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

to think that he was too clever to leave the weapon right there and, in actual fact-” Grandfather was thinking out loud again and failed to consider how his words would be received.

My mother let out a downhearted sigh and Albert’s head crashed once more against the breakfast table.

“I’m sure that’s not the case.” He wriggled his moustache from side to side and rose to standing. “Come along, Christopher. We’ve work to do.”

Delilah had been keeping my feet warm under the table and now surged out from behind the long white cloth after her master. Not seeing much other option, I ran to catch up.

“Grandfather, wait,” I puffed. “Where are we going now?”

“Don’t you know?” he asked in typically enigmatic fashion, as he stopped to turn his lighthouse-beam gaze upon me.

“No, of course I don’t.” I was already out of breath. “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

He started walking again at a slightly more reasonable pace. “Well, where do you suggest we should go? Who do your instincts tell you we should be talking to next?”

I had a good think about it. “Clem- Fello- Cor-” I began, hoping to see some reaction on his face to tell me I was on the right path, before settling on, “George?”

“Very good. We’ll pass through the kitchen on the way to see whether the staff saw anyone upstairs yesterday, though I very much doubt it. I really only mentioned the idea to make your mother feel better about your father’s arrest. Then, after that, we’re heading to London.”

Chapter Thirty

Grandfather was most insightful in his prediction. None of the maids had seen anything unusual the previous morning. George had been up there of course, as his room was a little way along from my parents’, but he’d been downstairs immediately after Maitland was shot and we still couldn’t say for certain where the crossbow had been fired from. It felt to me as though we’d wandered into yet another cul-de-sac.

On the bright side, we came across Todd reading one of his adventure novels in the kitchen. We gave him his commission for the day and he escorted us to the garage.

“Marvellous!” Grandfather yelled as soon as the barn doors were open and he was able to survey his impressive collection. “Of course, I read so much about them in pamphlets and magazines before I purchased each one that I feel I know them all intimately.”

“Should I crank up the Silver Ghost, Milord?”

Like a child on Christmas morning, my grandfather’s gaze was darting around the wonders he beheld. Swaying slightly from one foot to the other, he held one hand up in his chauffeur’s direction.

“Not so fast, young man. This is a moment to savour.” He walked up to the Rolls and gave the ‘flying lady’ bonnet ornament an affectionate pat on the head, before continuing on down the alley in the middle of the barn. His eyes grew wider as he approached his red Alfa Romeo Targa Florio.

Todd whispered to me in a reverent tone. “I heard that the Aga Khan drove an Alfa RLS and said it was ‘one of the most excellent cars’ he’d ever driven.”

I made an impressed cooing sound, though I couldn’t quite remember who the Aga Khan was.

As the sporty model wasn’t what he was looking for, my Grandfather moved on. He passed a comparatively sensible black Mercedes and a stunning white Talbot-Darracq drophead coupé then paused to consider a Matchless motorcycle and sidecar. I have to say, I was relieved when he kept walking. But it was when he ran his fingers along the bonnet of the next car that he really came to life.

Looking back at us over his shoulder, he yelled, “Crossley Bugatti! This is the one.”

Todd was quick to point out a flaw in his plan. “It only has two seats, Milord. May I suggest the Talbot?”

Grandfather did not look happy but whipped his hand through the air in reluctant acceptance and Todd got to work preparing our chariot. Delilah was very excited by the noise of the engine roaring into life and ran around in circles with her tail wagging.

“I’m sorry, old girl,” her master said, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to stay at home today. London is no place for a creature like you.”

Delilah must have understood each and every word he said as she immediately lay down on the ground in the middle of the barn and looked glum.

“Well, don’t be like that. It’s not my fault that the English capital isn’t fit for a dog. Take my word for it; you’ll be much happier here.”

Delilah did not look convinced as we climbed into the Talbot. We got halfway out of the barn but the faithful retriever wouldn’t budge. Grandfather leaned over Todd to honk the horn and that clever dog pretended she hadn’t heard and stayed right where she was. In the end, he got out and carried Delilah to safety, for Todd to ease the car outside. Even then she insisted on following us right to the gatehouse, barking unhappily the whole way.

Sadly for me, my seat that day was even more cramped and bumpy than the Aston Martin’s had been. In fact, seat is rather an ostentatious term for what was essentially a compartment for me to fold my body into. The dickey seat placed me right in the back of the vehicle where the boot should have been. It was loud and cold and I got hit a number of times by stones flying up from under the tyres. At least I’d thought to grab some goggles this time though.

To begin with, Grandfather was full of the joys of spring, even if it did start raining as soon as we passed Woking. He was clearly enjoying the luxury of being driven around in such… well, luxury. I noticed however that his mood changed as we got closer to our destination. From my pauper’s throne, I could see that his face was like a barometer and grew increasingly dark and