Blood From a Stone Read Online Free PDF

together. ‘I screamed at the idea. I did, true as I’m stood here.’
    Florence’s bulging eyes made Dr Mountford fearful she was about to repeat the performance. He hastily reached out a hand to comfort her. ‘There, there. Don’t upset yourself unduly. There’s no need to panic, I’m quite sure.’
    â€˜But the notion of forcing the door worried me so!’ Dr Mountford became aware that Florence was rather enjoying the drama. ‘The mistress is always so particular. Terrible particular. She wouldn’t like it if Mrs Welbeck or I took the law into our own hands, as you might say.’
    â€˜I knew you’d know what to do, sir,’ said Mrs Welbeck.
    Dr Mountford felt encouraged.
    â€˜Leave it to me,’ he said. He rapped on the door, then, when there was no answer, knelt down and looked through the keyhole. ‘I can’t see a thing.’ He stood up and dusted off the knees of his trousers, then put his shoulder to the door and pushed hard. Nothing happened. ‘Is there another key to this room?’
    Mrs Welbeck shook her head. ‘No, sir.’ She glanced nervously at the door. ‘It ... It doesn’t seem right, does it?’
    â€˜No,’ said Dr Mountford, stepping back. ‘No, it doesn’t seem right at all.’ He stepped away from the door. ‘I think I’ll have to break the door down.’
    Both Mrs Welbeck and Florence gave a little shriek in unison. Dr Mountford held his hand up sternly. ‘Don’t argue. It’s all for the best.’ He thought for a moment. Another man would be useful. ‘Is Mr Napier here?’
    Florence’s eyes circled. ‘No, sir. He’s gone. Last night, it was. Packed his bags and gone, he has.’
    Dr Mountford dismissed the disappearing Terence Napier and eyed the door appraisingly. He’d been a keen rugby player in his youth and was still a powerful, well-built man. He braced himself and, taking a run up, thudded shoulder first, into the door. The door creaked but remained closed. That had nearly done it.
    He gathered up all his strength and ran at the door once more. Under the force of the blow, the wood splintered and broke and the door was flung back.
    Dr Mountford smacked his hands together in satisfaction. With Florence tagging along and Mrs Welbeck bringing up the rear, he stepped gingerly into the room.
    â€˜Mrs Paxton?’ he called hesitantly. ‘Mrs Paxton?’ The curtains were closed and it was difficult to see in the velvet-induced gloom.
    Mrs Welbeck walked to the window, drew back the curtains, then turned and gave a gasp, her hand to her mouth.
    Constance Paxton was sitting in the chair by the fireplace in her nightclothes and dressing gown. Her mouth had fallen open and her arm dangled by the side of the chair.
    Florence stared at her. ‘She’s a corpse,’ she said with the unconscious brutality of a country-bred girl. ‘My Gran looked like that when she passed on,’ she added knowledgeably. ‘She’s a corpse.’
    Dr Mountford swallowed. Mrs Paxton was indeed a corpse but he found Florence’s willing acceptance of grim reality a little hard to take.
    â€˜There, there, don’t upset yourself, my dear,’ he said, knowing it was a completely redundant statement. Florence gazed at him and he looked back to Mrs Paxton, not knowing what to say.
    More to reassert his authority than with any real purpose in mind, he walked to the body. He tried to lay Mrs Paxton’s arm back on her knee, but she was stiff and unyielding. ‘ Rigor mortis,’ he muttered.
    â€˜She’s stiff, isn’t she?’ said Florence. ‘My Gran was stiff. We had to sit on her knees to straighten her out.’
    â€˜Yes, yes, yes,’ said Dr Mountford hastily. Again, he looked for an excuse to show he was in charge. An empty brandy glass, a small jug, and a brown medicine bottle were on the table beside