Blood upon the Snow by Hilda Lawrence

Author:Hilda Lawrence
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Courier Publishing
Published: 2018-10-10T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

VIOLET had the door open before Mark could get out his key. She was overjoyed to see Bessy and Beulah; and when she heard they were going to help her with the children and even sleep in the same room, she almost smiled.

“I’ve got a poker under my pillow,” she said, “but I won’t need it now I’ve got you, Miss Pond.” Beulah looked pleased, though she had never cared for Violet.

Mark wanted to know if everything was under control. Everything was. Nothing had happened at all. The children had gone to bed without any fuss although they had asked for Florrie. Violet told them Florrie had her appendix out, which was what Perrin said to tell them. Nobody had come to call except that Partridge. “Calling himself police,” she added gloomily. “And taking all of Florrie’s things away. Her uniforms and all. Her diary and even the old market lists she always saved in case the butcher tried to pull something funny. Even her nail polish. Everything. Calling himself police.”

Perrin and Morey both helped with the extra bed. It came from the rose room and was very properly covered with rose-patterned chintz. The ensuing horticultural riot gave Violet much pleasure.

“A red cabbage rose, I’d say,” she deduced admiringly, with one finger laid thoughtfully against a round cheek. “If it’s just the same with you ladies I’d like to sleep in it myself. I haven’t got the heart for morning glories.”

“Everything in order here? Got everything you need?” Morey stepped around briskly. “Haven’t overlooked anything, Violet?”

“No, sir.”

“Then I’ll get along. I want some chess with Stoneman.”

“Where is he?” Mark asked.

“Locked himself in again. He’ll come out now that you’re home. Perrin, bring some ice to the library. What are you going to do, East?”

“Talk to these people for a bit. Play the genial and grateful host, if you’ve no objection.”

“I get it!” Morey went up to Bessy and Beulah with outstretched hand. “Forgive me. I haven’t said a word about how I appreciate this. You’re helping us over a bad time. Mrs. Morey will see you in the morning and tell you herself. Can I send you anything? A sandwich, a drink?”

“No,” Mark said quickly and flatly. “I’ll see you later perhaps. If I don’t, will you send Stoneman up fairly early? I think he needs rest.”

Morey nodded and left.

Violet burst into sudden activity, turning down beds, plumping pillows, opening and shutting closet doors. “I’ll help you get settled,” she said. “There’s that big bureau, nice and empty, with clean paper in the drawers and never been used. Here Miss Pond, give me that bag. Oh, what an awful mess! You’re no packer. My land, have you got something in your coat pocket too?”

“Leave me alone,” Beulah said crossly. “I’m keeping this coat on. I’m cold.”

Mark seized his opportunity. “Violet, you help Miss Petty. I want to talk to Miss Pond privately.” He led Beulah to the far end of the hall, safely out of earshot. They sat on a window seat and he faced her with some trepidation.

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