Death at the Manor (The Asharton Manor Mysteries Book 1) by Celina Grace Read Free Book Online

told you,” Violet whispered triumphantly, if you can do such a thing. “She done away with herself. It’s obvious.”
    In fact, Violet had said no such thing.
    “Don’t be stupid,” I said, slightly more sharply than I’d intended. Violet flushed up to her eyebrows – a most unbecoming colour - and she was opening her lips to retort when Mrs. Cotting came bustling up to break up our little huddle.
    “Come on, gels, back to your work. There’s nothing more to be learned here. Go on, on with you.” We hesitated and she said, as if something she’d learned by rote, “The police always have to come if it’s an unexpected death. Nothing more to it than that. Go on, now.”
    We drifted back to our work, unwillingly. I wondered how Mrs. Cotting knew that for a fact. It sounded as it if were something she’d been told and she was merely repeating it, word for word. I tried to remember if the police had come to either of the deaths I’d experienced before, but I genuinely couldn’t remember. I was so tired.
     
    Verity wrote back to me by return of post. Quickly, I scanned her words and saw that she’d suggested a date in the next week to meet in London. I put the letter against my forehead, closing my eyes in thankfulness. I could make the day she’d suggested. The thought of seeing Verity again, of being able to unload all of my worries, was like a warm bath at the end of a long day. Before I did anything else, I scribbled on a postcard that we would do exactly as suggested, that I would meet her at Paddington. I’d had so little time off lately, what with all the disruption, that I knew Mrs. Cotting would agree to me staying away overnight. I added a P.S. to my note to Verity: I cannot wait to see you. Things are very bad here and I desperately need to talk to someone . After a moment, I slipped the postcard into an envelope, not wanting anyone else’s eyes to see what I had written.
     
    A week later, I was stepped down from my train at Paddington Station and, looking up through the clouds of dirty steam, saw Verity waiting for me on the platform. A bubble of gladness almost lifted me off my feet. She flung her arms about me and kissed me on both cheeks. Then we stood back a little, appraising one another.
    “You’re awfully pale,” she scolded.
    “Oh, V, I am so pleased to see you.” It wasn’t like me but, for a moment, I thought I was going to burst into tears. “I can’t tell you what an awful time it’s been.”
    She tucked her arm into mine and began to gently pull me towards the exit. “Let’s go and have tea and cake and you can tell me all about it.”
    We did just that. She let me talk and talk I did, the words pouring out of me just as the tea poured from the pot. I didn’t actually eat much cake, I was too busy talking. Verity didn’t say much but listened intently, frowning occasionally.
    “What do the police think?” was the first thing that she asked, when I finally managed to shut up.
    “I don’t know. But they did do a – what do they call it? A post mortem.”
    “What was the result?”
    “They didn’t find anything to show how she might have died. No arsenic, or anything like that.”
    “Hmm,” said Verity. “What do you think?”
    I put my cup down and twisted it in the saucer. “I don’t know either,” I confessed. “But something’s not right. Those cups…”
    “Yes,” said Verity, frowning again. “I can see why that worries you.”
    I picked up my cup and then put it down again. “Why would someone wash up a cup and put it back in the kitchen, unless they didn’t want anyone to notice that it had been used?”
    Verity topped up my cup with the last of the tea. “Exactly,” she said.
    We looked at one another.
    “Who could have done such a thing?” I asked, not really wanting the answer.
    Verity smiled. “It’s normally the husband, isn’t it?” she said. “You told me they quarrelled all the time. Perhaps he just wanted her out of the