Perils in Yorkshire by Emma Dakin

Author:Emma Dakin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
Publisher: Epicenter Press Inc.
Published: 2021-05-07T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I made a quick call to Kala at her uncle’s house in York.

“Is all okay, Kala?”

“All’s good. I miss Tuffy. Do you think mummy would let me get a puppy?”

I thought of the two energetic Labradors, Pike and Duff, already occupying the house. They had to be fed, watered and taken out for walks twice a day. “Probably not,” I said.

“Oh, well.” She already knew it was unlikely.

I headed for my room where Mark met me at the door and blocked my entry.

“Sorry, love,” he said before I could even say hello.

I stared at him. Oh, his crack about my wealth. He was sorry. Well, that’s a start. Maybe his irritation about my income would be like the bumps in a lane, always there, never completely removed, but something we could get used to.

“No more sarcasm,” I said as I moved past him into the room. “It’s hurtful.”

“I agree. I’ll stop that.” He leaned down and put his forehead on mine. We stayed like that for a moment, just absorbing warmth from each other. He patted my shoulder and rubbed his cheek on mine.

“Direct complaints will be entertained,” I instructed, “but not nasty jibes.”

“Got it.” He stepped back and saluted. I laughed.

He joined us for dinner at The New Inn. It wasn’t far from the farm and offered a calm environment. I thought a pub might be a bit too stimulating after the events of the day. The food looked delicious and offered local Yorkshire specialties such as Wensleydale Chicken and Barnsley Chops. The group appreciated the soft lights and quiet atmosphere. Mark took a chair near Geraldine.

Allan scanned the menu and let out a deep sigh. “Ah, curry. I can have curry.”

Evelyn was amused. “I don’t understand why so many British people like curry.”

The four English tourists stared at her for a moment.

“It’s true. We like our curry,” Sheilagh said. “Many British soldiers were stationed in India in the nineteenth century and had local cooks. They probably brought back a fondness for the food of India.”

“Or perhaps,” Amanda said, “our cuisine was so bland curry was a wonderful change.”

Norma protested. “Your menus seem varied and interesting.”

“Now, they are,” Amanda said. “My mother tells me stories of mushy peas and chips and not much else. We’ve changed.”

“For the better,” Grady said.

Mark grinned at me. He liked mushy peas and chips.

“What’s it like in Wales?” I asked him.

“Cosmopolitan,” he said. “Some of the best meals in the world are in Wales.”

“Of course,” I said. “Thousands of the Welsh would agree.”

“This looks excellent,” Norma perused her menu then sat back and gazed around the room. “This is lovely, Claire. Restful, somehow.”

It was an attractive room, cozy without being tacky. The multi-paned glass in the bay window area where we were seated were very old, but not ancient, probably eighteenth or nineteenth century. It gave an ambience of timelessness, continuity and order. Something murder definitely disrupted.

Because we were eating late, everyone wanted a starter. The offerings looked delicious--except the black pudding. No one ordered that even topped with caramelized onions and apple chutney.

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