Sleep of Death by Anne Morice

Author:Anne Morice
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dean Street Press
Published: 2021-05-09T16:00:00+00:00

II

One little lady already at his side when I called at The Old Rectory a few hours later, to deliver some groceries which he had asked me to pick up in Storhampton, was Clarrie.

This was unexpected, but a relief too, for I had been a shade worried when she did not keep her promise to telephone me early on Monday morning. Despite loud protestations to the contrary, I had been unable wholly to dismiss the possibility of Pete being a murderer and, from time to time, had been bothered by the thought of her spending the night alone with him in their isolated cottage. I had consoled myself to some extent with the reminder that few people in this world were better equipped to look after themselves than she was and that the most recent quarrel had now most likely burnt itself out and they had already reached a state of truce and redeployment of forces for the next one.

Unhappily, this was not the case, as I discovered when she followed me into the kitchen, where I was unpacking the provisions, having put the bill in my pocket, on the remote chance that Philip would show some curiosity about it.

I asked her what had brought her there and she replied: “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose there must be some tiny drop of Christian spirit still lurking in the wings, despite all my efforts to eradicate it. It occurred to me that it must be rather ghastly for the poor old knight, sitting here all alone while that grisly inquest was going on and everyone referring to her late ladyship as the cadaver and things like that. If I’d known you were coming, I’d probably have told the Christian spirit to take a running jump, but I didn’t and I thought the gallant and noble thing would be to sail over and take his mind off things for a bit.”

“I bet you did that all right! But how did you get here, Clarrie? I didn’t see any car outside. Did Pete bring you and then go away again?”

“Not Pete, the other one.”

“Which other one?”

“Old Redhead.”

“Benjie, you mean?”

“That’s the one.”

“Honestly, Clarrie, all this switching about! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! No wonder you have such trouble remembering their names!”

“It’s not exactly a trouble, but I’m apt to wander a bit sometimes and call them by the wrong one, which doesn’t go down very well.”

“I suppose not, but tell me this: how does Benjie come to be driving you over here to see Philip this morning?”

“Quite simple, dear. I rang him up and asked him to. I knew he was spending part of the weekend with his parents because before he got so tiresome and drunk at that terrible party he told me so and offered me a lift as far as the cottage.”

“And so this morning you rang him up and commanded him to come all the way back to the cottage, in order to take you to call on Philip, which he obligingly did?”

“You’re so quick on the uptake, Tessa, I do admire it.

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