The Winter Garden Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page B

Goodman!” Lady Valeria summoned the secretary to her side and started complaining about some letter he had written for her earlier.
    Bobbie joined Daisy and Sir Reginald. She kissed her father with obvious affection, then turned to Daisy. “Did Mummy rag you terribly?”
    â€œOh no,” Daisy nobly lied, racking her brain for something good to report. “Apparently she and my mother made their curtsies to Queen Victoria the same year. It was kind of her to arrange for Mr. Goodman to tell me the history of Occles Hall, and she even suggested I should telephone him if I have more questions after I go back to town.”
    â€œI hope you will stay until all your questions are answered,” said Sir Reginald with quiet firmness. “Bobbie, Miss Dalrymple has kindly promised to squeeze a few words about the dairy into her article.”
    â€œGood-oh!”
    They chatted for a few minutes about Daisy’s writing, until the butler, Moody, came in.

    He looked around the room and his dismal expression became downright lugubrious. “Dinner is ready, my lady,” he announced.
    â€œMr. Sebastian is not down yet,” said Lady Valeria sharply. “We shall wait.”
    â€œVery well, my lady.”
    Sebastian breezed in five minutes later. Daisy caught her breath at the sight of him in evening clothes. In the hours since she last saw him, she had managed to persuade herself he could not possibly be as handsome as she remembered, but he was.
    â€œSorry I’m late, Mater,” he said. “Thomkins couldn’t find the cuff-links I wanted.”
    â€œMy dear boy,” Lady Valeria’s voice was a mixture of indulgence and exasperation, “if you will insist on not sacking the fellow despite his carelessness … .”
    â€œOh, Thomkins suits me well enough. Sorry to keep you from your soup, Miss Dalrymple.” When he smiled at Daisy, it was easy to see why his mother doted on him—and feared to turn him loose among the ladies.
    Moody reappeared, walking as if his feet hurt. “Dinner is served , my lady.”
    Dinner was served by the butler and a parlourmaid; since the War only the grandest houses had footmen. Daisy recognized the girl who had brought the tea earlier, a plump brunette who moved awkwardly, with frequent whispered directions from Moody. Every dish she handed around seemed about to slip from her nervous grasp, but all went well until the end of the main course. Then Lady Valeria snapped at her for removing the plates from the wrong side.
    The plate she had just collected crashed to the floor, knife and fork flying. With a wail of despair, she ran from the room.
    â€œReally,” said Lady Valeria angrily, “if she’s still incapable of doing the job properly after three weeks, she will have to go. Moody, I can’t imagine why you and Twitchell find it impossible to hire and train an adequate parlourmaid. You will have to do better than that.”
    â€œYes, my lady,” gloomed Moody. “Very well, my lady.”

    Dessert was consumed in fraught silence, except by Daisy and Sir Reginald, who struggled to carry on a conversation about cheese. At least she was able to congratulate him sincerely on the Cheshire cheese that closed the meal.
    Lady Valeria rose to lead the ladies out. “The vicar and Mrs. Lake will be joining us in the drawing room,” she announced, adding in a tone of surprised displeasure, “He was not at home when I called at the vicarage to reprimand him about his sermon. All equal in the sight of God indeed! Anarchist piffle.”
    â€œBolshie piffle, Mater,” Sebastian drawled. “The Anarchists are passé—in fact, quite exploded.”
    Daisy, Sir Reginald, and Ben Goodman laughed. Bobbie looked so puzzled Daisy wondered whether she’d ever heard of Bolsheviks or Anarchists.
    â€œVery clever, Sebastian,” his mother said with a thin smile. “Don’t linger over