Snobbery With Violence - M. C. Beaton [77]
“What? What?”
“I said, you’d miss me.”
“Yes, yes,” grumbled Mr. Trumpington. “Now can I go back to sleep?”
Miss Fairfax and Gerald sat holding hands. “I am so glad I met you,” she said.
“I’m amazed a charming lady like yourself never married,” said Gerald, gazing into her eyes and mentally paying off his tailor’s bills.
“Oh, I had my chances. But would you believe it? The men in Virginia are every bit as mercenary as they are here. Not you, of course, dear heart.”
“You had to fight off adventurers?”
“On my poor little dowry?”
“My poppet, everyone knows your family is extremely rich.”
“That’s my sister, Clarrie. She did well. Married Burton, who is rolling in railroad money. She’s paying for my trip to London and all my expenses.”
Gerald felt as if a cold dark stone had settled in his stomach. He tried to pull his hand away but she held it in a firm grip.
Clive Fraser, Bertram Brookes, Harry Trenton and Neddie Fee-mantle had only journeyed as far as the village pub. Drawn together by a feeling of failure, they set about getting drunk. Each had hoped to become engaged to one of the American sisters and put the sisters’ obvious lack of interest in any of them down to the odd happenings at the castle.
They got so drunk and obnoxious that the landlord had to send a message to the castle appealing to the marquess to come and get rid of them.
The remaining ladies, equally disappointed, were heading towards London. Perhaps each in her way was more shocked by the happenings than Rose. For a brief spell their lives, which had been as well-padded by wealth and class as their fashionable hourglass figures, had been invaded by a darker world. Maisie Chatterton and Lady Sarah Trenton longed for the bright lights and shops of London. Frederica Sutherland planned to stay only two days in London before journeying to her home in Scotland.
Maisie Chatterton decided she would never lisp again. Her mother had told her that men were fascinated by a girlish lisp, but all they did was to stare at her and then ask her to repeat what she had just said.
Lady Sarah planned to hint at the horror of the dark happenings at the castle and at the next ball conveniently swoon into the arms of the most handsome man present.
Frederica Sutherland was determined to convince her parents that there was no need for her ever to go south again, no need for her to leave her beloved dogs and horses.
She turned in the carriage and looked back at Castle Telby standing up square and bleak against the winter sky. She considered herself a jolly good sort, good at hunting and shooting, better than the men. She could not wait to get out of these frippery clothes and get some decent tweeds on again.
Harry felt quite low as Becket unlocked the door of the house in Water Street. His leg was hurting and he put it down to that. Becket went upstairs to unpack Harry’s bags and Harry lit the fire in his front parlour and settled down with a glass of sherry.
He felt almost angry with Rose at having hit on a solution to the murders and nearly getting herself killed. He was the detective. He was the one who should have hit on a solution to the mystery.
He rose and picked up his mail and began to sift through it. There was one from a Mrs. Debenham asking him if he could find her lost poodle. Is this all his intelligence was capable of, while some silly, unfeminine female went around solving murders?
Becket came in carrying his slippers.
“Pour yourself a glass of sherry, Becket, and sit down. I feel like company.” Becket poured a glass and sat down on the other side of the fireplace.
“I don’t think I should go on with this stupid detective business, Becket. What do you think?”
“It is not my place to say, sir.”
“Just this once, make it your place.”
“If I may say so, sir,