A Death in the Loch Read Online Free Page B

paint gold leaf onto some of the desserts.’
    ‘No,’ I said, ‘you can’t eat gold, can you?’
    ‘Certainly looks like gold. Fine as tissue paper it is. Has to be laid on the cakes ever so gentle.’
    ‘What a waste,’ I said.
    ‘Do you think it – er – comes out the other end?’
    ‘Ugh, Merry, not before breakfast! And I have no idea. Why is Stapleford doing all this?’
    She shrugged. ‘He’s mad, isn’t he?’ She gave me a sly grin. ‘Talking of mad, has Richenda bought you a ballgown yet?’
    I pulled a face at her. ‘Richard has banned me from attending his party, so she hasn’t had to – thank goodness.’
    ‘He really doesn’t like you, does he?’
    ‘The feeling,’ I said, ‘is mutual. I can’t leave this house soon enough.’ Later, I was to regret this rash utterance.
    Merry looked a bit hurt. ‘I liked having you back.’
    ‘And I like seeing you. Couldn’t you and Merrit come and work for the Mullers after Richenda is married?’
    Merry shrugged. ‘I’ll believe in this marriage only after I see the wedding bands on both their fingers. You know the newspapers have christened her “the doomed bride”?’
    ‘None of the papers I read have mentioned that.’
    ‘Well, if this wedding doesn’t come off even your posh papers will be calling her that,’ said Merry snidely and stomped off.
    I suppose I should have been offended that Richard remained determined to deny my existence in his house, but, honestly, I didn’t care. Bertram and I managed to spend time together and I saw less of Richenda than I had at the Muller estate, which came as a relief. So much so I had begun to wonder if I was up to being her full-time companion. I needed a position, but being with Richenda fourteen or more hours a day, even when she was in a good mood, could be mind-numbing. I knew she had been interested in the suffragettes, the cause of fallen women, and even the fashionable pursuit of spirituality, but she seemed to have abandoned all this. She could even be witty, but of late she had become determined to be a good housewife and a fashionable lady. It is not fashionable for women, even ladies, to be intelligent – as my mother would tell you. Her favourite phrase was that intelligence in a girl was about as useful as a pair of hooves . It seemed to me that Richenda was attempting to follow her example and suppress her intelligence. It was all ‘Hans will look after this’ or ‘Hans will tell me what to do about that’. I had every respect for Mr Hans Muller, but Richenda’s decision to become a good little wife was making her exceedingly dull and tiresome. But then, with all the murders and scandal that had surrounded her and her family, who was I to begrudge her a little normality?
    Oh, Lord. I must own it. I was bored. Goodness knows I did not wish for a sudden death, but a minor alarm or demanding puzzle would have been very welcome. And again I will reiterate the statement: ‘be careful what you wish for’.
    New Year’s Eve arrived. I was prepared with a good book and a well-banked fire in my boudoir. I had managed to persuade Richenda not to wear the canary yellow headband with her blue and crimson chequered gown. The gown on its own was shocking enough and I was very glad that Hans was unable to make the party. There is only so much an engaged man can suffer before he leaves permanently for the continent. With the removal of the headband her outfit suggested unusual taste, but it would no longer offend the other guests’ digestion. I had also on Bertram’s advice bolted my door. All in all I felt safe and secure. I had been delivered an early supper so I had no need to see any other person until the New Year dawned tomorrow.
    I had reached an exciting part of my novel: the heroine hung by one hand from a cliff edge with no hope of rescue when there came a knock on my door. A glance at the clock told me it was 10 p.m. Dinner would long be over and the guests would be making