Deadly Primrose by Suzette A. Hill

Author:Suzette A. Hill
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781448304127
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2020-01-12T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-THREE

Charles Penlow’s account

As I remarked to Agnes over breakfast, on the whole I think our decision to come to Lewes and renovate the family white elephant was a good idea. Physically the place is so much more attractive than London – an ideal position in a fold of the South Downs, a beautiful landscape, intriguing history, plenty of fishing, good hunting over at Wilmington, decent pubs such as Jevington’s Hungry Monk, and friendly locals. What more could a fellow want?

Agnes said nothing for a moment, intent on spooning jam on to her toast (an exacting process – not too much, not too little, a pernickety ritual which I do not share). But then looking up she said with a twinkle, ‘Oh yes, and then of course there is the crime factor: a murder last year on the Downs and now it looks like something very murky on Primrose Oughterard’s land. You have to admit that does lend additional stimulus to living here! Are you sure you didn’t notice anything when you were taking your walk the other evening?’

‘What – you mean like an assassin lurking in her laurels? I hate to sound dull but as I told our gallant constables, I saw nothing except the unfortunate lady’s shattered motor car.’

She sighed. ‘What a shame, I thought that would spice things up a bit and deflect your mind from the defective plumbing in the east wing’s lavatory. Still, you never know, perhaps something will come to you later. It’s amazing how retentive memory can be.’

Agnes is an incurable optimist and has a strong sense of drama, and I was almost tempted to invent something to feed that avid imagination. But I banished the thought, knowing that any hint would be gleefully seized upon and spread far and wide. Prudently I turned my mind to the sombre problems of the east wing’s cistern.

Later that morning, Duster and I made our customary visit to the White Hart. It is strange how conservative some dogs are. Duster is a quiet little chap, but once when I introduced him to an alternative pub he went berserk and expressed his displeasure in the most voluble way. It had been an embarrassing scene and since then I have been careful to remain loyal to our usual haunt.

Normally at that time on a weekday the lounge is relatively empty. Thus on entering I was surprised to find quite a little gaggle of locals clustered around the bar counter. Among these were the Balfours, the Reverend Egge, Peggy Mountjoy (fortunately minus the dreary daughter), Winchbrooke from Erasmus House and even Reginald Bewley, our esteemed council chairman. Of the drinkers he was the only one holding a glass of water. It might have been gin, I suppose, but I rather doubt it.

As soon as they saw me I was greeted warmly and beckoned over. Someone offered to buy me a drink and I soon realized the reason for the gathering: the ‘awful Markham murder’. Yes, with a mixture of awe and relish they were picking it to pieces for all they were worth.

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