The Skeleton Garden Read Online Free PDF

Vernona.”
    “Alf,” Pru said, wrinkling her nose. “I can’t believe he did anything useful.” She’d never met the man, but knew him by reputation: Alf Saxsby, Vernona’s no-good brother, had been involved in numerous shady dealings before ending up in prison, where he currently resided.
    “He can’t be all bad if he planted a hedge, now can he?” Christopher asked. “Fancy going into Romsey for a meal this evening?”
    “Yes, that sounds lovely. Could we go to that Indian place behind Lord Palmerston?” A statue of Lord Palmerston held court in the town center’s roundabout; it made a fine landmark.
    “Indian it is. I continue to be amazed at your penchant for hot dishes.”
    Pru smiled. “I grew up eating Lydia’s mother’s enchiladas, and this is the best substitute I have.”
    —
    Little was accomplished at the planning meeting. Instead of no suggestions for a theme—as had happened at the first meeting—now everyone had an idea, and each was reluctant to concede. They adjourned to the Blackbird, but after one pint, Pru left the remaining committee members to continue the debate—science fiction, Roman togas, American Wild West, Victorian. Pru had wondered aloud why they needed a theme and was told that a fancy-dress dance at the Blackbird concluded the day and people would want to choose their costumes to suit.
    She walked into the kitchen—they never used the real front door—to find Christopher leaning against the Aga with a bottle of fine claret and two glasses waiting on the table.
    “I thought we’d eat in tonight, after all, instead of going out for a curry—if that’s all right. I’ve put together a beef stew,” he said, nodding toward the range.
    “That’s always all right with me,” she said, stripping off her coat and giving him a kiss. “You are an excellent cook.”
    He picked up the wine and glasses. “Let’s go sit for a while, shall we?”
    Pru followed him into the library. “Oh, a fire, that’s lovely.” She slipped off her shoes, they sat, and he poured her a generous glass of wine. “Thanks. And now,” she said, leaning in, “confess. Did you break one of Evelyn’s Minton teacups?”
    His ears turned pink. “They are not Evelyn’s teacups, they belong to Vernona—and no, I did not.” He took a drink. “That transparent, am I?”
    “Only to your wife.”
    He cleared his throat. “Claire rang,” he said. His sister, Claire, her husband, Tommy, and family lived in Plymouth on the south Cornwall coast.
    “How are they?” When he didn’t answer Pru’s mind went immediately to the worst possible news. “Is something wrong?”
    Christopher stroked the back of her hand lightly. “They are all well. There’s nothing to worry about.”
    Christopher’s sister had never been anything but kind to Pru since they met. “I haven’t seen him so happy in ages,” Claire had said at Pru and Christopher’s wedding. “You’re very welcome to the family.” And yet Pru had not made that firm connection with Claire that she had with Polly. Claire’s entire being seemed to be made up of a cloud of charitable committees—to benefit St. Cuthbert’s School, or to raise money to refurbish the memorial to those lost in the Great War, or to replace the eighteenth-century bell in the parish church tower. It was difficult to find a solid presence in all that community spirit.
    Claire had married early and brought up a girl, Bess, and a boy, Tom, followed by throwing herself into Good Works, which was followed by—oops—another boy. Orlando had appeared on the family scene twelve years after his brother, who was already away at school. His sister, living at home and in college, became more of a nanny than sibling, and his grandmother—Christopher and Claire’s mother—had lived with the family until her death when Orlando was about nine.
    Growing up in an adult household had its effect: Orlando was sixteen going on forty. He was as polite and quiet as his