Home > Murder in the Snow(8)

Murder in the Snow(8)
Author: Verity Bright

‘That’s very kind of you. But if you change your mind, let me know. Oh, just one more thing, if I might ask? Could you possibly leave Mr Canning on your fine wagon in the empty garage for a short while and continue enjoying the festivities?’

‘With pleasure.’

The three of them watched him expertly turn the horses in a tight circle and head off to the long block of cream-stone garages, the wolfhound leaning his head on his master’s shoulder as they set off across the grass.

Eleanor noted a troubled look pass over Clifford’s face.

‘My lady, I believe rather than fetch Mr Canning’s doctor, it might be more appropriate to ask Oxfordshire Constabulary to send a coroner.’

She stared at him, but there was an expression in his eyes that made her keep silent. She wondered what he had deduced.

Fry’s eyes turned to saucers. ‘Foul play suspected? Oh dear, dear, bad show that. Telephone in the main hallway alright to use, m’lady?’

 

Once he was out of earshot, Eleanor tried to fight off the peculiar sorrow that washed over her. ‘I suppose I should close the Christmas games now as a mark of respect?’

Clifford picked up the sodden, snow-covered umbrella and shook the worst of the weather off it. ‘If I might suggest, my lady, the crowd will be deep in the throes of enjoying the delights of Mrs Trotman’s parsnip perry.’ He flinched. ‘Possibly proceedings will even have moved on to her dandelion concoction.’

Eleanor remembered all too well the almighty headache effects that could bring on. ‘I hope she isn’t going to offer her chestnut liqueur.’

‘I fear that may happen later this afternoon.’ He gave her a rare smile. ‘But if you are asking for my opinion?’

She shifted her soaking feet, then nodded.

‘The Christmas lunch and games that follow are singularly the highlight of the village year. And for many of our worthy and hard-working, but lest affluent, residents, the only chance of a decent lunch and tea over the festive period. Given the less than popular regard in which Mr Canning was held by the villagers, it might seem churlish to further sour their abiding impression of him by closing the celebrations. Thus branding him as the man who cancelled Christmas.’

‘Good call, Clifford, thank you.’ Eleanor let out a deep sigh. ‘Do you know I thought I had this Christmas event pretty well in hand, especially with all your wonderful and meticulous organisation which, again, I am grateful for.’ She bit her bottom lip. ‘Didn’t see a dead man in my tea leaves this morning, though.’

‘Most fortunate, my lady. Now, even though the snow has eased, I feel you should remove yourself from the elements and change into dryer clothing. Shall we?’ He gestured towards the house.

As they walked, Eleanor broached the subject uppermost in her mind. ‘You saw Doctor Browning’s reaction, Clifford. Did it seem at all… what’s the word?’

‘Unprofessional?’

‘Perhaps. But also he seemed… troubled.’ She stopped and faced him. ‘As troubled as you, yourself were at Canning’s death. I didn’t want to question you in front of Fry, but why the need for a coroner?’

By now they were standing under the imposing canopy of the main entrance to the Hall. She scanned his face.

‘My apologies, my lady. I should have discussed the matter with you before Constable Fry arrived.’ He busied himself brushing the ledge of snow from the shoulder of his morning suit.

She bent down into his eyeline. ‘Clifford, whatever it is, you’ll have to tell me sooner or later, you know.’

‘Indeed.’ He looked down at his gloves. ‘Perhaps I should have told you the day you inherited Henley Hall.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Mr Canning’s last moments were suspiciously similar… to those of your late uncle.’

Eleanor clasped her hands to her chest. ‘Clifford?’

The same look of consternation passed over his features again. He regained his implacable demeanour with a visible effort. ‘The death certificate identified the cause as an accidental overdose of digitalis from his lordship’s heart pills, but I vigorously disagreed then and I do to this day. It is my regrettable belief, my lady, that his lordship was deliberately poisoned.’

Eleanor’s thoughts swam. ‘Poisoned? I… I can’t process that at the moment.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘But… but that means that Canning—’

‘Was also poisoned.’

 

 

Six

 

 

Having changed into dry clothes and half-thawed her toes and fingers by the kitchen range, Eleanor gently batted off Mrs Butters’ insistence that she needed all manner of fussing over. Knowing she could rely on the discretion of her staff not to create a drama over what had happened, she slapped on her genial hostess face. Then she rejoined the noisy throng whom, Clifford had assured her, were oblivious to Mr Canning’s demise.

Secretly, she wished for nothing more than to curl up on her favourite chaise longue with Gladstone while she tried to make sense of the afternoon’s tragic turn of events. Not least of which was Clifford’s bombshell about her uncle.

If Clifford was right, then it meant her uncle had been murdered. And that Clifford, his batman, wingman, butler and friend for thirty years or more had failed to save him. No wonder he’s so over-protective of you, Ellie!

Doing her best to act as if nothing had happened, she willed herself to move from group to group, chatting and joining in with the festive fun and games. A wave of relief washed over her, however, when Clifford materialised two hours later and caught her eye. She hurried over to him.

‘Is it the… erm.’ She looked over her shoulder before she whispered, ‘The person we’ve been waiting for?’

‘Almost, my lady.’ He led the way to the second drawing room in the right-hand tower that flanked the front entrance.

She stopped short. ‘Inspector! I didn’t expect you to be the one to answer the call. What about your other case?’

DCI Seldon spun round. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Swift. I was about to leave Oxford for London when the name Henley Hall was mentioned in relation to a death. I decided my other case could wait a few hours.’ His intense brown eyes held her gaze.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Eleanor felt a blush of warmth that he had taken a personal interest and come all the way back from Oxford on Christmas Eve, and in terrible weather. The sight of him now brought a wash of calm. She felt her shoulders relax for the first time since Canning had fallen in front of her.

‘Merry Christmas again, by the way,’ she said.

‘Merry Christmas again to you, Lady Swift.’ He raised one eyebrow. ‘I see the death of one of your guests doesn’t seem to have dampened the festivities. It sounds like the entire village is still marauding round the house.’

‘Certainly, most of them.’ She shrugged. ‘And the festivities are still in full swing for two reasons. Most importantly because these good people are afforded very few opportunities to properly enjoy themselves but secondly, they are thankfully unaware that there has been a death.’

Seldon frowned. ‘But…’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll have words with the officer who took the original message then. I was told he had died during some sort of running race. It seems remarkable that the event went unnoticed.’

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