Death at the Manor (The Asharton Manor Mysteries Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

Manfield didn’t seem to have much to do with one another. In fact, I would have said that they were downright prickly with one another, but I had no idea why. I would have liked to have a brother, or any sibling, really. Verity was the closest thing to a sister I had, and she was a blessing to be remembered if ever I felt a little down and lonely about my place in the world.
    Then the mistress got ill again. This time, the doctor was called and I saw him leaving the building and driving away in his black car, very neat and correct in his suit and hat. He’d been shown to the bedroom by Mrs. Smith and she came into the kitchen shortly after that with the tray of food that Mrs. Cotting had prepared for the mistress.
    “She didn’t fancy it, then?” I said, looking at the array of untouched dishes on the tray.
    “Oh, she’s worse this time,” said Mrs. Smith. “Can’t keep anything down. And she has strange – fancies, I think you’d call them. Delusions.” She hesitated for a moment. “I think Doctor’s quite worried.”
    “Humph,” said Mrs. Cotting. “We’ll soon see her up and about again, mark my words.”
    Funnily enough, Mrs. Cotting was right. Two days later, the mistress was up and about again, wafting about the house in her beautiful clothes. But she looked – I don’t know – strange. Almost as if she were listening to something no one else could hear. The master came back from town that night and the two of them dined alone. Mr. Manfield had gone to visit a friend and Miss Cleo was up in London for the night. Mrs. Carter-Knox had ordered a tray to be brought up to her room. She often did that, which annoyingly made for extra work. Luckily, the table menu tonight was quite simple, for a change; clear soup, a chicken and mushroom pie and then a savoury at the end instead of a sweet. Annie was ill in bed with a bad cold and so I had to wait at table, which I normally hated doing. I felt so big and clumsy in the parlour maid’s uniform and I was always afraid I would drop a dish or, worse, spill something hot on one of the guests.
    The dining room was silent as I moved around the table, proffering the vegetables. There was no conversation between husband and wife, no sound except for the chime of cutlery on china and the crackle and spit of the fire. Perhaps it was always like this, I had no way of knowing. As I waited for the mistress to serve herself a miniscule portion of chicken pie, I realised that I’d forgotten to bring up the gravy. Quickly I looked up to see if the butler, Mr. Pettigrew, had noticed, but he was busying himself at the drinks cabinet. As soon as I decently could, I quietly left the room and pounded down the back stairs to the kitchen.
    Thankfully the gravy was still hot – Meg, bless her heart, had put it in the top of the Rayburn to keep warm. I gave her a grateful smile as I dashed back across the kitchen floor, holding the jug in front of me like a trophy. Back up the stairs, nineteen to the dozen, and my hand was on the door to the dining room when I heard the mistress’s hissing voice, which cut through my own jagged breathing. She was saying something to the master in a tone so loaded with venom it stopped me in my tracks.
    “You do it to torment me, I think you get pleasure out of it—“
    “Oh, Delphine…” The master’s voice was bored and a little annoyed. I stayed rigid for a moment, behind the door.
    The mistress spoke again, her voice ragged. “Why you and John have to be at each other’s throats all the time, I don’t know. You’re always fighting and it makes it so hard for me. You have no idea what my life is like, none at all.”
    “That’s not the case—“
    She cut across him. “If you’re not having cosy little chats with Cleo, or boring on with your aunt, you’re ignoring me. I could be invisible, for all you care.”
    “Delphine, now that’s wrong—“
    She cut across him again. “I hate you,” she said and the sentence ended on