‘You have Mr Sandford to thank. He telephoned me when Detective Chief Inspector Seldon started interviewing you.’
‘Yes, gosh that was a horribly awkward business.’
‘Being involved in a murder investigation tends to be a trifle… unsettling.’
She eyed him over her coffee cup. ‘I meant it was awkward with the inspector. He was, well, odd, most odd. Honestly, it’s like he’d already decided that Lancelot was guilty.’
Clifford cocked an eyebrow.
‘Seriously, I have a suspicion the inspector is struggling to balance his professionalism in this case. It’s as though he disliked Lancelot for some reason.’
Clifford cleared his throat. ‘Indeed, it is hard to be objective when one is emotionally caught up in a case.’
Eleanor paused in adding a gammon ring to her crumpet. ‘What do you mean, “emotionally caught up in a case”?’
Mrs Butters broke the awkward silence by arriving with the fresh coffee pot. Sensing something was hanging in the air, she set it down without a word. The door closed behind her. Gladstone let out a quiet grumble at the lack of crumpet and dropped into an ungainly sprawl on the floor.
Eleanor stared at her butler. ‘Clifford, please don’t dance around the maypole on this. What were you insinuating?’
‘If I might offer a contrary opinion, my lady, I was not insinuating, it was a statement of fact. The inspector has a challenging task in meeting the demands of two powerful forces pulling him in opposite directions.’
‘Riddles, all riddles! Be clear, man! What forces?’
Clifford poured her a cup of coffee and set the pot down on its mat.
‘In my experience, Detective Chief Inspector Seldon has always been a very dedicated officer. But, beneath the policeman and the commitment to justice, lies a man.’
Eleanor stared at the tablecloth puzzled. Then it dawned. ‘Are you suggesting that… that he likes me?’
‘I suspect more than likes, my lady.’ Clifford straightened his collar and stood silently.
Eleanor vigorously stirred several lumps of sugar into her coffee. ‘No, no, no! Don’t you see? This is a disaster.’ Her cheeks coloured. ‘How on earth is he going to see justice done for the colonel if his brain is clogged up thinking about… well, anything else?’
‘I think the problem is larger still, my lady, given the circumstances in which the chief inspector found young Lord Fenwick-Langham. The accused was not alone at the scene of the crime, I understand?’
‘No, the inspector basically said I’m as much a suspect as Lancelot. Something about us being in it together or that I’m protecting him.’
Clifford nodded. ‘As I suspected, which means…’
Eleanor groaned. ‘Which means I have to clear Lancelot’s name to clear my own.’ She turned her fork in her hands. ‘The thing is… I found Lancelot standing over the poor colonel… with the apparent murder weapon. I don’t know what I would do if he was found…’
Clifford tidied the condiments on the table, lining up the jam, mustard, breakfast relish, salt and pepper in a neat row. ‘Guilty, my lady?’
Eleanor buried her head in her hands. ‘You know the worst part of it all? I felt that every time I answered one of the inspector’s questions, I was hammering another nail into Lancelot’s coffin.’
‘You had no choice, my lady. You had to tell the truth.’
She looked up. ‘I know, but Lancelot isn’t a killer. He didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t… kill.’
Clifford straightened his shoulders. ‘Forgive the directness of my question, my lady, but how can you be sure?’
‘Because it’s Lancelot we’re talking about! Come on, Clifford, you’ve seen him grow up. Ask Sandford, he’s terribly fond of Lancelot. Do you think he would have any doubts about Young Master Lancelot’s innocence? Of course he wouldn’t.’ She stared at her knife.
‘My lady, I share your thoughts about the accused. In my experience—’
‘Do you mind if we don’t refer to him as “the accused”? It has a horrible, sort of, well, finality to it.’
‘My apologies. It is also my experience that young Lord Fenwick-Langham is not of the disposition to commit such a heinous act as that of taking a man’s life. But’ – lines furrowed his brow – ‘even if you and I signed affidavits to that effect, it isn’t going to sway a jury. We need some evidence.’
Eleanor hung her head. ‘I realise that,’ she murmured. ‘Oh, why did he get himself into such a situation, the monstrous fool!’ She slammed her spoon onto the crown of her soft-boiled egg with the last word, imagining Lancelot’s infuriating face grinning up at her as the shell smashed.
Clifford dabbed a serviette over the tablecloth to remove the worst of the splashed yolk.
‘Sorry, Clifford. I’m not quite myself this morning.’
‘Normally you do manage to contain your breakfast mostly on your plate, my lady.’
She appreciated his attempt to make light of her outburst. ‘Clifford, can I talk to you?’
‘I rather imagined we had been conversing for nigh on half an hour.’
‘I mean really talk to you. I’ve only got you to confide in. And Gladstone, of course, but he’s absolutely hopeless. All that turning his head to the side and pretending he’s listening when all he’s really doing is wondering if I said “biscuit”.’ Gladstone shot up at this and dropped his comforting, if rather heavy, head in her lap.
The corners of Clifford’s mouth turned up perceptibly. ‘I appreciate the compliment that I am the preferable choice for a confidant over an elderly, greedy bulldog.’
‘You know what I mean. Your natural aptitude for logic and reason is what Lancelot needs. I’ve already made things so much worse.’ She slumped back against her chair.
‘It is my belief, my lady, that one cannot make things worse by telling the truth. If, that is, it is a situation where the truth should be told, which I devoutly believe this is. Your statement to the chief inspector was accurate and true, was it not?’
Eleanor nodded glumly.
‘Then you have done young Lord Fenwick-Langham the best service possible in, what I admit, is a perilous situation for him. You have presented one of the country’s finest investigative minds with the facts as you know them.’
‘But all the facts point to Lancelot being… guilty.’
‘This is true.’
‘And the inspector doesn’t like Lancelot because… oh, dash it! Because he thinks I like Lancelot and the inspector likes me, according to you.’
‘This is also true.’
‘Then please explain how you see any hope for Lancelot when I’ve basically stood on a dais and pointed him out as the murderer.’ She held her hands up in despair. ‘And when it seems the inspector is dying to get him out of the way.’
‘One does not have all the answers immediately.’
‘Come on, Clifford. We both know the real killer is currently walking free and we made a great team over that dratted murder in the quarry case.’
Clifford coughed pointedly. ‘After, that is, you’d stopped accusing me of trying to kill you.’