Blood From a Stone Read Online Free PDF Page A

to talk about other folk’s affairs, especially them as pay me.’
    Which was laudable, thought Dr Mountford, but frustrating all the same.
    Mrs Welbeck, said Milly Mountford, who had heard the exchange, was as close as wax, adding, with a sniff, in her opinion, she gave herself airs.
    That, Dr Mountford argued, had a lot to do with Mrs Welbeck’s appearance. She was skinny, with sallow skin, rabbit teeth, goggling spectacles and a curiously colourless personality. In Dr Mountford’s experience, everyone wanted to be recognised for something. If a woman wasn’t good looking, intelligent or kindly, she would fall back on arrogance. It was her way of saying to the world that she simply didn’t care what it thought.
    Mrs Paxton’s mysterious nephew and Mrs Paxton’s still more mysterious son had, naturally enough, been the chief topic of conversation in the village for the last fortnight. Of all the inhabitants of Topfordham, Doctor Mountford was, as far as he knew, the only one who knew the reason for Mrs Paxton’s trip to Paris.
    It said a lot for his wife’s tact that she let him continue in this state of blissful ignorance. She had, of course, raised the subject, but Dr Mountford had looked away, coloured, muttered ethics, dear and refused to discuss it.
    The next morning, Dr Mountford rang the front doorbell of The Larches with a feeling of anticipation. He might not listen to gossip but he wasn’t immune from curiosity, and he was looking forward to hearing Mrs Paxton’s account of the search for her son.
    There were footsteps in the hall in answer to his ring on the doorbell. Hurried footsteps, the doctor noted, with a feeling of surprise, then, with a rattle of bolts, the door was flung open by the housekeeper.
    Dr Mountford took a step back in alarm. When Mrs Welbeck had called at the surgery the previous evening, she had been coldly reserved. Now she was a badly frightened woman and anything but reserved. Her face was flushed and her cap askew, with grizzled grey hair escaping in strands down her face. She clasped her hands together at the sight of him and sagged in such heartfelt relief that Dr Mountford couldn’t help but warm to her.
    â€˜Doctor! I’m that glad you’re here!’ She nervously glanced up the stairs behind her. ‘I ... We ... don’t know what to do.’
    â€˜There, there, my good woman, don’t take on so,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Whatever is it?’ he asked, coming into the hallway.
    She twisted her hands together once more. ‘It’s Mrs Paxton. I can’t wake her and the door’s locked. She never locks the door, doctor. Both me and Florence have knocked and called, but can’t get any answer.’ There was mounting panic in her voice. ‘I’ve tried. We both have. Florence and I looked through the keyhole, but the curtains are drawn and the room’s very dark. I thought of breaking the door down, but I didn’t like to. It’s Mrs Paxton’s bedroom, after all and it doesn’t seem right. Then I saw you coming up the path and I knew you’d know what to do.’
    Dr Mountford, although his mind was on Mrs Paxton, couldn’t help feeling flattered by Mrs Welbeck’s complete confidence in him. He put his hat on the sideboard – Mrs Welbeck was too flustered to take it – and, unconsciously bracing himself, slipped into the language of the consulting-room. ‘Never mind, my dear. Don’t worry. We’ll soon see what the problem appears to be.’
    He strode up the stairs, Mrs Welbeck following in his footsteps.
    Florence, the maid, a sharp-looking girl of about eighteen, was standing awkwardly outside the bedroom. ‘I’m that glad to see you, sir. We haven’t heard a peep from the mistress’ room and we couldn’t think what to do for the best. Mrs Welbeck said maybe we should force the door.’ She clasped her hands