maitland had caught the killer in the act, he would have told the police immediately.”

“But I heard them talking this afternoon, Cora said that you were putty in her hands and Fellowes told her he didn’t want to do anything to jeopardise their position, I swear-”

“I was talking about my job here at Cranley, you eavesdropper,” the butler interrupted, sounding more than a little sore that I’d accused him of a double murder. “I was worried about being fired after your grandfather found out about my relationship with his great-niece!”

This response cut a hole through me (and my argument) and I fell back into my chair. My theory, which had seemed so solid just moments earlier, now lay in pieces. The certainty that I had possessed had deserted me and I had to wonder how I could have got it all so wrong.

My grandfather addressed the party to cover my embarrassment. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I offered my assistant on this case a chance to present his own, independent solution and I think we can agree that he made an awfully good job of it.”

No one seemed very impressed by my attempt. George rolled his eyes and knocked back his wine, Clementine was singing ‘Daddy Wouldn’t Buy me a Bow-Wow’ and trying to get my father to join in and Cora had broken down in tears to be comforted by her loving (and not the slightest bit murderous) partner.

“I will now reveal the true circumstances that led to my son and daughter’s tragic deaths,” Grandfather continued. “You see-”

“I’ll tell you the true circumstances that led to their deaths,” Blunt interrupted, his voice full of disgust as he mimicked my grandfather. “Walter Prentiss murdered them!” He let the accusation bounce from wall to wall before laying out his case. “Your son-in-law is up to his eyeballs in debt and decided that the only way out of it was to access the money you’ve been keeping to yourself like Silas Marner all these years.”

Such a highbrow literary reference was rather unexpected coming from a man like Inspector Blunt. Not that I thought that at the time. Right then, I was thinking, how dare you say such things about my father!

“Circumstantial evidence at best, Blunt,” Grandfather told him. “I would hope you could do better than that.”

The little man leaned forward into the light of the electric chandelier and his hairless dome glistened as he anticipated his response. “How about the crossbow in his room? The room which just happened to overlook the scene of the second murder?”

“Were there any fingerprints on it?” My grandfather had fired a shot across the inspector’s bow and I could tell there was more to come.

Blunt wrinkled up his nose. “Well… no there weren’t none, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved. Just means he wore gloves, don’t it?”

Grandfather adopted a loftier tone, which was only ever going to infuriate his adversary. “Like Christopher, you’ve made a good attempt at making the evidence fit your theory, but it’s not enough. The crossbow under Walter’s bed was not the murder weapon for one thing and the only reason that my son-in-law left the party was to escape his insufferable mother.”

My father gasped. “How on Earth did you know that?”

“Anyone who’s spent five minutes in the presence of that woman could have guessed.”

Blunt wore a chastised frown but wasn’t giving up. “Typical toffs sticking up for one another. I tell you now, you won’t get away with a cover-up.”

Grandfather was well armed with his reply. “It’s no conspiracy, man. Just eat your pie and listen to what really transpired.”

George let out a whistle and, despite the fact our butler had his arms around the man’s cousin, he motioned for Fellowes to fill his glass. Like a spider spinning a web, Horatio Adelaide had been biding his time, carefully listening to each new