The Lammas Curse by Anna Lord Read Free Book Online

the
opposite opinion. He thought that if Mycroft failed to turn up for
breakfast one morning at the Diogenes Club, the Horse Guards would
be sent out immediately to track him down. Heaven help him if he
ever overslept!
    “Well?” she prompted. “What did
Uncle Mycroft say? When are we to meet?”
    “As I said, he is extremely
busy. He said he would get back to me as soon as he could find the
time.” Her lips drooped and he tried it make it up to her. “Mycroft
and I discussed the golf tournament.”
    “And?” she prompted, glancing
out of the window as the locomotive began to chug up Camden
Hill.
    “Well,” he sighed, pausing for
breath, not quite knowing where to start as there seemed so many
different starting points – fair play, foul play, fear and
superstition, spirits, witches, and vaulting ambition. “He said
there is more to the three deaths than meets the eye, for
instance…” and so he recalled the conversation as best he could. He
was still going when they said goodbye to London town and hello to
Harrow. He finally drew breath for the first time when they entered
the Watford Tunnel and pitch darkness gave pause for thought. When
they emerged once again into dazzling daylight and the chalky
Chilterns, both were still contemplating how they might tackle the
days ahead. Stations whizzed past – Boxmoor, Berkhamstead, Tring -
and then came another tunnel - the Linslade - followed by more
stations - Wolverton and Castlethorpe and Blisworth. They had been
travelling for more than an hour.
    After Kilsby Tunnel they might
have been forgiven for thinking they had crossed into a different
country. There were fewer church spires poking up between clusters
of trees, and more barren tracts dominated by coal mines and
manufactories. The sun disappeared behind an umbrella of grey
clouds that never lifted.
    At midday they decided some
lunch was in order but so had all the other first class passengers.
A tidy queue had formed at the entrance to the dining car. A few
passengers had opted to wait until the second sitting and were
enjoying an aperitif in the saloon car, especially those travelling
in larger groups who preferred not to be split up. A maître d’ was
ushering those waiting in the queue to vacant seats. There were two
double vacancies. The first was a banquette for two at a table with
an American couple whose distinctive New York twangs could be heard
above the quietude of the dining car. They were conversing
knowledgably about a current West End play and looked as if they
had just stepped out of a John Singer Sargent painting. They would
have made a perfect pairing for the doctor and the Countess and the
maître d’ clearly thought so too. He began ushering them along when
the Countess spotted the other double vacancy at the far end of the
dining car. The two people seated at this table had their backs to
the door, but the Countess recognized them by their platinum curls
and decided to engineer a meeting. She tapped the maître d’ on the
shoulder and adopted a bothersome tone.
    “Oh, dear,” she whispered
fretfully, lying through her teeth. “That American is my
ex-husband’s cousin and the woman with him is my
ex-brother-in-law’s ex-wife. I cannot possibly be seated at the
same table. It would be too, too, too ghastly – a terrible scene,
and all that. If it is not too much trouble, could my companion and
I be seated elsewhere?”
    The maître d’ looked terrified
at having to deal with anything ghastly that might lead to a
terrible scene and nodded toward the saloon car. “If madame and her
companion would care to take an aperitif, I will ensure that the
first available table for the second sitting is reserved.”
    “Oh, no,” she pouted unhappily,
lifting a limp wrist to her forehead, “that would never do. I had
no time for breakfast this morning and I feel quite light-headed.
I’m afraid if food does not pass my lips soon I will simply faint
right here on this very spot.” She looked