Murder at Maddingley Grange Read Online Free PDF Page A

distant…”
    â€œHugh,” said Laurie, struggling to hold her voice steady and choosing her words with care. “You know our murder weekend starts tomorrow. I shall need all the help and moral support that I can get. Now—you will be here by teatime at the very latest, won’t you?” In spite of her resolve, Laurie’s voice broke on the last sentence and panic rushed through the gap.
    â€œPositively. Although I’m sure you’ve got everything organized.”
    â€œWell, I think I’ve got the food sorted. The costumes are a scream. We’ve laid out your plus fours.”
    There was a brief hiatus; just long enough for a man who has received a nonfatal body blow to fall to the ground and pick himself up again, then Hugh said: “There must be something wrong with this line. For a minute I thought you said you’d laid out my plus fours.”
    â€œOhhh, no…” replied Laurie, sensing a possible slackening of enthusiasm in her intended. “I said…um…It’s lovely… outdoors.”
    â€œIs it? It’s raining buckets here.”
    When Laurie returned to the annex Simon said: “You look shattered. Explain.” Laurie explained. “What’s he doing down there anyway?”
    â€œToby Kettersley-Gore is his best friend. They were at Greshams together. Hypaetia and Poppy are Toby’s sisters. Surely you remember Pacey. She was my best friend.”
    â€œMmmm.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, ‘mmm’ ?”
    â€œPerhaps he’s succumbed to all that propinquity.”
    â€œRubbish. Poppy’s a revolting little beast with pigtails who used to put toads in my bed when I went to stay. And Pacey’s teeth stick out and she’s always rushing at people.”
    â€œHow long is it since you’ve seen her?”
    â€œA year…eighteen months…”
    â€œShe might have got them fixed by now. And some men like being rushed at.”
    Laurie ignored him, emptied the basket and started carrying the costumes upstairs.

Chapter Three
    A t twelve noon on Friday Simon, having spaced the croquet hoops out on the lawns and cleaned the mallets, was preparing to drive into Oxford and collect the hired help.
    â€œDon’t forget,” he said to Laurie as he climbed into the bus, “you’re the chatelaine and you do the bossing about. Use a firm hand. And no kindly queries about his gout or suggestions that she put her feet up—OK?” He paused, studying her frowning face. “Now what?”
    â€œDo you think I’ll have time before you get back to pinch out the tomatoes?”
    â€œDon’t you dare go anywhere near that greenhouse! Or that filthy herbaceous border. You’ll never get the upper hand if they arrive and find you standing around with straws in your hair.”
    So after lunch Laurie scrubbed her nails, got out of her old dungarees and into her periwinkle-blue frock. As she waited nervously in the hall she practiced an “in charge” voice and kept telling herself that he who paid the piper called the tune. She wished she wasn’t quite so hazy as to what butlers actually did. She knew for certain only that they opened doors, received visitors’ outer garments and rolled around smoothly on little wheels bearing silver trays.
    Her knowledge of a maid’s duties was even sketchier and culled mainly from old movies in which they put up the young mistress’s hair and laced her nineteen-inch waist, pushing a knee into the small of her back while crying: “Lawdy, Miss Scarlett—y’all shoh look mighty purty.”
    Feeling fairly certain none of the guests would require this particular mix of brute strength and flattery, Laurie only hoped that A. Bennet (Mrs.) could carry out whatever was the twentieth-century equivalent should she be called upon to do so.
    Laurie pulled the flowers on the refectory table about unnecessarily, then paced