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

been set to inherit Cranley before her husband died and had to make do with the modest existence she’d enjoyed. She’d raised Cora as her own daughter, so the two could have been accomplices. She wasn’t in the ballroom at any point on the evening of the murder, so maybe she was distancing herself from the crime, and…

I’ve no doubt I would have done a grand job at coolly examining the evidence against her (and Fellowes and my own father for that matter) but I’d had two sleepless nights in a row and… well, I nodded off.

I’m sure that just such occurrences happen to the best of detectives. Sherlock Holmes meditates and smokes all sorts of wicked drugs and no one thinks badly of him. I merely had a five-minute snooze. And while I confess that the five minutes became ten, and the ten became minutes four and a half hours, perhaps my brain was working on the case all that time and the truth we were searching for would miraculously reveal itself.

Admittedly, that’s not how things turned out, but I did wake up to an unexpected discovery.

“Chrissy?” The hissed word made it sound as though there was a snake hidden in the darkness. “Chrissy, are you in here?”

Chapter Twenty-Six

My candles had extinguished – as they tend to in such draughty confines – and I could make nothing out in the dim moonlight which cut through the gap in my thick brocade curtains.

“Chrissy? It’s me, Marmaduke.”

Despite my previous speculation on the boy’s innocence, his presence there in my quarters made me instantly nervous and I scrambled about on my side table in search of a match. On striking one, I held it like a cross before a vampire. When the light caught him, it positively ignited the shock of red hair atop his head.

“Why are you here, Adelaide? I don’t want anything to do with you.”

He didn’t seem particularly frightened of my talisman as he sat on the chest at the end of my bed.

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” I’d never heard him so weak or hesitant before. His voice was close to breaking. “I couldn’t exactly walk to the village from here. It must be at least ten miles and there are police cars everywhere.”

“You could always hand yourself in!” I sounded like a young boy squabbling with his brother.

Instead of sniping back at me, Marmaduke looked down at the floor. “I didn’t do anything. I swear I didn’t. I know what everyone thinks of me, but I would never kill another person. It’s just not right.”

Coming to accept that he was not there to attack me, I took the moment to light all three arms of my candelabra before the match could burn my fingers. “What do you want?”

He looked up at me and a rather unexpected smile sprang to his lips. “I told you last night. I need you to talk to your grandfather. You have to convince him that I wasn’t involved in the murder.”

“Murders,” I corrected him, with a snarl. “Why don’t you convince me that you had nothing to do with them, and then we’ll see what Grandfather has to say on the matter?”

He looked shocked then. “Did someone else drink the poison? I swear I didn’t have anything to do with it. You have to believe me.”

I didn’t answer immediately. I thought about the way the great detectives in novels interview their witnesses and decided to keep the news of Maitland’s death close to my chest. If Marmaduke was lying, and knew what had happened that morning, he might yet give himself away.

I shimmied back to lean against the headboard and plumped my pillows theatrically before replying. “Why would I believe a word from your mouth? If people have come to the conclusion that you were involved in my aunt’s murder, it’s because you gave them every reason to. You’re not exactly a sympathetic character.”

He stifled a sob then. “No, you’re wrong about me. I swear.”

Pleased with the impact my words had made, and enjoying a little revenge for the broken noses and twisted wrists he’d doled out to so many of my peers at school, I drove home the advantage. “So then why run away? Why not talk to Lord Edgington yourself? You’re as guilty as Dr Crippen.”

I could see that old anger rise up within him, but then he cut it short.

“I’ll tell you.” He sat up straighter, as if addressing one of our teachers. “But you have to promise that this won’t go any further.”

“I’ll promise nothing.” I have to say that it felt rather wonderful to have so much power over him. For a few moments, I was invincible. “You’re lucky I don’t march downstairs this moment and tell the police that you’re here. At the very least, they could have you up for stealing food from the kitchen.” This was a trivial threat to make and I instantly regretted it.

“Just hear what I have to say before you do anything.” His voice jumped higher. “That’s all I’m asking. If you think I’m lying you can tell the police, but I’ll be long gone by the time they get here.”

I allowed myself a moment to examine him. He was still dressed in his suit from the ball, but it was stained and crumpled and I could only imagine the discomfort he’d suffered spending the night in the gamekeeper’s hut. Even his skin looked grubby and I was amazed at how fast the transformation had occurred.

When I gave no answer, he began his tale. “George owes a lot of money and so I had my father call in a favour and bring me to the ball. But that wasn’t the end of it.”

It was tempting to interrupt him again; to bellow another accusation of his guilt. I wanted to hear what he had to say though, so I kept my mouth shut and listened.

“In return, my father told me to watch George whilst I was here. He