Death on a Summer's Day: A 1920s Mystery by Benedict Brown

Author:Benedict Brown [Brown, Benedict]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Heathdene Books
Published: 2021-07-30T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

We ran back to the house with Delilah speeding ahead of us in that excited way of hers. It was as though she knew what we were hoping to achieve and was determined to be a part of the action. Well, either that, or she thought it was dinnertime, but it was still lovely to see. It almost made me forget the fact that I was having to run again.

Pfff. Running!

The fete in the walled garden had become even more hedonistic in my absence. Grandfather was leading everyone in a song, for which Halfpenny had been summoned to accompany him on the tin whistle. Elodie had mounted a wall to lead everybody like a conductor at an orchestra, Mabel the maid was sitting with her feet up, still making eyes at Todd, and the Duke’s two cats had appeared and were polishing off the remaining scraps of food.

Perhaps most surprising of all was that my usually excessively sober grandfather was clearly blotto. “Fine voices everybody, fine voices indeed. And for our next song, may I suggest the music hall staple, ‘I’m Henery the Eighth, I Am’.”

There was a rash of cheers and clapping and then we all fell quiet for Lord Edgington to sing the only verse he knew of the song, in a thick Cockney accent.

“I’m ‘enery, the eighth, I am,

‘enery, the eighth, I am, I am.

I got married to the widow next door,

She’s been married seven times before,

And every one was an ‘enery.

She wouldn’t have a Willy or a Sam.

I’m her eighth old man, named ‘enery,

‘enery, the eighth, I am!”

Everyone joined in for the second time through, as the Professor danced about like Pan at some Bacchanalian feast. He had loosened his shirt and was waving his hands in the air with wild abandon. Stuart and Deborah were dancing together to a far slower piece of music, which only they could hear. In fact, the only person who did not seem moved by the frivolity of that sunny afternoon was Philomena Fontaine. She sat very upright at a small table some distance away. She had her hands interlinked before her and regarded the events like a dispassionate umpire.

When the song concluded, Grandfather noticed that Delilah, Ariadne and I had returned. He looked very sheepish as he shuffled over and, with a hiccup, said, “Oh, Christopher, there you are. We were just discussing where you must have gone.” He glanced at the others who immediately attempted to straighten their clothes and appear more upstanding. In the case of the Professor, this would be difficult as he had just tripped over a table leg and was very much down-lying on the ground.

“Grandfather, I need your help for a moment. Would you mind accompanying me to the conservatory?”

“Three cheers for Bobbie Atwell!” the Professor yelled, as he staggered back up. “A duke among dukes!”

“Don’t take your grandfather away from us,” Elodie complained. “The old stick-in-the-mud was starting to have some fun.”

Lord Edgington dismissed her complaint with a good-natured laugh.

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