Murder at Maddingley Grange Read Online Free PDF

up and down a bit. Her eye caught the heavy rose velvet curtain at the far end of the hall behind which a corridor led to the kitchen and servants’ quarters. Wasn’t it the case that those above the salt passed through this cutoff point, “the green baize door,” at their peril? And that once the staff was firmly installed, the whole area could become a no-man’s-land unnegotiable except through the most ingratiating application?
    Tires crunched on the gravel. They were here! If they call me madam, thought Laurie, I shall die.
    She knew at once from the slightly defiant note in Simon’s “Hullo-o-o” as he ran up the steps that les domestiques would leave something to be desired. Had she known then quite how comprehensive this lack would prove to be, she would have taken to her heels and not stopped running till she reached the Barbary Coast. As it was, she cleared her throat nervously and stepped forward. The woman entered first. Laurie stepped back again.
    Mrs. Bennet was a tall streak of unrelieved gloom. Her coat and skirt were gray, her lisle stockings were gray and her limp woolly the color of mouse droppings. Her feet were encased in the sort of shoes that expanded to accommodate bunions and were of glacé kid. A hat, charmingly styled after the manner of a German helmet, was rammed upon her head. Her eyes, the color of dirty gray ice, seemed huge behind pebbly glasses.
    â€œGood afternoon, Mrs. Bennet,” said Laurie, stepping bravely forward once more and holding out her hand.
    â€œGood afternoon, I’m sure, madam,” said the maid, hardly opening the grim line of her mouth and just brushing Laurie’s fingertips. Then, peering through the thick lenses, “Miss, that is. And it is not necessary to use my marital designation. Bennet will suffice.”
    Her tone implied that anyone who needed to be told what was surely common knowledge to a person of refinement didn’t deserve a maid in the first place. The Hon. Mrs. Hatherley and Lady Keele, thought Laurie peevishly, no doubt absorbed such matters with their mothers’ milk.
    â€œVery well, Bennet,” she said coolly, thinking: It’s only for two days and perhaps the butler might be less formidable.
    He was a short man and stood preternaturally upright. But although he wore a well-pressed dark suit and a crisp white shirt and was parade-ground straight, there was about this ramrod stance, Laurie felt, something slightly fishy. A disquieting impression of secret shambolism. A feeling that this was a man to crack under the slightest pressure. Such as being asked to clean a boot or make a pot of tea for one. His eyes were rheumy, his teeth stained and his cheeks almost regally purple.
    Laurie did not repeat the mistake of offering a hand but simply said: “Good afternoon…um…?”
    â€œGaunt, madam.”
    â€œGaunt?”
    â€œThat is correct.” The butler observed Laurie’s suddenly clamped lips and twitching brows and added, “Is something wrong, madam?”
    â€œNo, no,” Laurie hastened to reply though her voice shook. “Simon—Mr. Hannaford will show you to your quarters. Perhaps, after you’ve washed and unpacked you would come to the library, that’s the door on the far right, and I’ll explain what will be happening over the weekend.”
    When Simon returned Laurie immediately said: “You might have warned me. Gaunt and Bennet!”
    â€œThere’s no need to chortle.”
    â€œI’m not chortling.”
    â€œWell whatever it was it sounded most peculiar. I must say, though, your manner seemed just about right. Firm but dignified. I know they’re not ideal—”
    â€œThat man drinks. You don’t get a complexion like a baboon’s bottom on Perrier and lemon squash.”
    Simon rolled back his eyes. “All butlers drink. It’s par for the course. That’s why the butler’s pantry was