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

way.”
    “I suppose so.” I smiled back. “But he wasn’t there. He was away for the night, in London. This isn’t one of your plays, you know. People don’t really do such things in real life. Do they?”
    “You tell me,” Verity said cynically. “Anyway, talking of plays, I’ve got tickets for us to go tonight.”
    I clapped my hands together in delight. “That’s wonderful, V. I haven’t been to the theatre since I left London. Oh, it’s just what I need to take my mind off it all.”
    Verity giggled. “You might not think that when you find out what the play is. ‘Death at the Manor’! It’s a farce, though, not a real mystery.”
    I laughed too. “Well, I can’t wait. Is it at the Chelsea Palladium?”
    “Yes. And we can go backstage, as well. My uncle is playing the lead.”
    Verity’s mother had been an actress, too. I remember when Verity told me about her parents, back when we were in the orphanage. Her father had been a minor aristocrat, second cousin to the king’s nephew, twice removed - that sort of thing. He’d fallen in love with Verity’s mother after watching her act and they’d eloped to Gretna Green, much to the shame and horror of his family, who’d promptly disowned him. So, despite the grand history, Verity’s family’s fortunes went down and down and culminated in her father blowing his brains out with his revolver, just before the war, unable to face the shame of his debts and the terror of the upcoming battle. Verity’s mother had died in the influenza epidemic of 1918, leaving Verity an orphan.
    I’m ashamed to say that when I first heard her family’s tragic history, the first words out of my mouth were something like, “All my eye and Betty Martin! Pull the other one, it’s got bells on.” I can’t tell you how bad I felt when I found out it was all true. That was partly why Verity was so well read – both her mother and her father had insisted on good schooling for her; she’d even had a governess, at one point. And now she was working as a housemaid. There were those who would have been crushed by this reversal of fortune, but not Verity. She was clever and capable and she had big plans. I hoped I could be right beside her, all the way; she made me proud.
    We had a gay time at the theatre and, for a while, I forgot Asharton Manor and the smell of death and the mystery of the mugs. The play was a silly thing, but amusing, and afterwards, as Verity had promised, we went backstage to meet the actors. I’d met Verity’s uncle, Tommy, before; her late mother’s younger brother was a hoot, full of charm and jokes and with Verity’s red hair. He introduced us to another cast member, Ashley Turton, whose performance – and person – we’d admired from our seats. He was quieter than Tommy, but just as nice. He reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t think who it could be. It would come to me later, no doubt.
    “My, that Ashley’s handsome,” I said to Verity on the bus home afterwards. “A new beau for you?”
    She gave me a strange look, half a smile and half a frown. “Hardly, Joan,” she said. Then she laughed a little. “He wouldn’t be interested in me!”
    “Why not?” I asked, indignant on her behalf. Verity’s not exactly what you would call beautiful, but she’s got something. She’s the sort of person you like to look at.
    Verity laughed harder. “Take it from me, Joan, he really wouldn’t be interested. He’s one of those .”
    The penny dropped and I blushed. “Oh, I see,” I said. Then I laughed too. “What a waste.”
    I stayed in Verity’s room that night, top-to-tail in her bed, as we usually did. Edna, who shared her room, was away for the night visiting her mother so it was nice to talk uninterrupted, although we had to keep our voices down – difficult, as we had so much to talk about. At first we talked of the play and our work, but gradually, inevitably, talk drifted back to the death at Asharton Manor. Verity made me