The Shadow at Greystone Chase (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 10) by Clara Benson Read Free Book Online Page B

buying the company, and the thought tempted her more than she had expected. After so many years of hard work it would be pleasant to hand everything over to someone else, she thought. She could return to the States and negotiate the thing personally. Perhaps she would even stay a while. There she would be anonymous once more—no longer the notorious Mrs. Marchmont who had been tried for murder, but plain old Mrs. Marchmont who could walk down the street without feeling that everybody was staring and whispering as she passed. America had been her home for fifteen years and lately she had found herself missing the place—its free-and-easiness; its lack of pretence; the belief, shared by all, that anyone might be successful if only they worked hard enough. Such a contrast to the formality and stuffiness of England, where family and connections counted for everything. Of course, now there was Barbara to consider she could not simply move back without a second thought, but perhaps Barbara would like to come with her. There were many excellent colleges there, and perhaps the place would be more suited to her daughter’s temperament and independent nature. Still, that was a matter for the future. For now she had other things to think about and a murder to investigate.
    ‘I think I had better put on a warm scarf,’ she said to Marthe. ‘The green one will do.’
    ‘What are you going to do this morning?’ said Marthe.
    ‘I am going to attempt to charm an elderly gentleman,’ said Angela. ‘If I can find him, that is.’
    Putting on her scarf and hat, she left her room and went down in the rickety old lift to the hotel lobby. From there she emerged onto the Crescent, which overlooked a large patch of green on the cliff top. One or two people were walking their dogs there, but Colonel Dempster was not among them, so Angela set forth towards the edge of the cliff, where a steep flight of steps descended onto the beach. She paused at the top and looked about her. The place was certainly very fine when the sun was shining and the wind had dropped, although the stubbornly stiff breeze and the large clouds that blew frequently across the sun prevented the day from being really warm.
    ‘Morning,’ said a voice beside her, and Angela looked round to see a woman of late middle age who had stopped likewise to admire the view from the top of the cliff. She was pushing a wheel-chair in which sat another woman, as far as Angela could judge from the number of scarves, shawls and blankets that enveloped her.
    ‘Good morning,’ replied Angela politely.
    ‘That do you, Jemmy?’ said the woman, bending over the chair.
    The patient uttered a sound which might have indicated assent, and lifted a hand weakly to point at something. Her other hand lay useless in her lap.
    ‘No, I don’t think that’s the same boat as yesterday,’ said her companion. ‘The other one had a red stripe and a white sail, don’t you remember? This one here’s got a brown sail.’
    The woman in the wheel-chair gave what looked like a nod of the head, and slumped further down into her seat.
    ‘A fit to the brain,’ explained the first woman to Angela. ‘A stroke, they called it.’
    ‘Is she your patient?’ said Angela.
    The woman shook her head.
    ‘My sister,’ she said. ‘Took ill a month ago, she did. The doctors shake their heads but she’s not ready to go yet.’
    ‘And are you nursing her? That must be hard work.’
    ‘Not me,’ said the woman cheerfully. ‘She’s in one of these fancy nursing-homes. Ever so nice, it is. I joke to them that when she’s gone I wouldn’t mind her bed.’
    She seemed unduly good-humoured for someone whose sister was so gravely ill, and must have realized this, for she went on:
    ‘Don’t think me unfeeling, dear. Jemmy’s had a good life, all things considered. She was always a simple one—sickly too, as a child. She’s done well to get to the age she has. When she fell sick she wanted to come back here