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

was storming with the evidence of my father’s wickedness. I saw him running around the house to put the cyanide in the champagne in order to inherit Grandfather’s estate for himself, before slipping back into the ballroom. I imagined how he could have accessed the armoury in order to murder his brother-in-law and continue with his plan. I thought about his dark moods over the last few months as investment after investment in the City tumbled. Could my distant but gentle father really be capable of murder?

Accepting that he was willing to kill his wife, sons and wider family was not an easy thing to do and so I distracted myself by focussing on my grandfather’s words.

“It’s that Adelaide boy loitering in my house that concerns me.”

This came as a surprise and so I told him just that. “When I said that Marmaduke was involved, you told me I was being foolish.”

He made a short hmmm before replying. “No, I told you that we couldn’t jump to conclusions and condemn a man based on the idea he was a born monster. If your school chum is involved, it’s because he thought he could get something out of it or someone forced him to do it. I can tell you for certain that savage bloodlust played no part in these murders. The killer may have taken advantage of the circumstances, but he had a calculated plan. I still don’t think that a boy like Marmaduke Adelaide could be the person we’re looking for.”

As he spoke, my grandfather was paying more attention to this discussion than the speed we were travelling at. I could see from the steel dashboard that we were shooting along at way over sixty miles per hour. My father had never broken forty in our Bentley and was so protective of his favourite toy that he got nervous taking it out of the drive.

As the wind attacked my hair, I experienced a mix of fear, excitement and nausea. To be perfectly honest I’m not sure that humans are designed to travel at such a clip and it’s probably not too healthy for the brain. I clung onto Delilah for dear life.

“Perhaps that’s it!” I was beginning to think that detective work came to me naturally after all. “Perhaps someone forced Marmaduke to come to the ball and poison us. His father is the obvious suspect, but George brought him; maybe he’s involved.”

My grandfather didn’t respond so I continued. “What if George owes Mr Adelaide a chunk of dough-”

“Must you really use slang, Christopher?” he interrupted. “There’s a perfectly good word for money, it’s money. I do find such linguistic barbarity offensive.”

I tried to board my train of thought once more. “Oh… Sorry, Grandfather. But suppose that George is in debt to Horatio Adelaide – a man you arrested more than once – who sent his son to the ball to get even? Marmaduke could have acted as a lookout while George did the deed. We know he spilt his champagne. If it weren’t for Belinda’s impatience, he’d have been the only one not to drink.”

Grandfather bit his lip and pushed the Aston Martin faster along the smooth tarmacadam road. The sunlight cut through the trees we were passing under and the warm breeze seemed to will us back home to Cranley.

“Weren’t you the one who pointed out how obvious his guilt would be if George was the only man left standing as we dropped about him like flies?” He had to shout to be heard by this point and I thought his choice of simile rather insensitive considering the bombardment Todd was enduring in the back seat. “And besides, if it was money George was after, he could have killed me and been done with it. I’m not going to suggest that his mother was an easy person to get along with, but I refuse to believe he would have murdered her and our whole family without necessity.”

Todd leaned forward from the back seat. He looked oddly green. “Milord, are you sure you want to be driving like that? There’s a bend ahead and you’re pushing seventy.”

Unruffled, Grandfather looked back over his shoulder with an enigmatic smile. “Oh, have some faith, man. It’s not the first time I’ve driven an automobile, you know!”

He put his head down like a racing driver as we approached a twisting chicane. I felt like closing my eyes, but it was impossible to look away. Sadly, my grandfather didn’t have any such qualms and turned to address me.

“I should never have locked myself away from the world for all those years. There is so much to do and I’ve so many wonders still to experience. My dear Katherine wouldn’t have wanted me to surrender like that.”

“Grandfather, the road!”

He winked at me and we flew through the bend with barely a tap of the brake.

“This is the stuff!” he said, before emitting a joyful whistle.

When we pulled up at the house, Todd and I remained in our seats in traumatised silence. Grandfather did not seem concerned.

“Todd,” he muttered, climbing from the vehicle to gaze at it with appreciation. “If you happened to hear anything that the boy and I were discussing, I’m sure you’ll keep it to yourself. There’s a good chap.”

He dusted down his cuffs and turned towards the house with Delilah at his heel. “Come along, Christopher. There’s a fugitive on the premises and the matter of some murders to solve. We’ve no time to waste.”

I’ve never ridden a camel, but imagine that it’s a less than comfortable experience. On arriving at my ancestral home, I felt as though I’d crossed the Sahara on one of the wretched beasts. I climbed carefully out of the car and had to check my legs were still functioning. After a few cautious steps, I followed the old man inside.

We might just as well have taken the tradesman’s entrance, as Grandfather headed straight towards the kitchen where the staff were convened for their early lunch.

“No, no,