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

“I’d rather have a bow-wow, wow, wow, wow, wow.” The confidence had gone from her voice and she finally looked up at her inquisitor.

“There were any number of substances which could have done the job. Though, from the floral adornment to your dress that night, I assume that you crushed delphinium seeds in the whisky you poured Fellowes when the inspector called us together in the smoking room. The house was swamped with the darned flowers after Christopher ordered so many to decorate the ball.”

Grandfather cast me a brief glance then turned his attention back to the killer. “With the amount of time you once spent tending to your gardens at Langford House, I dare say you learnt a fair bit about horticulture and even pharmacology. Enough to extract cyanide from greengage stones, at least. Everyone knows that apple pips contain amygdalin, but those innocent-looking plums in your garden are many times deadlier if prepared correctly.

“But poisoning Fellowes was a fruitless act; I’d already spoken to him before he got sick. If anything, it provided me with the evidence I needed to prove your guilt. Though I didn’t see the significance at the time, delphiniums cause irritation to the skin and you blackened your fingers when you extracted the seeds. Again it was Christopher who had spotted the grubby marks when we visited you the following day.”

All eyes jumped to Clementine’s hands and, in a moment of self-consciousness, she hid the now dark bruises beneath the table cloth.

“And I have to give it to you, shooting Maitland certainly threw me off your trail. I’m sure that the years you spent taking archery classes with your granddaughter made you a whiz with a crossbow and I should have considered you more carefully. Instead, I delved into Maitland’s life, his debts, dalliances and dilemmas, but it could have been anyone you shot out there. You didn’t care who you hurt, as long as we couldn’t trace the murders back to you. You killed Maitland and poisoned Fellowes just to cover your trail.”

He allowed the words to linger and we watched as Clementine searched the room for someone to defend her.

Her granddaughter would not be that person. “How could you, Grandmother? How could you be so evil?”

My mother was just as shocked. “How could you possess so much hatred for your own family?”

“I…” Clementine screeched, but the sound faded out again just as abruptly.

Grandfather hadn’t finished. “You went all those years without your mask slipping, but you made a mistake. By pushing Walter as the culprit when we spoke at your house, you were too alert, too aware of what had occurred on the night of Belinda’s death for the rest of your mumming to hold true.”

He stopped for a moment and looked almost impressed by her. “If you’d simply planted Walter’s cigar ash in the armoury and hidden the second crossbow beneath his bed before you murdered Maitland, I might have believed your ruse. But you pushed your advantage and gave yourself away. So, I’ll ask you again, for how long have you been playing the part of the helpless old lady?”

The cycle of emotions she’d been going through had reached an unexpected conclusion. She jutted out her chin, sat up in her chair and was suddenly a different person. “Oh, I’d say I’ve been at it for about a decade. I found that people were so quick to dismiss an old widow that I could get away with all sorts. In fact, it started not so very long before your dear wife Katherine died.” In the light of the chandelier, a malevolent glint sparkled in her eyes.

I gasped then as a realisation settled within me. There were no more surprises to come; Clementine was our killer and she was entirely unrepentant for what she’d done. I turned to my grandfather to see the look of horror on his face. He gripped the edge of the table as though he could no longer support his own weight. His utter dejection was mirrored in Cora’s, but neither said a word. The reality they were facing was too terrible to bear.

“But why?” George managed to ask on their behalf, before his jaw fell slack.

“Tell us!” I whispered, my voice shaking.

Clementine’s gaze hadn’t left my grandfather and the corners of her mouth turned up proudly. “You took my whole life from me and so I took your wife from you. I put a little aconitine in dear Kathryn’s tea one day, when she oh so generously came round for a visit. She was back at home with you when her symptoms began and almost dead by the time the doctor could diagnose a heart attack. I poisoned the woman you treasured and you, the great Superintendent Edgington, suspected nothing.”

Her words had silenced the room once more. I had never witnessed such contempt. The only comfort I could find was that, one way or another, the wretched creature would die in gaol.

“I thought that my retribution was complete when you retreated from the world, but alas you would not stay dead.” As she was speaking, she pulled her glass of wine close to her. I failed to realise her purpose but my grandfather saw it immediately.

“Fellowes, stop her!” He shouted and the butler shot forward to wrestle the glass away.

Her conceited attitude had dissipated and she let out a doleful cry. “No. Let me die!”

My mother gripped the old woman’s bony wrist so that a small paper sachet, of what I had to assume was cyanide, dropped from her grasp. She looked at her aunt in disgust and delivered her staccato response one condemnatory word at a time. “You deserve no such mercy.”

“I didn’t steal your life from you,” Grandfather took a step forward to direct his comment at Clementine. “My brother’s death was a tragedy and I’m sorry that my parents were so old-fashioned that they wouldn’t allow his widow and child