The dowager countess then appeared with Cora in tow. Cora, eyes wide, echoed the Viscount’s concern. ‘Are you alright, Lady Swift?’
Eleanor smiled at the ring of concerned, and not so concerned, faces. ‘Oh gracious, I’m really quite alright. Just a little bruised dignity, no harm done.’
The men laughed and discreetly rolled their eyes.
She brushed down her dress and thanked Viscount Littleton for retrieving her headband. She placed it back on her head and straightened up. Eleanor saw Sandford watching from the side of the hall. He caught her eye and moved across the floor to meet her. ‘Do you require a poultice, my lady? I shall call on Cook immediately.’
Eleanor shook her head. ‘No, really, I’m fine, thank you. Unless Cook has a cure for mortifying embarrassment?’
‘I fear not, my lady.’
Lady Langham appeared and took her arm. ‘Now, my dear, I came to check you weren’t in tears?’
‘Tears? Thank you, but why would I be in tears?’
‘Well, you fell.’
‘Oh that, it was nothing.’
‘Nothing!’ Lady Langham bent towards her and whispered, ‘My dear girl, the whole party saw you fall!’
‘Yes, well, not my finest moment, I agree.’
‘Mortifyingly embarrassing, I’d say.’
Eleanor wondered if Lady Langham was referring to her own feelings. It was then she became aware that the music had stopped and the entire ballroom was staring at her. She coughed and announced to the onlookers, ‘It’s called a Parisian pancake. Really, all the ladies are doing it.’
She told her hostess that she needed to fix her make-up, and made her escape. A movement caught her eye. A pair of striped trousers replete with cutlass was disappearing round the sweeping bend of the side stairs. She smiled. She’d have to tell Lancelot tight trousers really didn’t flatter his legs. He’d be devastated.
With her skirt held high, she skipped up the remaining stairs realising she had no plan when, and if, she did catch Lancelot. Oh well, Ellie, you can’t make any more of a fool of yourself tonight than you already have.
At the top step, she paused and looked left and right. ‘Dash it!’ No striped trousers. No cutlass. No tousled blond hair and blue-grey eyes. Randomly she turned right and started down the corridor.
A few minutes later and she had to admit she was lost. The place was a labyrinth compared to Henley Hall. How did the servants ever find their way around? She imagined being found weeks later in a far-off wing of the house, living off dead flies and brackish radiator water.
A small crash further down the hallway made her jump. She tiptoed forward, listening intently. A sharp cry rang out, ‘Oh bally heck, no!’
Was that Lancelot?
Pushing open the panelled oak door to her right, she saw the pirate she had followed up the stairs. He was hunched over someone lying at a peculiar angle on the floor of what appeared to be a study. Eleanor just had time to take in the walls covered in books.
‘Lancelot?’
The figure turned round, a large silver candlestick in his right hand.
‘Sherlock, what the hell are you doing here? You should leave. Now!’ The masked man spoke in an urgent whisper.
‘But what…? Who…?’ She started as she recognised the crumpled figure at the pirate’s feet.
The double doors at the far end burst open, the handles smacking against the wood panelling. They both spun round and froze as half a dozen policemen ran in and surrounded them. A broad-shouldered man then strode in, accompanied by two more policemen.
Eleanor gasped. ‘Inspector! What are you doing here?’
‘Lady Swift!’ For a moment they stood staring at each other. Then he looked across at the masked man. ‘Stand aside, please.’
He turned to the two policemen on his left. ‘Cuff him, Brice. Peters, check the casualty.’
Once Lancelot was handcuffed, Detective Chief Inspector Seldon stepped forward and pulled the mask off the man’s face.
‘You!’
Unmasked, Lancelot stared coolly at DCI Seldon.
Eleanor’s mind was racing. ‘Inspector? Lancelot? What…?’
DCI Seldon walked around Eleanor to the far wall. Mounted in the wall was a safe, its door wide open. Up to that moment, Eleanor hadn’t noticed it. DCI Seldon looked inside. ‘Empty!’ He turned back to Lancelot. ‘Lord Fenwick-Langham, you are under arrest for the theft of Lady Fenwick-Langham’s necklace and on suspicion of being responsible for a series of related burglaries.’
Eleanor felt as if she was in a bad dream.
‘Now wait a bally moment,’ Lancelot finally spoke. ‘I’m being arrested for stealing my own mother’s necklace? That’s rich!’
The policeman Seldon had referred to as Peters stood up looking ashen. He nodded at the crumpled figure on the floor. ‘He’s… dead, sir.’
Everyone looked at the body. Seldon kneeled and checked for himself. Standing up he turned his gaze on Lancelot.
‘I am also arresting you for murder. You will be read your rights before a judicial officer down at the police station. Brice, take Lord Fenwick-Langham out the back way to save the hosts’ embarrassment.’
Lancelot stared coolly at the inspector. ‘The hosts, as you put it, are my parents. They aren’t going to be terribly impressed that you’ve arrested not only the wrong man, but their son in his own house. This isn’t going to look good your end.’
DCI Seldon held his gaze. ‘From where I’m standing, your lordship, it’s your position that doesn’t look good. Caught at the scene of a theft and a murder. And’ – he indicated the candlestick – ‘holding the murder weapon, I warrant. You are advised to remain silent until you have representation present. Take him away, Brice.’
Eleanor’s brain whirled. ‘But, Inspector, you can’t think—’
‘Lady Swift, please don’t leave. I will need a full statement from you.’ He nodded at another uniformed officer who stepped over beside her.
Lancelot drew level with her as he was led out by the constable and whispered, ‘Play it cool, Sherlock, you know what these uniformed johnnies are like. You’ve beaten them to the punch once already. But it wasn’t me, I swear to you.’
As Brice pushed Lancelot through the door, Eleanor made to go after them. DCI Seldon clicked his fingers at a young officer and gestured towards Eleanor. The policeman blocked her way.
She swung round to face the inspector, green eyes blazing.
Out in the corridor, there was a loud commotion. ‘Open this door immediately or Harold will thrash the buttons from your uniform, you idiot!’
‘Who told the Fenwick-Langhams before I did?’ Seldon growled. He strode to the door just as it burst open.
Lord Langham charged into the room and confronted the inspector. ‘What the hell have you done, man? I will have your superintendent—’ He froze on seeing the body crumpled against the far wall.
‘Pudders!’
Lady Langham appeared at her husband’s side. ‘Colonel Puddifoot-Barton?’
‘Constable!’
Before the officer could reach her, Lady Langham had slid to the floor in a faint.