Murder Makes an Entree Read Online Free PDF

Margate, was a highly suitable venue and Mr Dickens was silently congratulated by the committee for his convenient
     choice of watering place. True, he had ceased to visit it long before his demise, having complained it was spoiled by increasing
     numbers of visitors and, even worse, the noise made under his windows by itinerant musicians in the streets, but forty years
     on people were more accustomed to such annoyances.
    The overriding concern of the committee this evening, however, which threatened to tear the Society apart and indeed bring
     about its entire disbandment, if certain threats were carried out, could not be laid at the door of Mr Dickens. It was next
     year’s Lion who was to blame: Mr William Shakespeare. He had been selected as the obvious choice of Lion for the prestigious
     year of 1900, the first year of the new century (despite vigorous argument on this point in the columns of the press). The
     Society’s year conveniently began on Shakespeare’s birthday, 23rd April, St George’s Day, and the chairman’s four-year reign
     being at an end, Sir Thomas Throgmorton would have stepped down and a new chairman preside over the day’s festivities.
    Or would he?
    ‘To Gwynne’s, Hobbs.’
    Sir Thomas Throgmorton had gazed, displeased, at the usual dusty roadway exacerbated by the hot dry weather and summoned his
     carriage. It might only be ten minutes’ walkfrom his Mayfair home to the hotel, but for this all-important meeting, he needed to present himself impeccable in both appearance
     and argument. He had half the committee on his side (counting himself). He frowned. Perhaps he had made a mistake in alienating
     Gwendolen? Surely she would not waver in his support, however? How could he have foretold what illusions the foolish woman
     was harbouring? He had had no choice but to act as he did. Beddington would be sure to support him. After all, Throgmorton
     told himself, he had right on his side. His years as a manager of an international bank had taught him the value of that.
     True, there was a small flaw in his argument, but with luck no one would see it. People would overlook anything, however obvious,
     if you were confident enough of your case – or appeared so. He’d learned that in banking too. Perhaps even Angelina would
     see the justice of his case, if he put it to her once more. He had found her dissension quite inexplicable. When they were
     married, he would gently and firmly make this plain to her.
    Angelina Langham had no intention of changing her views. Accompanied by fellow committee member, Oliver Michaels, the young
     playwright with whom she had just shared a most enjoyable dinner at the Savoy, she too was thinking about the Lionisers. As
     a newcomer to the committee, and moreover one championed by Sir Thomas himself, and as a ‘young’ woman – she was twenty-eight
     – she was aware that she was expected to know her place. As was Oliver Michaels, elected to represent Youthful Attainment
     (at thirty he was already a successful playwright). For her part, she had no intention of remaining in her place. That was
     not what had made her seek Sir Thomas’s acquaintance after the death of her husband nearly three years ago. A middle-aged
     and mild-natured poet of some distinction, he and not Alfred Austin would undoubtedlyhave been next Poet Laureate, had not circumstances decreed otherwise. His distinction, although he was deceased, vicariously
     entitled her to sit on the committee, where she was naturally not expected to play an active role.
    Oliver Michaels handed Angelina down from his pride and joy, his recently acquired Peugeot, and approved once more her slight,
     golden-haired figure with its air of Madonna-like calm hidden at present behind a rather ugly motoring veil. He held on to
     her hand, remarking as he glanced at Gwynne’s portals:
    ‘Oh Sairey, Sairey, little do we know wot lays afore us.’
    ‘You, Oliver,’ replied his madonna sweetly, throwing back