The Mystery of Mothering Sunday: A 1920s Murder Mystery by Rawlins CM

Author:Rawlins, CM
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CleanTales Publishing
Published: 2024-10-11T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty minutes later, Lady Darriby-Jones made her way down to the breakfast room in what she was convinced was the tightest and shortest skirt she had ever worn. She had to admit that she looked dashingly stunning in the mirror set into the door of the wardrobe; she just hoped she would not be called upon to do any running that day.

It seemed a morning of surprises. On crossing the hall to the breakfast room, she had expected to be the first one down. Instead, it seemed more like Paddington Station with people everywhere; another point being that the diners exceeded the staff by quite a margin, Torino being the only one of the latter category.

“Good morning, all,” she said to the collection of youth presented around the breakfast table.

“What are we going to do about this dreadful situation?” Lady Alice didn’t waste any time on returning a ‘good morning’. Lady Darriby-Jones could sense the atmosphere of grim determination; the foursome were balancing on a tightrope with despair either side. They had to get across the divide to reach hope, perched on the other side. Lady Darriby-Jones looked from face to face, realising that they all looked to her for direction.

That’s when the idea came to her.

“I’ll be back in a mo.,” she said, leaving the breakfast room door open behind her as she rushed across to her private sitting room where she was sure the letter was located.

It was not the original that had been taken by the police, but a fair copy of the reply was there in her staff folder.

In less than a mo., she had returned to the breakfast room; the plan formulating in her mind.

“Listen,” she said, “this is the copy of my reply letter to Mrs Derbyshire, given to Miss Parsons for typing. It includes an address; except I don’t have my glasses. Here, Alfie, you read it out.”

Alfie took the draft letter and read the address:

“2, Short Street, Bakewell, Derbyshire. Ah, so Mrs Derbyshire just happens to live in Derbyshire.”

“Where on earth is Derbyshire?” Lady Darriby-Jones asked. Her knowledge of British geography would fill the back of a postage stamp with room to spare.

“It’s the peak district,” Cess replied. “Wild, beautiful uplands full of ruggedness. It featured in Pride and Prejudice.”

“Pride and…?” Freddie asked, displaying his ignorance, too. Give him a piece of wood and a knife and he could fashion a wonderful sculpture or a useful tool for life, but he knew little about literature and the like, despite Mrs Robinson’s best efforts.

Thought of Mrs Robinson brought the present need back to Lady Darriby-Jones’ mind.

“You see,” she said, “it’s just a hunch, but I think that the two murders are connected. I also suspect that Mrs Derbyshire of Derbyshire has something to say on the matter.”

“Yes, Mummy, you may be right, but what do we do about it?”

“Easy,” came the reply, easily formatted because her mind was in free flow now. “I need two people to go to Derbyshire and root around a bit.

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