India Black and the Rajah's Ruby Read Online Free PDF Page A

with a stiff whisky; it’s deuced hard to summon up polite conversation on a teaspoonful of Amontillado.
    We milled about a bit, with Philip lassoing White and whisking him away to a corner, no doubt to debate the virtues of Virginia versus White Burley tobacco. The Carters and Mrs. White held a stiff conversation by the window, with Carter droning on about the benefits of country air and Mrs. Carter questioning the lady of the house about the availability of decent cooks in such a backwater as Ottery St. Mary. Marie Carter wandered uncertainly about the room, ostensibly looking at pictures but keeping a constant eye upon Mr. Ashton who, as one might expect of a normal male of robust constitution, had gravitated into my orbit.
    “Allow me to serve you some more sherry,” he said, taking my glass from my hand and being sure to graze my fingers with his as he did so.
    “That’s very kind of you.”
    Ford was guarding the sherry bottle but Ashton made a feint toward the whisky and when Ford tried to cut him off, he doubled back and slipped around Ford’s flank until he had an unobstructed path to the liquor. Ford pursed his bloodless lips and scowled as Ashton poured me a full glass.
    “There you are. I thought you might need a double. The conversation in here hardly rivals a Paris salon, does it?” He sipped his whisky and raised a flirtatious eyebrow.
    My first inclination was to bestow an alluring smile on the chap and enjoy a bit of harmless fun, but that was hardly the behavior of a dutiful wife and as I’d promised Philip I’d save my charms for White, I repressed the urge to join in Ashton’s game and instead giggled demurely.
    “I think the Whites are very nice,” I said. Just the sort of inane thing a guest might say of her host and hostess.
    “Oh, yes. Terrific chap, White. And his wife is the soul of kindness.”
    “You’ve stayed here before?”
    “No, this is my first visit. I was introduced to the Whites in London by a mutual friend.” He shifted his gaze over my shoulder at Philip and Harold White. “How does your husband know our host?”
    “By reputation, I believe. Philip is in the import and export business. He’s here to arrange a transaction with Mr. White.”
    “The import and export business? I see.” Ashton suppressed a smile. “How long will you be staying?”
    “We’ll be here for the week. We return to London on Sunday.”
    “Hmm.” Ashton stared absently at the two men. “Returning Sunday to the city, then?”
    “Yes. And you? Will you be returning to London on Sunday?”
    Ashton’s teeth gleamed in the soft dusk. “Rather sooner than that, I expect. I’ve some business of my own to transact with Mr. White and when that’s finished, I’ll be off.”
    A hand encircled my elbow and Philip appeared at my side. “How are you, my dear?”
    “Splendid. I’ve just been chatting with Mr. Ashton.”
    “So I see.” Philip gave Ashton a level stare, which Ashton returned. Neither man spoke. I might as well have been watching two tigers who had stumbled upon a staked goat at the same time.
    “And what have you two found to talk about?” asked Philip, breaking the lengthy silence which had developed.
    Ashton grinned. “Your plans,” he said.
    Philip’s hand closed involuntarily on my arm, making me jump.
    “Sorry, darling. Mr. White has proposed a tour of the house before dinner. Shall we join the party?” He didn’t wait for an answer but dragged me after him.
    The Carters were waiting by the parlour door with the Whites. Philip and I joined the group and Ashton ambled over and took up a place at the rear. I noticed Marie Carter eyeing him speculatively and edging closer to him. She’d obviously been invited to make up the numbers, but it was equally clear that Ashton proposed to have nothing to do with her.
    I don’t remember much of that tour. One of the first things a tart learns when she enters the profession is how to distance herself from her immediate