Death at Darrington Manor : A totally gripping 1920s cozy mystery (An Abigail Dixon Mystery) by Nancy Warren

Author:Nancy Warren [Warren, Nancy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Storm Publishing
Published: 2024-06-27T00:00:00+00:00

The next morning a current of unease permeated the house. Abby felt it even over the breakfast cups, looking around wondering if someone here, either one of the servants or even worse one of the people sitting around this very table, had tried to harm Reggie or perhaps Charles Mitchell through damaging his car and his son.

The day’s schedule included rabbit shooting as it was too early in the season for game birds and clearly Charles Mitchell wanted to take part in a proper British shoot. So Peter had suggested they shoot the rabbits that ravaged the crops. Viv had shuddered when she heard about the day’s regimen, but Abby had grown up near enough to the country to accept that an overabundance of rabbits required a cull. Cressie was country born and used to the practice and Coco Chanel thought she might take part if time permitted. She was a keen hunter and fisher.

Lord Wimborne promised them fishing after lunch. “There’s excellent sport fishing to be had on the river that traverses our land. Brown trout make a wily opponent.” He sounded much better than he had the night before and quite enthused. As though he caught her unasked question, he said, “I love to fish. Been doing it since I was a boy. Naturally, I need help these days, but it’s something I can still manage, at any rate.”

The men arrived for breakfast already wearing hunting gear. Reggie was the last to arrive, but he wore a navy-blue sweater with his university crest on it over woolen slacks.

Charles Mitchell was arguing the merits of his Remington rifle with Peter Wimborne, who preferred his Enfield. Lord Wimborne nodded. “We all shoot with the Enfield at Darrington. Used them in the war.” As though it were a patriotic act to take them out for sport.

Charles Mitchell glanced at his son. “Not hunting rabbits, Reggie?”

“I’ve still got a wretched headache. Think I’ll save my strength for the fishing later. You know I’m a much better angler than a shot.”

“Nonsense, boy. You’re an excellent shot. I taught you myself.”

Oliver laughed then and turned to his friend. “Remember, Reggie? He’d reward whichever of us hit the most soda bottles with a silver dollar. We were awfully competitive.”

Charles Mitchell grinned. “For the cost of a few silver dollars, I turned you both into fine marksmen.”

Lady Wimborne spoke up. “I think you’re very wise to stay away from shooting this morning, Reginald. Those guns are so loud, my dear, they give me a headache. With you still recovering from concussion, you really ought to rest.”

“Oh, I shan’t do that,” he said. “I’ll walk out to take a look at the Mitchell 925. Have the police finished with it yet?”

“I believe so,” Lord Wimborne said.

“Then we ought to get somebody to fix that brake cable, otherwise it’s no use at all.”

Charles Mitchell looked up from his bacon and eggs. “I’ve got one of my men flying over. He’ll fix it all right and tight.”

“Flying over?” Lord

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