Murder at the Spring Ball: A 1920s Mystery Read online

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by Benedict Brown

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  First edition March 2021

  Cover design by [email protected]

  Contents

  The Cranley Family Tree

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Read Lord Edgington’s next adventure

  “Lord Edgington Investigates…”

  About this Book

  The “Murder at the Spring Ball” Cocktail

  Acknowledgements

  About Me

  For my father, Kevin,

  who I hope would have liked this book an awful lot.

  The Cranley Family Tree

  Chapter One

  Surrey, England,

  1925

  It must be strange to know that everyone in the room wishes you were dead.

  My grandfather sat very straight in the stiff, high-backed chair where he’d been resting for the last ten years. It wasn’t just our immediate family who’d come to celebrate the old man’s birthday. Every last rat had scuttled out from under the skirting boards. Every cousin and nephew, niece and nobody from within the ranks was there to pay their respects to Lord Edgington of Cranley Hall.

  The unappealing collection of playboys and charlatans, spinsters and spoilt brats sat waiting for something to happen. We sipped our tea politely, hoping that someone would break the silence. Inevitably, it was my Aunt Belinda who finally did.

  “Such a lovely party.” She did not sound sure of herself, and my grandfather let out a huff that was only perceptible thanks to his prodigious moustache ruffling in the resultant breeze.

  “Yes, quite lovely,” her portly brother rushed to agree. “And it’s incredible to think that you’re seventy-five, father. You don’t look a day over…” The sentence faded away without resolution. Presumably my sycophantic Uncle Maitland had failed to think up an age that would sound both flattering and realistic.

  My great-aunt Clementine had fallen asleep in the corner and let out a single grunted snore, which made the atmosphere in the room all the more uncomfortable. Following in its wake, the only sounds were the clinking of teaspoons on porcelain and the ticking of the gigantic clock beside the door. Even Grandfather’s ageing retriever wasn’t enjoying herself and rolled onto her side, apparently ready to give up the ghost.

  With so many expectant heirs on hand, it was a tight squeeze in the old man’s sitting room. My rakish cousin George had made sure to get a seat close to the front and, as second in line to the Cranley family fortune, looked keen to discover why our grandfather had called everyone together for the first time in a decade.

  There were piles of cakes and sundries on offer, but they remained largely untouched. Cranley Hall’s cook was well known for the eccentricity of her culinary creations, and, while Lord Edgington adored them, it turned out that haddock and honey sandwiches were not to everyone’s taste.

  “Ahem…?” Our butler Fellowes cleared his throat to get his master’s attention.

  The birthday boy continued to stare out of the window, down past the lake and across the expansive grounds of his estate. Perhaps concerned that her father had finally lost his senses, my mother frowned, just as he turned to look at us with a sudden snap of the head.

  “I’m not planning on dying just yet.” His cold, grey eyes surveyed the crowd, and he spoke through resolute lips.

  There was no reaction at first, except for a distracted sigh from my big brother, who was still recovering from his last ill-fated romance. A few guests looked at their neighbours to confirm that they really had heard Lord Edgington’s pronouncement, but then he spoke again.

  “I know what you’re all thinking and you’re wrong.” His sonorous voice boomed through the floor like a minor earthquake. He stood up without a wobble and gasps went up around the room as if Lazarus had risen for the second time. “My days are not yet numbered and I still have plenty of living to do.”

  As the esteemed former police superintendent stood imposingly before us, the assembled leeches failed to smother their moans of disappointment.

  “Really, father,” my beak-nosed Aunt interjected, “no one could possibly think-”

  Our host’s gaze fell upon his eldest daughter. “Belinda, I’ve been sitting here mourning your mother for long enough. As much as you’d like me to do the honourable thing and shuffle off this mortal coil, I’m afraid I have other ideas.”

  The notoriously impertinent butler let out a brief, caustic laugh. This elicited a curl of the lip from Uncle Maitland, a squat, middle-aged man, who was forever dressed in a Norfolk jacket and hunting cap.

  My grandfather didn’t seem to notice and continued with his speech. “I still have a lot I want to do with my life. Starting with this place.” He glanced around the room as though he were taking in the faded décor for the first time in years. “Cranley isn’t what it used to be. It’s high time I did something to bring the house back to life – back to the way it was when my beloved Katherine was still with us.”

  “Well, I say, jolly good!” my father proclaimed with a clap of his hands, and received several stern looks for his trouble.

  Grandfather nodded his appreciation before explaining further. “I’ve spent the last few months wondering if I’d ever find the strength to break free from this room, but the moment has come.” He tugged his waistcoat down to straighten it before announcing the first of his elaborate plans. “It’s been twenty years since we had a real party at Cranley, and I’m going to throw one.”

