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

evening, ladies and gentlemen.” His deep, booming voice was exceedingly well-polished but had a distinctly arrogant undertone. “My name is Horatio Adelaide. Lord Edgington and I go back years. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see me.”

There was a murmur of disapproval from the other diners, as the identity of the intruder became apparent. Apparently oblivious, my schoolmate’s father looked about the room as though he was considering purchasing Cranley Hall.

Grandfather must have had a spy planted to tell him when all the guests had arrived as he appeared forthwith. He paused on the threshold as he took in the unusual congregation. I thought he might react to Horatio Adelaide occupying his seat but, instead, he nodded cheerfully and walked to the far end of the table.

“Welcome everybody, I’m so glad you could come.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Lord Edgington was clearly looking forward to his second social event of the season, but would make us wait for the highlight of the evening.

“We have some important matters to discuss, but first, we must dine together like old friends.”

He spread his arms out in front of him and Fellowes walked forward to whisk the domed silver covers off two dishes in the middle of the table. They held a selection of fine continental meats and smoked salmon, and there were more plates laid out with rich pâtés and hors d’oeuvres. It was quite the treat to start the meal with and almost compensated for the no doubt unconventional nature of the forthcoming courses.

Grandfather took his seat and Halfpenny immediately served him an assortment of cold cuts.

Blunt jumped down from the windowsill he’d been perched on, like Zacchaeus from his tree. “Excuse me, but I didn’t come here this evening to watch a bunch of toffs stuffing their faces.”

“You’re right,” his former colleague agreed. “I would much prefer it if you joined us. There are provisions for your men too, if they so wish.”

There was a spare seat at the table and another area already laid out in the petit salon for the constables. Grandfather looked back innocently at the inspector who was clearly torn over the best answer to such a tantalising offer. He peered at the culinary offerings which spanned the length of the table and then back to our patient host.

“You’re trying to pull the wool over my eyes! Well, let me tell you, you can’t butter me up, so don’t even try.”

I could understand entirely why he’d say this. Wool and butter, of course, should never meet.

My grandfather remained calm. “There is no obligation, Blunt. I simply considered that you might like to break bread with us.”

Blunt thought a little longer and his two constables exchanged glances, obviously hoping they’d get a chance to sample Cranley Hall’s offerings.

“I’ll sit down,” he eventually replied, as if he were doing us a great favour. “But I won’t eat anything.”

“Jolly good!” Grandfather watched as the petulant little man took up the spare place at the table and his officers happily dashed from the room.

There was silence as we started eating. Clearly no one felt we should make eye contact and we stared down at our plates. Knives screeched against porcelain, our servers rushed about with drinks and condiments, but no one spoke until Grandfather broke the silence.

“How nice to see you after all this time, Horatio.” He glanced across at the once disreputable criminal with a truly welcoming expression.

“And you, Lord Edgington.” The man smiled on half of his face. “It seemed right that I should come here in my son’s stead, given that you will all be talking about him.” There was a challenge buried in his words but Grandfather refused to be baited and the conversation petered out once more.

Being a Cranley, I imagine that I have lived through more awkward dinners in my life but I certainly can’t think of an example. I expected some rabble-rousing from George or a little entertainment from old Clementine, but they were as meek as my mother and Cora, both of whom looked like they’d rather be having a tooth removed than participating in this uneasy performance.

The main course was served and everyone regarded Cook’s oddly triangular pie, attempting to work out what on Earth she had produced. The hush that had fallen over us had an eerie quality to it by this point and the only attempt at communication was an occasional command to the staff, issued in an apologetic whisper. Eyes darted up from the meal and then back down again and I had to imagine that everyone was wondering the same thing; am I going to be the one he pins the blame on?

Well, practically everyone. I knew that I was in the clear and was busy dealing with the knowledge that this whole sorry show could have been avoided if I’d had the courage to tell Grandfather who was really responsible for the killings. Just as I thought I might scream out my confession, the old man threw in the towel… or his napkin at least.

“Very well, that’s enough.” He balled it up and, rising from his seat, flung it across the table to land in a heap in the centre. “I thought we might have one last civilised evening together before going through the particulars, but this is even less pleasant than a lifetime behind bars. It’s high time I put you out of your misery.” He paused to watch the reactions of those assembled.

Despite his previous claim to the contrary, Inspector Blunt had filled plate after plate with food. He was the only one who continued tucking into the pie, even after grandfather called order. Horatio was smiling, his eyebrows raised in perpetual enquiry, Clementine had finally come to herself and was humming a pretty melody and the others wore anxious masks in place of their regular features. I took particular notice of Cora who, as well she might, remained stunned into nervous silence.

To break the tension, Grandfather spoke again. “I requested your presence here this evening to reveal that