Death in a Scarlet Gown (Murray of Letho Book 1) by Conyngham Lexie

Author:Conyngham, Lexie [Conyngham, Lexie]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: The Kellas Cat Press
Published: 2011-06-19T16:00:00+00:00

To anyone who did not know, the rambling white house with its shutters closed looked as if it was still undisturbed after the excitement of the night before. The daffodils in the garden were a little battered, but the wind was combing them out again and it would not be long until the damage done by Picket and Rab would be gone. Charles knocked quietly on the door, and then thought that mourning did not necessarily make servants more acute of hearing. He was about to knock again at a more normal volume, when the door opened, and Barbara the maid, her apron untied, appeared.

‘Yes?’ she said, apparently unable to recognise them.

Charles tried to look sympathetic.

‘I am very sorry to hear about the misfortune which has affected the family, and we should like to present our cards.’ He nudged George hard, and they both presented the little scraps of pasteboard that could intrude where they could not. ‘Also,’ Charles added, as she accepted them, ‘Professor Urquhart said that Professor Shaw was here, and might be in need of our assistance.’

For a moment she looked even more blank, then her face cleared.

‘He’s in the parlour,’ she said, with a sense of achievement, and stepped back to let them in. In the pleasant little room in which they had met Mrs Keith and her daughter only a couple of weeks ago, Professor Shaw was waiting.

‘Oh, my dear Charles,’ said Shaw, as Barbara backed out. ‘My dear George. This is a very terrible thing!’

‘How are the family?’ George asked hurriedly.

‘That is another matter again. Mrs. Keith is terribly shocked, of course. Peter is with her constantly.’

‘And Miss Keith?’ George persisted. Professor Shaw looked at him strangely for a second, and then quickly turned to the window. One blind had been lifted, and in the distance they could see the summer house.

‘Christopher Urquhart offered to go for the doctor – did you meet him?’ They nodded. ‘It seemed the best thing.’

‘But for whom? Who is sick?’ George’s broad face was ashen. Professor Shaw looked up at him again, nervously.

‘For Miss Keith. Did not Professor Urquhart say? She has been poisoned, too.’

‘Poisoned!’ Charles exclaimed, as George sagged on to a chair. ‘Steady, George: we may be needed. But Professor Urquhart said nothing about poison!’

‘Well, that’s what it looks like,’ said Professor Shaw, apologetically, as though it had all been his own idea. Charles found his head was swimming, and touched the back of George’s chair to steady himself. It did not help: the chair was shaking.

‘But what kind of poison? And how? And how do they know?’

Professor Shaw signalled to him to sit down, and perched himself on the very edge of the sofa. He fidgeted with his hands.

‘Christopher Urquhart and I were supposed to be meeting him this morning to talk about – about some students. The maid said he was in his study, and we should go up. When we knocked on the door there was no reply, and Christopher – Professor Urquhart – tried the handle.

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