Death at Rottingdean Read Online Free Page B

last few months. We have been so little together, and I have missed you.” She squeezed his hand. “Dreadfully.”
    â€œI had not known that Parliament would take so much of my time,” Charles said. “I believed myself well informed about matters of government, but I found it very hard to untangle all that business about the Voluntary Schools Bill.” He sighed. “No one else seemed to have difficulty understanding it.”
    â€œThat’s because none of the other lords was paying attention,” Kate said tartly. “And it was a very vexed matter, all tangled up with local and Church politics and—”
    She was interrupted by a tall, slender man with a mustache and a neat salt-and-pepper beard, wearing gray kid gloves, an impeccable gray coat, and striped tie. He saluted Charles.
    â€œHello, Sheridan,” the man said, bowing over his hat. “How delightful to see you here. I hope you have come to stay for a while.”
    â€œArthur Sassoon!” Charles exclaimed, standing, and introduced him to Kate. The Sassoon brothers—Arthur and Reuben—were among Brighton’s wealthiest residents, and Arthur, who lived in Hove, just to the west of Brighton proper, had been a close friend of the Prince of Wales for many years. They were both members of the notorious Marlborough House set, sometimes called the Marlborough banditti because of their high jinks.
    Sassoon bowed to Kate. “Where in Brighton are you staying, Lady Sheridan?”
    â€œWe are not in Brighton,” Kate said. “We are in Rottingdean.” She gestured to an empty chair. “Won’t you please join us?”
    â€œThank you, no,” Sassoon said regretfully. “My carriage is waiting. I’m on my way to call on the duchess. You will be in Rottingdean for some time?”
    â€œThree weeks,” Charles said. “We’ve come for a quiet seaside holiday. The last few months have been wearing.”
    â€œAh, yes, quaint little Rottingdean.” Sassoon raised one eyebrow, amused. “Quite a rustic retreat, most attractive, and most relaxing, known for the innocent charms of the downs and the seashore. You shall find few temptations there, I promise you, and even less excitement.” He smiled. “But I trust you can make the time for an evening at my home in King’s Gardens, Lord Charles. The Prince will be there Tuesday next, and I should be most gratified if you will agree to attend our party.” He bowed apologetically to Kate. “A men’s evening, quite informal, with cards and general revelry.” To Charles, he added, “Rudyard Kipling has agreed to join us. You know, do you, that he is staying in Rottingdean?”
    â€œThank you for the invitation,” Charles said. “It is very kind of you to include me. But I have promised my wife that this holiday—”
    Kate put out her hand, stopping him. “Of course you will accept,” she said firmly. “What is one evening, when we have so many lovely ones waiting for us?”
    Sassoon smiled. “Generously spoken, Lady Sheridan. So it’s settled. Tuesday next. then, at seven. And remember, we are very informal. His Royal Highness insists.” He bowed again. “Since you are in search of quiet, I am sure you will enjoy your stay at Rottingdean. Nothing ever happens there.”

4
    Try as he will, no man breaks wholly loose
From his first love, no matter who she
be.
Oh, was there ever sailor free to choose,
That didn’t settle somewhere near the
sea?
    â€”RUDYARD KIPLING
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    I t was a cool, crisp morning, and the sweet call of St. Margaret’s bell summoned the Rottingdean parishioners, who were an upright and churchgoing lot, to Sunday worship. But Rudyard Kipling, always a renegade soul, was offering thanks to his diety in another fashion. He was seated on an overturned bucket at the end of the iron pier with his