Classic Love: 7 Vintage Romances by Dorothy Fletcher

Author:Dorothy Fletcher [Fletcher, Dorothy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781440590436
Google: fgijBgAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00TIXT5WO
Goodreads: 25052558
Publisher: Crimson Romance
Published: 2015-03-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

I waited until that evening, when we were having aperitivi in the garden, to speak to Elizabeth Wadley about the accidental death of my aunt. I decided not to tell her what Eleanora had said, but rather to ask outright. In other words, I wanted to take her unawares.

I had slipped easily into calling her by her first name, and I said, abruptly perhaps, but wanting her first reaction, “Elizabeth, how did my aunt die?”

There wasn’t even a second’s hesitation. “Because of a total lack of sense,” she said crisply. “She simply declined to admit to the infirmities of age, and went on acting like a schoolgirl. Well, she was a narcissist, of course, anyone would tell you that. She was Queen of the May for so long that she thought herself indestructible. God wouldn’t dare let any harm come to her! She’d be alive today if she hadn’t been so bloody foolhardy.”

I waited, looking inquiringly at her, and she went on. “Well, I assumed, of course, that you knew,” she said. “She was on the ladder, pruning some parasite vines that were choking the trees round the house. Never mind having Pietro tend to it. Oh no, she had to do it herself. Pride goeth before a fall, my dear. At any rate, she was hacking away at a great rate and the ladder must have slipped. After all, she was nearly eighty. She fell a hundred feet to her death.”

She saw my face and hastened to add, “My dear, she didn’t suffer for a moment. You mustn’t think about it. She was never in pain. She died instantly.”

“Did she bleed much?”

“Bleed?” Elizabeth looked astonished, and for a second narrowed her eyes with what seemed to me distaste. I didn’t want her to think I was looking for sensationalism, for goodness’ sake. But yet I didn’t want to mention the handkerchief Eleanora had found. I said carefully, “I suppose I want to be reassured … that she didn’t suffer, as you say.”

“Love, it was as quick a death as anyone could ask for. She broke her neck and aside from the quite horrible position she was in, there was no other outward sign. She certainly didn’t bleed.”

Well that, I thought, was puzzling indeed. No blood on the dead woman … but a hankie stained with it in Eleanora’s basket. What could one make of it?

I could hear, in the adjoining gardens, the voices of the Monteverdis, carried by the cool currents of clear air. A shriek of childish laughter, followed by Gianni’s voice, told me that uncle was teasing niece, and I had to smile. I must tell Gianni, I thought, that they made a charming couple, he and Eleanora. Looking up, I saw the Principe sitting at the window on the upper story of the villa: he was communing with some bird or other in the branches of a tree which was close enough to sweep the house. The bird would cheep and then the Principe would answer it.

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