The Riddle of Alabaster Royal by Patricia Veryan Read Free Book Online

been flying.”
    They walked across the yard and the red-haired man who’d awaited them said, “Welcome, sir. It ain’t every day the lord of the manor comes home!”
    â€œThank you.” Amused, Vespa said, “Lord of the manor? Glory! I have no title and my poor old house is closer to being a ruin than a manor.”
    â€œWell, you’re here now,” said the priest, “and that’s the important thing. We’d so hoped Mr. Sherborne would come last year, but—” He slanted a look at Vespa and added quickly, “We were very sorry to hear of his death, Captain.”
    Vespa responded appropriately. He could almost hear Sherry’s laughing voice after his one visit to the estate: “Of all the grisly old ruins! Grandmama Wansdyke may leave it where she chooses, so long as it’s not left to me!”
    The priest was introducing him to the red-headed Mr. Ditchfield, proprietor of the Gallery Arms. Vespa pushed away the familiar ache of loss. “You’ve a fine old place here, Mr. Ditchfield,” he said as they shook hands. “Dare I hope you have a fine cook?”
    â€œMy missus, sir. I’ll let you be the judge.”
    He led them to a wainscoted dining room with wood settles, beamed ceilings and an enormous fireplace, and seated them at a table before open latticed windows that overlooked the back garden. Flowers were blooming in neatly kept beds, and an apple orchard edged a lawn, the branches laden with ripening fruit. Vespa admired the flowers, and before going off to place their order, Ditchfield imparted proudly that his dahlias had won firsts at the Coombe Hall Flower Show “three years running!”
    The cook was indeed fine. After an excellent breakfast of eggs, sausages, warm home-made bread and strong coffee, Vespa felt quite in charity with the world.
    Mr. Castle, who’d ordered only a pot of tea and a crumpet, filled his pipe and asked gently, “Feeling better, sir?”
    Vespa grinned. “Was I very crusty?”
    â€œNo, no. Only when you first rode in you looked a touch—irritated, I thought. Perhaps Alabaster was a disappointment?”
    â€œThe disappointment is my so-called caretaker.” He stood and the host hurried over. Vespa told him his wife was a splendid cook and assured him that he would be a regular customer. He paid his shot, and they left the host beaming as he hurried to relay the captain’s compliments to his spouse.
    Accompanying the rotund little cleric across the yard, Vespa said, “I can see why you’re so proud of the village. I like the way the cottages are spaced around three sides of the pond and the green. I’d not realized the river is called the Tang.”
    â€œIt is not, Captain Vespa. It is Moor Stream, merely. Lacking the prestige, as you might say, of a full-fledged river, although I believe it is a tributary of the Avon and can be a major threat when at flood stage. By and large, we are a quiet corner of the Good Lord’s universe, and have no wish”—Mr. Castle’s round brown eyes slanted obliquely at his companion—“ absolutely no wish to become—er—notorious.”
    â€œAh, you’re thinking of the ruffians I told you about who ran my chaise into a ditch. I’ve no intention of reporting the matter to the newspapers, if that’s what you mean, but I’ll certainly lodge a complaint with your Constable.”
    They had left the inn yard and were walking across the village green. Vespa bowed courteously to a lady taking her dog for a stroll, and she at once stopped and stood staring in that oddly disbelieving way, much as the staff had done at the Gallery Arms. “I collect you get few strangers here,” he murmured.
    â€œYou are scarcely a stranger, sir, and you’re known to favour Sir Rupert Wansdyke.”
    â€œDid you know my grandfather, Mr. Castle?”
    â€œVery slightly, sir. His lady