‘It has been a pleasure, my lady.’ He gave a quiet cough. ‘In a manner of speaking, of course.’
‘In the manner that someone passing away at the hand of another is never a pleasure to be embroiled in and yet here we possibly are again. But I owe it to Canning, and Uncle Byron, to discover the truth. I know Canning is one of the most disliked men in the area and Uncle Byron was one of the most respected, but Solemn Jon said it well. At the end of the day, we’re all from the same clay and in my book we all deserve the same justice.’
Clifford nodded. ‘I’m sure if your late uncle were listening, he’d concur, my lady.’
She looked up at the lightening sky. The snow had eased further and there was even the hint of weak sunshine behind the clouds. ‘Well our murderer may be long gone but there’s no sign of a mass exodus of the villagers yet. Let’s go and examine where Canning fell. It might spark an idea. We can ask around afterwards.’
‘Very good, my lady. Perhaps these will relieve some of the discomfort of being outdoors in this inclement weather.’ He pulled two palm-sized silver cases from his pocket and held them out to her.
‘What are these?’ she asked, holding out her hands. ‘Oh gracious, they’re warm, hot even. How ingenious! An invention of Uncle Byron’s?’
‘An adaptation on his lordship’s part. Such items were cobbled together from tobacco tins by soldiers in the war to better endure their days in the trenches in winter. Mr Canning lying in the mud and snow reminded me of them, although unfortunately he is past such comforts. These are significantly more sophisticated, however, my lady. But today they will just do an admirable job of keeping your hands from becoming too cold.’
‘Thank you.’ She dropped one into each pocket and shoved her hands inside on top. ‘Lovely.’
He gave a discreet cough and adjusted his tie. ‘You may also be heartened to know that there are still sufficient of his lordship’s favourite ingredients to create an evening’s worth of hot revivers once your guests have departed.’
‘Hot revivers, Clifford? Why do I fear I will awake feeling as if I had spent the evening playing the drums with my head?’
‘I really couldn’t say, my lady. We have not yet had the pleasure of witnessing how you usually spend Christmas Eve.’
Outside, the fallen snow had all but obliterated any sign of the fun run. It had certainly hidden all signs that a man had died where they now stood.
‘Oh, this is hopeless. And I’m not sure what I thought we might find now that I come to think of it.’ She peered sideways at him. ‘You’re quietly thinking we would do better talking the scene through in minutiae with warm, dry feet, aren’t you?’
‘On the contrary, my lady. I was trying to determine the precise number of minutes that passed from the start of the race to Mr Canning falling in front of us.’
‘And?’
‘Around twenty, I believe. Perhaps a little less.’
‘Well, that’s a good starting point already. If you are correct and he was poisoned, timing is surely going to be hugely important. Perhaps we should also work even further back and find out his movements between the time he arrived until the beginning of the race.’ She walked in a small square, staring at the ground, kicking the snow aside. ‘We’re absolutely sure it was just here that he fell, are we?’
‘As we made our way back to the house, I counted the number of strides from where Mr Canning fell. That being exactly sixty-nine.
She pulled out one of the hand warmers and gathered her skirt up to squat down on her haunches. Patting the silver case from one hand to the other, a peculiar sense of not wanting to leave overtook her. And this despite not being able to feel her toes for the second time that day.
‘You know, Clifford, it’s dashedly hard when people expire out in the elements amid the wildest and woolliest of weather to really get much out of the scene. Perhaps that’s why the inspector didn’t bother to come out here. Oops!’ Her hand warmer slipped from her grasp. She leaned over to retrieve it but as she tried to pick it up, it slid away down a frosty mound until it buried itself into the layer of fresh snow.
Clifford watched her dispassionately. ‘Might that also have been because Chief Inspector Seldon suggested any investigation had been compromised by the body having been moved?’
‘Maybe, but forget about that for a moment.’ Eleanor jumped up. ‘Look!’ She held up the hand warmer and then turned it round, revealing a small metal object sticking to the back of it. ‘It must be that the hand warmer rolled onto this thing and somehow it has frozen to it.’ She frowned. ‘But how could it have frozen to the warm case?’
Clifford took the hand warmer and examined it and nodded to himself. ‘The explanation is really quite simple, my lady. His lordship included a magnetic strip in each of the silver cases for a reason that is of no consequence at this juncture. However, when used as a hand warmer, the heat significantly reduces the strength of the magnet.’
She frowned. ‘But it’s still roastingly warm so that should mean that the magnet was less strong and it wouldn’t have been attracted to it.’
‘Quite so, my lady, which leads us to only one conclusion.’
‘It does?’
‘Yes.’ He pulled the object from the back of the case and held it up. It was a small, ornate key. ‘That this key itself is magnetic.’ He frowned. ‘Which means it fits into a very unusual, and rare lock.’
He handed it to Eleanor. She turned it over in her hand. It looked like an ordinary key to her, if rather ornately made.
‘So whatever it unlocks either contains items of great value to their owner. Or—’
‘Or items that their owner did not want found.’
Eight
Back in the house, Eleanor was delighted to see the ladies of Henley Hall enjoying themselves as much as the villagers. With all the guests full from their hearty lunch, and the excitement of the race over – if only they knew, Ellie! – each of the adults was now fortified with a glass of Christmas mead.
Mrs Butters had joined the happy group of women and children at the long table filled with a variety of Christmas craft materials. Painted pebbles, holly, ivy and fir cones were being turned into festive decorations they could take home with them at the end of the afternoon.
Mrs Trotman had stationed herself in the middle of the entertainment section, umpiring the hotly contested games of blind man’s buff and twenty questions. Mrs Butters was too busy laughing from the craft table to referee the charades players as they tried to act out the name of a festive book, song or phrase using Clifford’s meticulously prepared cards. Good-natured heckling accompanied each turn on the floor as the exuberant crowd tried to guess the answers.
Polly scampered past with a gaggle of fifteen or so excited children on a treasure hunt with Gladstone lolloping after them, festooned in tinsel. In another room, a huddle of children were being read A Christmas Carol. Sitting cross-legged on the rug by a giant fireplace, the youngest had already fallen asleep snuggled against the next child.
Eleanor dropped her voice and leaned towards Clifford. ‘Where do you think we should start? Somehow, I hadn’t considered just how many people there are. Who knows who might have seen something suspicious?’