Tragedy at Beechcroft (Musaicum Murder Mysteries). Dorothy Fielding

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ eagerly.

      "You heartless creature! Do yon know there's no torment like jealousy? As a matter of fact, I think Goodenough did feel that though we had both come down together, I, about the pictures, he to see you, I had got what I wanted, but he hadn't."

      "If so, it was good for him," Ann said promptly, "But now about the pictures—"

      The Moncrieffs were helping to raise funds for the purchase of a Children's Convalescent Home near them at Totteridge. They were staging a set of tableaux of Famous Pictures, and Santley was helping them.

      "Coming down on Thursday week, I shall have ample time over the week-end to watch you at work on the twins," he said a trifle maliciously. "You're not leaving for the seaside till the Monday after, are you?"

      She shook her head. "That's put off. We were hoping to stay with Nannie's sister, but she's chosen measles instead."

      Goodenough came in just then. He looked pleased at the sight of Ann, as well he might, but anything but pleased at what she was saying.

      "But look here, I counted on Cromer...on running down there!" he protested indignantly.

      "Why not? Cromer's still on the map," she said laughing.

      "It's not a laughing matter," he said shortly. "I counted on seeing a lot of you down there. The children would be off in a boat or paddling with the nurse. I hoped to have you practically all to myself."

      "You wouldn't have," she said to that. "The Mishes would have been there."

      "The who?" he asked in surprise.

      "Missionaries. A Mr. and Mrs. Dexter-Smith. The twins call them 'the Mishes.' They're over in Europe on their holiday, studying child education. They had a letter to an aunt of mine, and she passed them on to me. Nice people. Really keen on doing the best they can for the children on their island."

      "I thought only giant tortoises lived there," Santley threw in.

      "No, there are peons, and settlers—quite a lot, comparatively. The Mishes are going to be at the waxworks this afternoon. Do come, Victor, you'd enjoy meeting them."

      "I would love to, but for an engagement at Buckingham Palace," he assured her gravely. "Are they often down at Beechcroft?"

      "Yes, she's taken a fancy to the twins. They love her. I'm passing on to her all my ideas about how to treat children."

      "Well, don't introduce me, if I should run across them with you," he warned her.

      "I shan't. Though Mr. Pusey likes them, so why shouldn't you?"

      "Pusey? Is that the name of the chap who seems to haunt Beechcroft lately?"

      She nodded with a glint in her eye.

      He followed her out after she had said good-bye to Santley, and came in again a few minutes later looking distinctly glum.

      "Pusey, indeed!" he said under his breath. "Silly young bounder without an idea in his head! Ann's always talking about him lately. I can't think what she sees in him!"

      Santley smiled, unnoticed by the other.

      "The trouble with Ann is that she's too fond of improving people," Goodenough went on, feeling for the matches. He knew the studio quite well.

      Santley murmured that there weren't too many girls nowadays with that complaint.

      "Oh, quite! But it's apt to spread. I mean, a girl begins by wanting to improve the young. Well, that's all right. We had to suffer as kids, so why not the present generation? But she's liable to carry it a step further, and want to improve her friends, and—well—you never know where that sort of thing will stop."

      He so obviously wanted it to stop short of himself, that Santley chaffed him, but Goodenough refused to let his gloom be lightened.

      "I had counted a lot on Cromer," he said finally, "a lot! I should have had Ann all to myself—"

      "—except for the Mishes—charming name that!" Santley reminded him.

      Goodenough gave a sort of contemptuous grunt that said that he would have made short work of them. "Whereas down at Beechcroft lately...who is this booby Pusey? D'ye know?"

      "Ann spoke of some connection with the Major's business affairs."

      Goodenough snorted, and took his leave on that, looking thoroughly disgruntled. The next minute the artist forgot him and his woes, for he had a French buyer coming to look over his pictures, a buyer whose approval conferred a cachet even on Oliver Santley.

      Mrs. Phillimore came back just as he had finished his selection. There was still half an hour before the expert would arrive, and Santley solicitously drew a chair forward for her. The air did not seem to have done her any good. She looked very ill.

      "Oliver, I must have a word with you! I couldn't bear to hear the laughter of those children. It quite upset me. For what I want to talk to you about is so terrible."

      "Yes?" he asked in genuine concern. Mrs. Phillimore had dandled him on her knee as a baby, and he was very much attached to her.

      "It's about my son-in-law, about Major Moncrieff," she said and her face paled still more.

      Now, though not clever, Mrs. Phillimore was a very shrewd, sensible woman. For her to turn white when she spoke Moncrieff's name meant a great deal.

      "It's in strict confidence," she began, and actually waited for his assurance.

      He wondered, as he gave it, what was coming. But he was not prepared for her next words.

      "Harry Moncrieff is going mad—raving mad. Or else he takes drugs and is not always responsible for his actions." She spoke almost in a whisper, her eyes dilated. "My poor Lavinia! No wonder she has changed into something so white and frightened. And the twins! No one at Beechcroft can be safe with that man. I thought he was going to murder me this morning. I think he would have, had we been alone in the house. As it was, though he chased me round the breakfast table, I managed to get out of the room and away from the house. I couldn't find Lavinia...Ann Bladeshaw had left with the twins and Nannie...The chauffeur refused to drive me to the station..." She stopped and seemed unable to go on.

      Santley felt as though he were in a dream. She gratefully took the glass of water that he held out to her. He was too dumbfounded to ask any questions. Mrs. Phillimore looked her usual truthful self, though very upset. He eyed her almost fearfully. She read his glance.

      "Oh no, I'm not romancing. I wish I were! I've been as fond of Harry as though he were in truth my son. But—" she hesitated, took another sip of water, and then the words came out in a flood. This was the second time that she had stayed with the Moncrieffs since their marriage now nearly five years old. The first time, some three years ago, had deepened still more the ties between them all. They had asked her to make her permanent home with them, but Mrs. Phillimore lived in Switzerland with an invalid niece, who took so much of her time and care that she could only rarely get free. She had, however, intended to stay at Beechcroft for six weeks in the autumn, but as her niece had to have a sudden operation and a long convalescence in a medical home, she had written to say that she would come now, and had arrived at the same time as her letter, taking her daughter and the Major by surprise.

СКАЧАТЬ