The Hidden House Murders: A cozy Golden Age historical mystery (Miss Hart and Miss Hunter Investigate Book 3) by Celina Grace

Author:Celina Grace [Grace, Celina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: dp books
Published: 2025-02-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Icouldn’t wait until that evening to talk to Verity alone. When we sat down to dinner, I found her foot under the table, pressed it hard – perhaps harder than necessary – and waited for her to look at me. When she did, I signalled as hard as I could without moving my face that I needed to talk to her immediately.

She got the unspoken message. Verity and I had known each other for so long and had had to communicate without words so often that it sometimes felt as if we could almost read each other’s minds. I could tell, looking at her across the table, that she was feeling both sheepish, a little guilty but also gleefully triumphant and I knew why.

After dinner, I sent Ethel to begin to clear the family dining room and, once Mrs Weston was out of the way, virtually pushed Verity into the scullery.

“You – you cat, you!”

Verity burst out laughing. “I thought you’d appreciate the surprise.”

I couldn’t help but laugh myself. “Honestly, V, you might have given me some warning. I looked like something that had been dragged through a hedge backwards when the inspector arrived.”

That made Verity laugh harder. “It’s not as if he doesn’t know what you do, Joanie. He knows you’re a cook, not a…a policewoman or a – what was the other alter-ego of yours? A journalist?”

I almost blushed to think of some of the folly I’d made up in the past. “Well, I would have still appreciated a bit of warning.”

Verity suppressed her giggles with an effort. “Sorry,” she said with dancing eyes, not sounding it in the slightest.

“Well!“ I said, not quite sure of what else to say.

Verity sobered up. “What did he actually want? Dorothy said he wanted to talk to you before he would talk to her. I think she was a bit cross about that.”

I felt a mixture of pride and anxiety. “Well, Dorothy was the one who wrote to him, I suppose. But she wrote to him because of what I knew.”

“I know that. Don’t worry about it, anyway. She’ll get over it.” We both simultaneously became aware of footsteps approaching the kitchen and exchanged a wordless glance.

“Thanks for your help, Verity,” I said loudly, pushing open the scullery door.

“You’re very welcome, Joan,” Verity said, equally clearly. As she passed me, she murmured “My room, when we’re finished.” I nodded in agreement and watched her walk past Mrs Weston and Ethel who were both carrying trays of dirty dishes.

Because I was dying to continue our conversation, of course everything conspired against me. Mrs Weston wanted to discuss the menus for the week, not just the next day, which took ages. She looked rather unwell, pale-faced and hollow-eyed, and once or twice she stopped talking and pressed a hand to her forehead. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her if she was feeling ill but the moment I essayed the most tentative enquiry, she snapped that she was perfectly well and so I held my tongue for the rest of our discussion.

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