Death Around the Bend by T E Kinsey

Author:T E Kinsey [Kinsey, T E]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781503940109
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2017-06-07T16:00:00+00:00

There was, as always, a massive pot of tea at the centre of the table in the servants’ hall. Lined up in close attendance, like eager acolytes around their glazed china master, were fresh cups, a milk jug, and a sugar bowl. It should have been a place of quiet relaxation and idle chatter. Of course, it wasn’t.

There was quiet chatter, but the table was a hive of industry. Clothes were being mended, silverware polished, and one young maid was sorting candles into small bundles for delivery to bedrooms all over the house. There were two oases of calm: Mr Spinney was reading a newspaper, occasionally sharing titbits with Mrs McLelland, while Betty sat alone, staring into thin air. I squeezed in next to her.

‘Good morning, Betty, fach,’ I said. ‘You were up early this morning.’

She smiled ruefully. ‘I was summoned. Mrs Beddows needed to get ready.’

‘I thought they were playing tennis,’ I said. ‘How much getting ready does that entail? I just laid out a tennis dress and a pair of plimsolls.’

‘Ah, but Lady Hardcastle is calm and rational. And confident in herself. And not insanely competitive. There was hair to be set, make-up to be applied, muscles to be massaged. And that was before we got round to trying on six different hat-and-ribbon combinations. She brings two tennis rackets. Who owns two tennis rackets?’

I laughed. Mr Spinney caught my eye, clearly trying to decide whether to say something to a visiting servant about speaking so disparagingly about her employer. Unfortunately, Mrs McLelland’s face showed no such indecision – she was obviously very annoyed – and I was unable to stop myself from laughing again. Mr Spinney returned quickly to his newspaper, having decided the battle was over before it had begun.

‘That’s handy,’ I said. ‘Lady Hardcastle’s tennis racket was broken during our move to Littleton Cotterell. She never got round to replacing it. Her local friends aren’t too keen on tennis.’

‘Mrs Beddows would never lend her a racket. She’s very particular about her tennis rackets.’

‘She sounds like a keen player,’ I said. ‘Is she good?’

‘She’s rubbish. Absolutely hopeless.’

The maids and footmen were concentrating on their work, trying to pretend not to earwig, but their barely stifled laughter gave them away. Mr Spinney cleared his throat and rustled his newspaper, trying to regain control. Muted conversations were resumed.

‘Still no news about Mr Dawkins in the newspaper, Mrs McLelland,’ said Mr Spinney. ‘I must say, I find that rather odd. A man dies in tragic circumstances at one of the country’s most important houses, and no one bats an eyelid. Most odd.’

‘Would you rather they made a fuss? Stoked a scandal?’ said Mrs McLelland.

‘Of course not. Perish the thought,’ he said quickly.

‘Well, then. Just be thankful they’re leaving it be. It was a tragic accident, that’s all. And no need for a fuss.’

The maid with the candles looked up from her work. ‘’Cept they says it wasn’t an accident, Mrs McLelland,’ she said.

‘Who’s “they”, girl?’

‘Morgan, for one. He says the brakes didn’t work.

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