A Christmas Carol Murder by Heather Redmond

Author:Heather Redmond [Redmond, Heather]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781496717177
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2020-06-12T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Charles could see before him a man at his limit, despite the elderly man’s bravado. He tried to think of someone to run Mr. Screws’s house since he was responsible for removing Mrs. Dorset. His sisters were too busy and so was Julie Aga. He had no ideas for once in his life. “Do you have a housemaid you can promote?”

“There are two or three young idiots in the household. No one with any age, experience, or gravitas,” Mr. Screws said.

“Is there a Mrs. Cratchit?” Charles suggested.

“Dead, I believe. His daughter keeps house for him.”

Charles sneezed. The explosion set his forehead afire with pain. He drained his glass of claret.

“You had better remove yourself to your domicile and have your servants draw you a hot bath,” Mr. Screws advised. “Otherwise, I do not credit you with the opportunity to stay in good health, sir.”

Charles tried to blink and discovered his eyes ached. “I’ll sweat it out over a steaming bowl of water when I return home.”

Mr. Screws stood and limped to the cabinet that hulked against the wall. He rattled his keys and opened a locked door. A moment later he came back and set a bottle in front of Charles. “Glenturret whisky,” he said with satisfaction. “That will cure you. Take it home and toast to my good health.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” Charles said. How could he hate a man who gave him such a kind gift?

“The least I can do,” Mr. Screws said gruffly. “Injured in the line of duty, only a cold lunch? What is the world coming to?”

“Mrs. Dorset seemed like a good housekeeper,” Charles said, a shade of guilt at her fate coming now that he was calmer.

“Fair, fair, but I can’t have her son about under the circumstances.”

Charles sighed. “No, they have to go. A pity, excellent woman.” He pushed himself to his feet and shook the old gentleman’s hand. The slippers had never arrived so his feet were still frozen. However, an evening at home over a steaming bowl, whisky at his elbow, would suit him very fine.

* * *

Charles had to attend a political meeting out of town the next morning and found himself riding down Fulham Road early that afternoon, his palms aching whenever they jostled against the reins. His thoughts had not strayed far from Mr. Screws and baby Timothy as he recorded the accusations between politicians in shorthand. It seemed his Christian duty was to take responsibility for two souls, one on each end of life. The baby had excellent caregivers, unlike the old man. He feared Mr. Screws was not long for this world if he received indifferent care at home, and given Kate’s fondness for the old sinner, he had best keep the man alive if he hoped to reunite with his beloved.

After leaving his rented horse at a stable, he walked over to Cale Street to see Edward Pettingill, in the hopes of persuading Mr. Screws’s nephew to take on the problem of the old man.

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