02 - Murder at Dareswick Hall Read Online Free

Rose?’
    Josephine
Atherton was dressed in a plain white blouse and a rather shabby tweed skirt
and, unless Rose was mistaken, there was a small ladder in one of her stockings.
Although she had a nice face, she could scarcely be described as beautiful let
alone pretty. Rose felt that the same could very easily be said about herself
and this, together with Josephine’s pleasant and unassuming manner, and the informality
of her greeting, helped to put her at her ease.
    ‘Cedric’s
just parking his car in the old stables,’ Josephine said, linking her arm
through Rose’s and leading her into the hall. ‘He was so disappointed not to be
there to greet you at the station but he was caught up in some estate business
at Sedgwick, I believe, which delayed his departure. Now do let me introduce
you to my little brother, Hallam. Although I expect he’s gone off with Cedric;
they’ve got loads of catching up to do and I expect he wants to tell him all
about how he’s finding Oxford. Cedric’s graduated now, hasn’t he? I say, do you
fancy taking a turn around the garden, Rose, while we’re waiting for the boys
to join us? It’s still quite warm for the time of year and not quite dusk so we
should just about be able to see where we’re going. And besides, I’ve been
stuck indoors all day with this and that. Well, of course you have too, haven’t
you, working in your dress shop?’
    It was
late September when dusk seemed to range from anytime between six o’clock and
seven o’clock in the evening, and although it was not far off seven, there was
still sufficient daylight left for Rose to take in the formal gardens.
Following the abnormal rains experienced in mid-July, Dareswick’s gardeners had
taken advantage of the mellow autumn to make a start on clearing away the
remains of the summer flower gardens, and had commenced bulb planting in
earnest. It gave the gardens a transitional air as if they were waiting for
something to happen.
    ‘We’re
planting British-grown bulbs for the first time,’ Josephine informed Rose. ‘You
know, stimulating a new home industry. Tedson, our head gardener, got most of
ours from the West Country. We’ve always bought imported bulbs before, but he
assures me that British bulbs are now just as good and in many respects
superior. I’ve yet to be fully convinced, though, because as I told him I
thought the bulbs looked a jolly lot smaller. But Tedson says they are heavier
and more solid than imported ones and that they’ll produce a better bloom….’
    Rose
found herself only half listening to what Josephine was saying, unable to
prevent herself from glancing up every now and then, eager to catch her first
glimpse of Cedric. She was reminded that she had first laid eyes on him when
she had been strolling in a garden very like this one. It had been a summer’s
day then, and everything had been bright and seemed to shine. She had looked up
and seen him, and in that moment everything had seemed to stand still. She had
found both his looks and the unaffected way in which he had engaged with the
Withers’ servants mesmerising.
    ‘… he
says British bulbs are likely to flower earlier too,’ continued Josephine,
apparently oblivious to the fact that her words were falling on to almost deaf
ears, ‘than imported ones, I mean.’ She lowered her voice suddenly, as if she
was talking only to herself. ‘Of course, I won’t be here to see if he’s right,
what a pity…’
    ‘You
won’t be here?’ enquired Rose, reluctantly rousing herself from her daydreaming
and trying to show some interest in what her companion was saying, although the
practicalities of gardening had rarely concerned her. She had been content
instead just to look at the finished effect. ‘Are you going away then?’
    ‘What?
No… of course not.’ Was it her imagination or did Josephine appear unduly
flustered? Certainly there had been alarm in her voice, if Rose was not
mistaken. ‘No, no. Why would I go away?