Murder at the Spring Ball: A 1920s Mystery by Benedict Brown (simple ebook reader txt) 📕

the most recently acquired, but it made me feel like a king every time I sat in the back seat for Todd to drive us off the school grounds.

“Oh no you don’t,” he complained. “Sit in the front with me. We need to talk.”

In his green livery and cap, Grandfather’s driver had a steady, competent manner about him and it was hard to refuse. He was the youngest male member of staff too and the best spoken by far. He could have easily fitted in with my brother’s friends in fact, had Albert not viewed all servants as a different class of human being.

I climbed into the passenger seat and he started the engine.

“You need to stand up to people like that chap.” He kept his eyes on the road but prodded at me with the words.

“That’s easier said than done. I don’t think I’m really cut out for… fisticuffs.” I had managed to land on the most juvenile word available.

“Then I’ll give you a few pointers.” He smiled and we drove through the Oakton Academy gates. “I did a bit of boxing when I was your age and I can’t tell you the confidence it gave me.”

I made an appreciative sound but inside I was wondering what could be worse than the sight of chubby little me in shorts and boxing gloves, coming up against Todd the stocky stallion.

He laughed briefly and we spent the rest of the journey in silence. Well, not total silence. My eye was throbbing in time with the second hand on my wristwatch and I let out the odd whimper. I’d never experienced such acute and absolute agony before and couldn’t wait to run to the ice house at Cranley to fetch a cold piece of meat to relieve the pain.

Chapter Seven

“It is not a question of who the money belongs to, Father. It’s a matter of principle.” Dressed as ever in his hunting jacket and cap, Uncle Maitland had returned with his sister to make one final attempt to derail the celebrations.

“This is your absolute last chance,” Belinda announced, as Todd brought the car to a halt at the front of the property. “Call off the ball or we’ll contact every last guest ourselves.”

Surveying the completed work as labourers packed their horse and cart with the last remnants of the scaffolding, Grandfather was not intimidated by the threats.

“How many times do we have to go over the same ridiculous arguments?” Severely unimpressed, he turned his concrete gaze on his two eldest children. “No one is trying to do you out of your inheritance, nor have my actions besmirched the family’s good name. I just want to entertain our friends and let my hair down.”

Aunt Belinda, who had lived her life with her hair particularly high on her head, looked horrified by the very idea. “Let your hair down?” She made a low, guttural noise in her throat to express her distaste. “A man your age shouldn’t even know such a term, let alone put it into practice.”

I got out of the car and tried to head inside without being noticed.

“That’s not the issue.” Maitland immediately extended his index finger in my direction. “I need you to tell me what you intend to do with that boy and why he has won favour here at Cranley!”

My grandfather looked exhausted, and I disappeared inside before they could blame me for all their worldly woes. The last thing I heard was Belinda demanding that her caddish son George came to live with Grandfather as tribute. I’d always known she was old-fashioned but it turned out that some of her ideas were positively mediaeval.

Away from their squabbling, I was free to take in the transformation that had taken place in three short weeks. Cranley Hall had been cleaned, buffed and polished from top to bottom. The smell of dust and ageing furniture, which I expected to encounter on entering the building, had been replaced by the scent of beeswax and lavender. The normally unwelcoming entrance hall, with its stuffed animals and framed horrors, suddenly seemed brighter. Its portraits of bloody biblical scenes now took on a heroic quality which I’d never appreciated before.

Though the builders had left the property as promised, they’d been replaced by a host of new faces. The ball was only a day away and my team of party-planning assistants were already hard at work. Pretty young ladies in smart, white outfits, who looked like the secretaries at father’s work, were rushing down corridors with chairs and decorations to distribute. Strapping gentlemen in smart overalls were shifting furniture in the grand salon and I decided against entering the ballroom just then. I wanted to wait until the day itself to witness the improvements that had been made there.

For the first time I could remember, Cranley Hall had come to life. It felt like a patient who had been saved from their fate at the very last moment and would go on to enjoy a full and happy existence. The buzz and bustle of the place, which would only be amplified the following night, had an incredible positivity to it. I seriously doubted that the house had been so busy in decades.

Rather uncannily, everyone seemed to know who I was and smiled at me as I explored this unfamiliar environment that I had known since I was a child. The young ladies soon set upon me with questions of floral arrangements and refreshments.

“Oh, well, I think that whatever you decide will be just perfect,” was my standard response. Normally, when I plump for such vague answers with my family or teachers I get told off for dithering, but these sunny individuals nodded and got to work. It was most refreshing.

Fellowes was at the heart of everything, and looked relieved that I had arrived to take on some of his burden.

“Chrissy!” he shouted, once I had completed the initial part of my duties. “I think there’s something you’d better see.”

The curt retainer offered up a grin