Murder at Kingscote by Alyssa Maxwell

Author:Alyssa Maxwell [Maxwell, Alyssa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2020-06-12T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Gwendolen King turned white. After setting aside her teacup with a slosh, she jumped up from her seat. “What on earth?”

She scrambled from the room, the rest of us quick to follow. The argument upstairs continued, and though less threatening than the initial outburst, three voices—two men, one woman—carried an intensity that sent us charging up the staircase. The landing opened onto a large square gallery. Derrick made his way to the front of our little group and proceeded toward the sounds of the scuffle.

Philip King, Francis Crane, and Louise Peake, the housekeeper, stood outside a bedroom at the far side of the gallery. Although their shouting had ceased, the two men had each other by the fronts of their attire—Philip’s shirt and vest, Mr. Crane’s coat lapels. Each held bunches of fabric in his fists as they played a strange tug of war. Mrs. Peake was attempting to separate them by use of both vocal commands and shoves at their shoulders, but they weren’t cooperating. In fact, I doubt they noticed her. They were both red faced and practically snorting like bulls. Derrick strode to them and added his efforts to the housekeeper’s.

“Gentlemen, and I use the term lightly, what is going on here?” His tone demanded an immediate answer. Gripping each man firmly by the shoulder, he forced the pair apart. “That is quite enough.”

The command proved unnecessary, for as they stumbled backward, they involuntarily released each other. Derrick moved between them and held up the flats of his hands, one at either man. “What the deuce prompted you two to behave so swinishly in a house where ladies reside?”

Mrs. Peake, a woman about Mrs. King’s age, sighed with obvious relief and backed away to stand near Gwendolen and Miss Wetmore. Her agitation hadn’t fully abated, and her bosom rose and fell with each labored breath. Clearly their behavior had left her shaken. Philip King noticed the rest of us hovering beyond Derrick and raised a hand to point.

“It’s because of her—Gwennie—that I’d like to wring his neck.” Philip started toward Francis again but Derrick stopped him with thump to his chest.

“What do you mean, Philip?” Without hesitating an instant, Miss King went to stand before her brother and set her hands on her hips. “How can you possibly think I’d want you to threaten Mr. Crane, or any guest in our home?”

“He doesn’t deserve to be in our home.” Philip’s chin went up in a show of defiance.

His sister fanned her hand back and forth in front of her face. “You’ve been drinking, Philip, haven’t you? That’s why you’re not making any sense. Mr. Crane is your friend. You’ve no business treating him in such a deplorable manner.”

“Don’t you wish to know why he’s here?” Philip countered.

“He came to visit you, you dunderhead.” Her voice started to rise. She paused a moment to calm herself. “But I do have one question for him. Mr. Crane, did you bring my brother liquor?”

“I most certainly did not, Miss King.

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