  This led to a murmur of speculation and several excited squeaks from younger members of the family. Even my brother Albert looked a little more cheerful as a party meant the promise of new young ladies, who would break his heart all over again. My mother smiled up proudly at her distinguished father, but her siblings clearly did not approve of the announcement.

  “Real
ly, Daddy,” Belinda began, “are you sure you’ve thought this through?”

  Lord Edgington’s voice rose to become a short poke in the ribs of everyone present. “I certainly have.” He nodded to his butler, who stepped forward to place an ancient magnum of champagne on the occasional table in front of his master. “Katherine and I were given this on our wedding day and spent our lives waiting for the right moment to drink it. I don’t want to be like this old bottle gathering dust anymore. I want to fulfil my potential, so I’ve finally thought up a reason to pop the cork.”

  My uncle was up next, with a sceptical question of his own. “But a party? Don’t you think it’s all a bit much (at your age)?” He didn’t actually say these last few words, but the meaning was clear.

  The look which Lord Edgington directed at his son spoke volumes. “No. I do not. Cranley Hall always hosted a spring ball when I was a child, so I’m reviving the tradition. I have a clear idea in my head of how I would like it to be, and all I need is someone to help me make it a reality.”

  The sedate atmosphere in the room vanished as ambitious fathers pushed their offspring forward to be the lord’s assistant and mothers delivered stirring appraisals of their preferred candidate’s suitability. The opportunity to curry favour with the wealthy old patriarch, in what were surely his final years on the planet, was too good to pass up.

  Grandfather soon silenced them. “I’ve already made my decision.” His gaze passed over disappointed faces, searching for his chosen relative. “My grandson Christopher will be helping me.”

  All eyes turned to the back corner of the room, where I was daring myself to eat one of Cook’s appetisers.

  “Christopher?” Father asked.

  “Our Christopher?” Mother sought to confirm, her face mirroring her husband’s for incredulity.

  “That’s right.” Lord Edgington straightened his back and looked at me with a knowing smile. “Christopher will be perfect.”

  I froze with my mouth open and, for a moment, no one made a sound. A chunk of mustard-coated turnip made a break for freedom from my sandwich and, as it landed with a splat on the thick Chinese carpet, all hell broke loose.

  Chapter Two

  “I don’t understand it,” my brother complained, once the furious crowds had dispersed and we were back in my large, opulent but blood-chillingly cold bedroom in the east wing of Cranley Hall. “I would make the most wonderful assistant. Why didn’t grandfather choose me?” Albert collapsed dramatically into an armchair and put his hand to his head.

  “We’re not entirely sure.” My father still looked puzzled on the matter. “Perhaps… Perhaps the old fellow…”

  “I’ve no doubt there’s a very good reason for why Daddy chose Christopher. Perhaps…” My mother was usually quick to smooth things over, but even she struggled to come up with an explanation. “Perhaps Daddy felt sorry for him.”

  They looked in my direction, but I was ignoring them. A flash of colour suggested there was a redstart in the rose garden and I had my binoculars at the ready in case he should pop back out.

  “First Evangeline snubs me for ‘Porky’ Cumberland and now this.” My brother managed to swoon even deeper into his seat.

  The redstart turned out to be a plain old robin and I decided it was time to stick up for myself.

  “Or perhaps grandfather saw the potential in me that you’ve all failed to notice.” I was chomping on a banana and horseradish sandwich. I have to say that it wasn’t nearly as bad as it sounds. “This might come as a shock, but it’s just possible that I was the best candidate.”

  The two hairy caterpillars who lived on father’s forehead wriggled closer together and he tried to look cheerful. “You’re right, Christopher. That’s the only explanation.”

  My mother’s face brightened. “Of course. That must be it, but …” She wasn’t sure where to go from there. “Well, you hide your gifts so well, don’t you, darling? Evidently your grandfather has wormed them out of you.”

  I was used to such backhanded compliments from my family – and my teachers, friends and casual acquaintances for that matter. It’s true that I was no genius and had yet to find the field in which I would excel, but I was still only sixteen. I was just starting out in the world and you shouldn’t write a good man off before he’s had the chance to do so himself.

  Sitting in a Directoire-style chair beside the unlit fireplace, my father used his businessman’s instincts to cut to the chase. “So, what did the old chap tell you about this plan of his?”

  The truth is that I was as much in the dark about grandfather’s announcement as any of them. “Well, nothing.”

  In contrast to my father, Mother is a poet and likes to take her time. She contemplated the conundrum before replying with, “It’s very nice of you to be so loyal and keep it under your hat, but he must have said something to you.”

  I was fairly certain she was wrong. “No, he didn’t.”

