Poison In The Pen by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online Page B

had from her mother, everything would have been easy enough.” She became aware of his lowering look and added, “Well, well, I daresay it’s all for the best if one only knew it, so cheer up!”
    “I can’t see that there’s very much to cheer up about.”
    She laughed.
    “Wait till the champagne has been round!”
    She moved away and left him thinking morosely. Champagne two days running! And the one thing he wouldn’t do was to offer cheap wine to a guest. He wished the whole thing over and done with. But there would still be the bills to come in.
    Mettie Eccles came up in a purposeful manner. She wore the black dress which had figured at every evening party for the last ten years, but she had a long floating scarf of bright blue that matched her eyes, and she seemed, as always, very much pleased with herself. Her looks went darting here and there, taking everything in, approving, criticizing.
    “What is Gilbert Earle doing here? He ought to be having a party of his own in town, then he wouldn’t have been run into a hedge by—what’s the man’s name—John Addingley. I hear he’s got three stitches in his lip—the Addingley man, not Gilbert—and he couldn’t have been any beauty to start with. What is he—something in the Foreign Office like Gilbert? They used to go in for looks and manners, but now they only need to have brains. So dull! But Gilbert hasn’t done so badly. I suppose he has the brains, and he certainly has the looks. Between you and me, Roger, isn’t he just a bit too goodlooking? I suppose Valentine doesn’t think so. Or does she? If she does, she is about the only woman he knows who would rather have him plain. Of course it makes a difference when you are considering a man as a husband.”
    He said stiffly, “I don’t really know what you mean.”
    Her eyes were brightly blue.
    “Nonsense, my dear man! You know as well as I do! He would be the answer to any maiden’s prayer, only it doesn’t always work out in the domestic circle. I suppose the money is all tied up?”
    “Naturally. Really, Mettie—”
    She nodded.
    “Yes, yes, I know—most improper to speak of it! But what’s the good of being old friends if you can’t? And whilst we are being indiscreet you might just as well tell me why Valentine looks—”
    “My dear Mettie, I haven’t the slightest intention of telling you anything! Not that there is anything to tell. Valentine has been run off her legs. She is tired out and no wonder.”
    “Oh, well, if that is all—Brides ought to look their best but they very seldom do. Gilbert seems devoted enough. He’s got rather a knack of it, hasn’t he? Too charming to too many people. But I suppose with Valentine it’s the real thing, so all the others will be thinking how lucky she is. And of course he will be the next Lord Brangston. Too tiresome for the poor people having all those daughters, but very nice for Valentine. Not that a title does you much good nowadays, but it’s decorative and she can afford to keep it up.”
    Gilbert Earle had crossed the room to where Valentine stood with John Addingley, a tall hatchet-faced young man with a strip of plaster crossing his upper lip. Valentine stood between them. She had used rather a delicate lipstick, because when she tried the brighter shade it made her look too pale. She had put a little colour on her cheeks, and it looked all right upstairs, but when she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the long mirrors between the windows down here she could see that it stood out on the smooth white skin like a stain.
    Gilbert said, “Am I allowed to take you in?” and she smiled a little and said, “Yes, I think so. We are only waiting for Scilla. It’s shocking of her to be late, but she always is.” Her voice was sweet and quiet. It sounded as if she was too tired to raise it or to accent the words. There was no feeling behind them.
    In the pause that followed Maggie Repton was heard to say, “Oh, dear—” and