Dead in the Water Read Online Free Page A

the Earl of Bicester’s eldest son, quite a bit older than dear Basil, and Cherry told me … .” Tish stopped and smiled coolly at Bott as he marched up to the table, cup and saucer in hand.
    â€œMore tea, Mr. Bott?” she offered. “You prefer Indian, don’t you?”
    â€œWhat if I do?” the cox growled belligerently.
    Daisy escaped. She found Lady Cheringham at the front of the house, tying a delphinium to a stake. Nearby Bister, erstwhile smart chauffeur, dressed now in shirtsleeves, distinctly disreputable trousers, and a dilapidated straw hat, mowed the circle of lawn enclosed by the carriage-sweep. The
green smell of fresh-cut grass vied with the flowers’ mingled scents.
    â€œOh dear, have I missed tea again?” Lady Cheringham gingerly picked her way out of the herbaceous border. “Thank you, Daisy dear.” She gulped tea.
    She still had the tobacco-stained blouse on, probably irremediably stained by now, though its wearer seemed to have suffered no ill effects. The wet patches must have dried fast on such a warm day, Daisy thought. It might be an idea, though, to see if she could find any information about the toxic effects of nicotine, so as to warn her aunt to take care.
    After chatting for a few minutes, she went into the house and invaded Sir Rupert’s library. Opposite the drawing-room at the back of the house, it had a long library table down the centre, with several straight chairs. Comfortable leather-covered armchairs were grouped about the windows at this season, with small tables beside them. A large walnut kneehole desk stood between the windows, where the light from both would fall on it. Except for the fireplace, the two walls opposite the door and windows were entirely lined with bookshelves.
    Though the books were well organised by subject, Daisy had no idea where to start looking and searched the shelves for some time without success. About to give up, she glanced at the volumes lying on the library table. There was Henslow’s Poisonous Plants , the section on tropical poisons bristling with bookmarks.
    Consulting the index, Daisy found tobacco, turned to the page, and skimmed through the details. Nicotiana was related to deadly nightshade, she discovered. The long list of horrible symptoms of nicotine poisoning included headache, nausea,
dizziness, incoherence, and convulsions, leading to death. Most alarming, as she had vaguely remembered, the stuff was highly dangerous when absorbed through the skin.
    She ran to find her aunt.
    â€œYes, dear,” said Lady Cheringham absently but not at all incoherently, stooping without apparent dizziness to pull an intrusive groundsel from among the pinks, “I’ll go and change. And I’ll remind Bister to be sure to keep the shed locked, though I’m sure he already does. Arsenic, you know, for rats, and cyanide for wasps’ nests, I believe. Nasty stuff.”
    Daisy felt she had done what she could to preserve Aunt Cynthia from a dreadful death.
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    Even more than tea-time, dinner was devoted to refuelling the crew. Daisy was astounded by the amount of food that disappeared. In the circumstances, conversation was vestigial.
    By now, aided by one slight stammer, one fair, wispy moustache, and one set of altogether enviable long, dark, curling eyelashes, Daisy had put names to faces. The four secondyear men were Poindexter (the stammerer), Wells (eyelashed), Meredith (moustached), and Leigh.
    Daisy sat next to Fosdyke, the only fresher in the crew—in both crews, in fact. A first-rate oarsman, according to Rollo, he had rowed for St. Paul’s School before going up to Oxford, and he was a member of the Ambrose four as well as the eight. The double exertion and the presence of his elders no doubt accounted for his being the most taciturn of a taciturn company.
    â€œPlease pass the salt,” was the longest speech Daisy got out of him throughout the meal.
    However, as they