the Dead Man in the Garden by Marthe Jocelyn

Author:Marthe Jocelyn [Jocelyn, Marthe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tundra
Published: 2021-09-07T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

A LONG, DULL SUNDAY

THE NEXT MORNING BEGAN with grumbling thunder and windows slashed with rain. Mummy and Grannie allowed that we children might remain cozy in our beds while they prepared to attend a church service, as they were accustomed to do on Sundays. Perhaps they did not wish to be bothered with damp, reluctant companions during their hour of spiritual gratification. We were not glum about being left behind.

A tap on the door announced Milly with breakfast. Seeing that Hector and I were alone, she did not bother saying good morning. She plunked down the tray so roughly that some of Hector’s chocolat splashed from its pitcher.

“Sorry,” she muttered, wiping the spill with a napkin. “I’m hurrying so, I’m making extra work for myself. Usually on Sundays, I only do breakfast and then I’m off, but today I’m to train the new girl. Hired yesterday, since Flo up and quit when she heard the gent had died. She’s ever so scared of ghosts, is Flo, and that made two in one week. Do you need any fresh towels?”

“Has Flo ever seen a ghost?” I asked.

“Don’t be daft,” said Milly, which she would never have said if Mummy were there to hear.

The breakfast porridge was hot and creamy, the toast crisp and buttery, the jam made of raspberries and full of pips that caught between my teeth. We were in no hurry to leave the room simply to arrive in the lobby, domain of the tiresome Mr. Smythe. I sat on the window seat and surveyed the rainy garden, while Hector buffed the tips of his boots with a cloth provided especially for that purpose. I opened my notebook and began a new list.

“One,” I said. “Discover where precisely Mrs. Shelton’s probably lethal tonic came from.” I jotted that down. “Do you suppose Nurse Touati might know?” Without waiting for his answer, I kept writing.

2) What happened to Mrs. Shelton’s handbag? Would Nurse Touati remember what it looked like or what she carried?

3) Visit the bandstand.

4) Talk to—

“Oh, there goes Nurse McWorthy,” I said. “Is she on her way to church? Look how windy it is out there. She is fighting with her umbrella. She’d know more than anyone about the tonic, but dare we ask? Would she answer us or think we were accusing her?”

“Write down all the questions.” Hector sighed. “We will not be playing croquet today, I think.”

“Boo-hoo,” I said. No use pretending anything but relief.

“We can perhaps assemble the jigsaw puzzle?” said Hector.

“While we’re thinking,” I said, “about all the other people we’ve met this week who might be murderers.”

We adjourned to the table and opened the box that Mummy had brought with us. The puzzle was named Events from English History, each piece hand cut and painted. It featured pictures of such memorable moments as the construction of Hadrian’s Wall, the beheading of Anne Boleyn, and Wellington’s triumph at the Battle of Waterloo.

“Waterloo is in Belgium,” said Hector, “less than one hundred miles from my home.

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