  Albert narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “When didn’t he say anything?”

  I smiled. “Quite often actually.”

  “Listen here, Christopher.” My father walked over to the window and put one hand on my shoulder. “When was the last time your grandfather spoke to you?”

  “I’d say… Yes, I think it was in 1915. Just before Grandmother died.”

  The three of them stared at me like I had a dollop of banana on my face.

  Mother broke through their astonishment. “Ten years ago? How is that possible?”

  “You’re telling me you’ve been living here for the last six months and he hasn’t uttered a word to you?” Father sounded rather angry on my behalf.

  “That’s right.” I was grinning by now. “Since I arrived at Cranley Hall, the old man hasn’t left his suite and he’s never once called for me. It’s awfully hard to have a conversation when, until today, we were never in the same room.”

  My family had returned to their gawping, but I was saved by a knock at the door.

  Fellowes didn’t wait to be admitted and strolled right in. “Lord Edgington wishes to see Chrissy.” With his gruff delivery, not only did Grandfather’s most loyal servant not sound like a butler, he also didn’t look like one. Short and skinny with a scar under his left eye, he was unusually scruffy at the best of times. I once saw him wandering through Cranley Hall with his shirttails flapping loose. Still in his thirties, he was also younger than most such retainers and swaggered about like he thought he was Don Juan.

  My parents’ stunned reaction told me that they had no idea how to reply to such a request. Fellowes had already left the room, so I hurried out after him.

  “‘Ere, what’s wrong with your brother?” he asked when we drew level in the corridor.

  I’d spent enough time with the man to not be offended by his lack of manners, or the fact that he let his true South-London accent emerge when we were alone together.

  “Albert’s still nursing his wounded pride after Evangeline De Vere refused to go to the university ball with him.”

  The butler wore a perplexed expression. “Nah, not what’s wrong with ‘im today. Why’s he always such a wet blanket? He goes about with a face like an orphaned monkey.” He laughed like he really enjoyed his own joke.

  “I think it must be hard being the firstborn son,” I attempted to explain. “There are a lot of expectations to live up to. Or at least, that’s what Father says.”

  The conversation tailed off as we both chewed this over. Crossing Cranley Hall can take quite some time and the quarters where I stay when not at boarding school are about as far from my Grandfather’s suite as he could have put me. We cut across the water garden, then traversed the two-hundred-yard corridor in the western wing with its black and white chessboard tiles and endless selection of Cranley family portraits. When we reached the stairs up to his rooms, we did not turn off as I’d been expecting but carri
ed straight on.

  We passed the odd, lingering relative along the way. Great-Aunt Clementine had found a new spot in the smoking room to snooze in and her granddaughter, the young, pretty, ultra-modern Cora Villiers, was puffing on a large cigar. She shot Fellowes a distrustful look as we passed and I gave her an inappropriately cheery wave in return. In the grand salon, Uncle Maitland and his two snobby children were having an argument and some chap who looked like a pigeon (plump, sallow and rather hungry) was sizing up an expensive vase as we made our way towards the ballroom.

  I have to say that I was taken aback to see my grandfather roaming the house. The last time I’d seen him anywhere but his own suite was at Grandma’s funeral. Her sudden death in her sixties had profoundly affected him and yet, there he was in all his brittle elegance; lord and legendary police superintendent, proudly surveying his domain.

  “Fellowes,” Aunt Belinda growled as she passed us in the other direction. “See if you can talk some sense into the old fool!” It was my auntie who had been the most aggressive in the ruckus that had followed Grandfather’s announcement. She’d looked at me like I was trying to steal the food off her only son’s plate.

  Fellowes put on an innocent smile and bowed his head to her. She scowled in my direction, then slunk from the room.

  “The boy,” the butler told my grandfather. “As requested, Milord.”

  I’d often wondered exactly why it was that the renowned Lord Edgington would put up with such un-butlerish behaviour from a servant. At the time, though, I didn’t have the guts to look my grandfather in the eyes, let alone ask him such a question.

  “Jolly good,” he said, without turning around. “Fellowes, you must tell Violet that she and the family are to stay an extra night. Make up the dining room and we can eat there all together.”

  Fellowes looked surprised. “The dining room, Milord? Not in your suite?”

  “That’s what I said, man!” Grandfather’s temper flashed like a cracking whip. “Now run along and do as instructed.”

  Fellowes squeaked back across the shiny floor, and we stood in silence, appreciating that fine spring afternoon through the French windows. A gardener was trimming the hedgerows in the distance with a rhythmic snipping of his shears, and a breeze ruffled the oaks over in the wood. If I’d been alone, I might have closed my eyes and drifted away with the music of nature, but, instead, I tensed all my muscles and waited for my grandfather to address me.