A Posh Murder: A Delightfully British Cosy Mystery by Keith Finney

Author:Keith Finney [Finney, Keith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Vinci Books
Published: 2021-04-02T00:00:00+00:00

Although our party arrived first, which Whipple took full advantage of by filling his plate, the other houseguests soon entered. I noticed one or two nursing various bruises and scratches to the face and assumed some were clearly more competent on horseback than others.

As I continued to gaze upon a gaggle of tired faces and aching backs, HG drew our attention to who was not present. ‘Neither Lemuel nor Peregrine are here. Do we regard this as unusual, given our earlier conversation in Rowena’s bedroom?’

Unable to contain her curiosity, before either the inspector or I could respond, the dowager made off for the colonel. We followed as if a pair of sausage dogs expecting a treat from their master.

‘My son detests the hobby for some strange reason. As for the other fellow, Lemuel, you say. Well, it seems he had an errand to run. If you ask me, it sounded a little fishy.’

HG suggested perhaps Percival had suffered a traumatic event with a horse when a child. She added such things can often linger into adulthood.

‘Trauma, child?’ replied the colonel as he spat out more of the cucumber sandwich than he’d eaten. ‘Augustine’s child was as bonkers then as he is now. From what I remember, the fellow showed little interest in horses or fishing, bally difficult as that is to believe. All he wanted to do was look at flowers… and watch people. Still does it, you know.’ The colonel shook his head and bit into a cream fancy and cucumber sandwich concurrently, seeming not to notice the unusual combination of ingredients.

HG swooped on the reference to his son as ‘Augustine’s child’, suggesting it a peculiar description to use about his own flesh and blood.

Dispatching the last of his fancy into his mouth with the tip of a forefinger, the colonel shrugged his shoulders. ‘I served overseas sporadically between 1880 and 1901. Augustine mostly remained in England. Who knows, these things happen. Anyway, he serves his purpose as my heir.’

‘But no spare,’ said HG light-heartedly.

The colonel thought for a few seconds before seeing off a second cream fancy. ‘Oh… yes, I see. Exceedingly funny. No, no spare. I spent a great deal of time at my club, rather than… well. Ah, there’s Witchingham. I went to school with him, you know. Must catch up on old times…’

Resisting the temptation to erupt into a trio of giggles, we averted our eyes from our fleeing host and, instead, each concentrated on our own plates of deliciousness.

Seeing our levity, the wives of the Watkins-Simms twins meandered over to our position. Of course, respect for our host prevented any disclosure concerning Peregrine’s parental origins.

Instead, HG commented their husbands appeared to be getting on well, judging by their illuminated features as they sat chatting in a corner of the large orangery like a pair of naughty school children.

The elder’s wife commented we had observed them at their worst the previous day, yet today they would kill for each other. The lady checked herself as she observed Whipple’s eyes narrowing.

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