Murder at Maddingley Grange Read Online Free PDF Page B

invented.”
    â€œI shall lock ours up,” said Laurie. “They do know about wearing funny clothes?”
    â€œPeriod costume. Yes. And they don’t mind. Their reference from Mrs. Hatherley,” he went on as Laurie continued to look disenchanted, “was excellent.”
    â€œDid you ring to check it?”
    â€œI didn’t see the necessity.”
    â€œI shall, then.”
    But half an hour later, when Gaunt and Bennet presented themselves in the library, so perfectly did they appear to embody the prewar domestic virtues that Laurie felt her misgivings might have been a little hasty. She had pressed their outfits the previous day and could not but admire the results. Gaunt’s tails were immaculate, his dickey ice-white and firmly restrained by pearl studs. Bennet’s apron was a snowy exclamation point on a background of sooty black. Her starched and goffered cap was worn with unsaucy lack of compromise straight across her forehead and the basilisk gaze had become somewhat muted. Laurie was surprised to notice beneath the dark dress the swell of a quite attractive bosom and realized that Bennet, in spite of her gray hair, a few whiskery moles and a slight moustache, was hardly middle-aged. And Gaunt not that much older. As Laurie started to speak, both of them looked at her respectfully.
    She started by showing them the dining room and explaining the menus. Bennet seemed quite unfazed by the fact that there would be twelve for dinner in less than four hours’ time, merely commenting that the Honorable Mrs. Hatherley had often had twice that number at a split second’s notice and them with hardly a game bird in the larder to bless themselves with.
    Encouraged, Laurie led them both through the various bedrooms, giving Gaunt a list of the guests’ names with the appropriate room titles alongside.
    â€œCharmingly furbished, madam, if I might say so?” said the butler, giving the toile de Jouy the once-over.
    She showed them the vast kitchen somewhat apprehensively. It was not a cozy place (Simon called it “Ghormanghastly”) and there was no dishwasher. Aunt Maude’s modest amount of dirty crockery and silver was cleaned by Ivy, Cook washed up as she went along and, when the WI came to tea, they did the same. There was a huge stainless steel unit running down the center of the room, consisting of twelve gas rings, and three ovens with a freezer at each end. The gaping fireplace housed an iron spit. Faggots of herbs, gathered by Mrs. Maberley the previous summer during an evanescent attack of the Laura Ashleys, dangled dryly from blackened beams. The floor was stone-flagged and even on a hot June day very cool. On a side table were a portable oven and a little electric ring.
    After opening various cupboards and showing the servants where the towels and cleaning materials were kept, and after Bennet had pointed out that stone did draw your feet something chronic and no mistake, Laurie explained that the glass and cutlery were in the armoire in the dining room.
    â€œAnd the napery, miss?”
    â€œThat also.”
    This professional-sounding inquiry cheered Laurie. Suddenly what had seemed impossible twenty-four hours ago—a table full of contented people chatting happily together while being quickly and discreetly served with delicious food and wine—began to seem not only possible but almost probable. Boldly she added: “And there might be shoes to be cleaned.” A certain lack of response. “Not everyone’s of course. I expect some guests will prefer to do their own.” She hurried on, “If it’s too much extra work…” and thought: Damn—I’m sliding into subservience already.
    â€œI thrayve on hard work, madam,” said Gaunt.

    â€œOh…terrific.”
    â€œAnd now,” the butler continued, “perhaps you would be kind enough to direct me to the pantry.”
    â€œAh. Well…the