A Fine Summer's Day Read Online Free PDF Page A

Or if their fathers find out. What connects these graves may simply be high spirits.”
    â€œI expect Davies would rather have discovered some diabolical plot.”
    Cummins laughed.
    Rutledge walked on to his own room, where he found Sergeant Gibson with a file in his hand.
    â€œMore grave stones?” he asked.
    Gibson glared at him. “Hardly, sir. It’s a murder. In Moresby. Yorkshire.”
    His spirits plummeted. He hadn’t seen Jean since the weekend in Kent. What’s more, Frances was away visiting friends. Her note gave no indication that she expected to return before Friday evening’s party.
    Somehow Melinda had discovered that he was in Dorchester and replied almost immediately to his news, asking him if he was sure of his heart. By return post, he’d told her that he’d never been as sure of anything before, not even his decision to join the Metropolitan Police. That he’d lost sleep over that because he’d known it would disappoint those he loved.
    A second letter assured him that she was happy for him, and that she looked forward to seeing Jean again. And she had suggested a year’s engagement, to give them both a chance to know each other better.
    A spring wedding is always so lovely, she’d written. Your parents were wed in May, and so was I. Of course it is Jean’s choice, but you might suggest the possibility to her.
    He had found a way to bring the date up when next he wrote Jean, but he already knew what her answer would be. She had her heart set on Christmas, because of her own parents.
    David’s letter, waiting for him at the London house, had been more wholeheartedly happy for him. He’d never met Jean, David had written, but he was looking forward to it.
    Frances’s note had troubled him.
    I’m not certain when you’ll arrive at home. I’m visiting the Haldanes for a few days. I’m happy for you, of course. It’s just that I’m not sure I’m ready to share you, Ian. That’s terribly selfish, I know, but I’ve only just begun to recover from the loss of our parents, and while I’ve leaned on you more than I should, perhaps, there has been no one else but Melinda I could talk to about Mama and Papa. I hope Jean will understand. But as you say, I have until Christmas to grow accustomed to the idea, and I’ll not let you down. I promise.
    He’d already decided that it might be best to continue to live in the house on the square, if Frances had no objections. Nothing, he knew, would ever change the fact that he was her brother. And perhaps that decision would reassure her. In time, he hoped she would find someone of her own, and be as happy as he was. Even as he thought it, he realized that he’d have to learn to accept her choice, if she’d accepted his. That brought a wry smile.
    As for Moresby, it was a long way from London, up on the northeast coast of Yorkshire. He’d hardly arrive there before he would have to leave, if he intended to be in London on Friday evening. And that he had no intention of missing. For a moment he was almost willing to wager that Bowles had remembered the date and deliberately scuttled his leave.
    He sat at his desk, reading through the file, then he sent a message round to Jean to tell her that he was on his way to Yorkshire, but she mustn’t worry, he hadn’t forgot the party. She would be worried all the same, and he damned Bowles for being callous about the lives of the men under him. After all, he’d gone to Dorset with no complaint. It would behoove him, he thought sardonically, to bring the Yorkshire inquiry to a swift conclusion.

3
    W ith that intention firm in his mind, Rutledge took the afternoon train to Yorkshire instead of driving. It was a day more suitable to lawn parties than murder, he thought, settling himself in his carriage. Jean would be on her way to town from the country, to do last-minute shopping while her mother