High Marks for Murder (A Bellehaven House Mystery Book 1) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Kate Kingsbury
could stand it no longer. "No," she said sharply. "She's not going with you. Neither of you are going anywhere, so there."
Olivia gave her an impudent toss of her head. "Says who?"
"Says me." Mrs. Wilkins put down the whisk and folded her arms across her chest. "I'll tell Miss Fingle, that's what I'll do."
"Telltale," Olivia muttered.
Mrs. Wilkins did not like being at odds with the maids. She had three daughters of her own, quite a bit older than Olivia and Grace, of course. All of her girls lived in London, and she hardly ever saw them. The maids helped ease the ache of missing her daughters. Even when they misbehaved, like right now. "Why don't you wait for your afternoon off," she suggested. "You can go to Witcheston and be back in time for supper."
Olivia threw the knife down and turned to face her. "I'm going tomorrow because the suffragettes are holding a big protest and I want to help them, that's why."
Mrs. Wilkins glanced at Grace, whose wide blue gazeseemed fixed on Olivia's face. The cook could tell the child was tom between obeying the rules and supporting her friend. "You're not yet eighteen. The suffragettes know better than to let you protest with them."
"They won't know, will they." Olivia nudged Grace in the ribs. "We both look older when we're dressed up."
Now Mrs. Wilkins felt really worried. There was no stopping Olivia once she'd made up her mind. "Grace is right. If you get caught you could end up in prison." She leaned closer to the girls and lowered her voice to an ominous tone. "You know what they do to suffragettes in prison?"
Grace looked terrified, but Olivia merely shrugged. "They only beat you if you don't behave."
"They do worse than that," Mrs. Wilkins assured her, hoping Olivia wouldn't ask her what she meant by that. She knew that dreadful things happened to the protestors while they were locked up, but she didn't know any of the details and she didn't want to know.
"Well, then, we just won't have to get caught, that's all." Olivia's expression dared Grace to oppose her. "You coming with me or not?"
Grace sent a frightened glance at the cook, then whispered, "I s'pose so."
"That's that, then." Olivia fished in the cold water for her knife and picked up another potato.
Mrs. Wilkins pinched her lips together. She didn't like tattling on the girls. For the life of her she didn't. She liked being on good terms with them, sharing a laugh or two at Monica Fingle's expense. After all, if you couldn't laugh now and then, the world would be a pretty miserable place.
Not that she'd ever seen Monica laugh, or even smile come to that. Something must have happened to that woman to make her so shrewish. Mrs. Wilkins could even feelsorry for Monica when she didn't take out her bad temper on the girls. Always on their backs she was, telling them off for every little thing.
The cook picked up the whisk and started beating the eggs with a furious whirling of her wrist. She had a real problem on her hands now. If she said nothing and let the maids go to Witcheston and they got caught and thrown in jail, then she'd feel responsible for getting them into trouble. On the other hand, if she told Monica what the girls had planned, the housekeeper would come down on them like a felled oak. Mrs. Wilkins let out a long sigh. They'd probably end up not speaking to her and take weeks to forgive her.
She could hear the girls whispering again behind her, but she had no heart to listen. She knew what she had to do, and she didn't like it one bit.
Police Constable Cyril Shipham arrived shortly afternoon. Having ridden his bicycle from the village under the hot sun, sweat bathed his forehead beneath the brim of his heavy helmet. He paused at the gates of Bellehaven to wipe his face with his handkerchief before tugging on the bell rope to announce his presence.
The long wait that followed did nothing to improve his temper. If there was one thing he couldn't abide, it was being kept waiting. By women, no
Olivia gave her an impudent toss of her head. "Says who?"
"Says me." Mrs. Wilkins put down the whisk and folded her arms across her chest. "I'll tell Miss Fingle, that's what I'll do."
"Telltale," Olivia muttered.
Mrs. Wilkins did not like being at odds with the maids. She had three daughters of her own, quite a bit older than Olivia and Grace, of course. All of her girls lived in London, and she hardly ever saw them. The maids helped ease the ache of missing her daughters. Even when they misbehaved, like right now. "Why don't you wait for your afternoon off," she suggested. "You can go to Witcheston and be back in time for supper."
Olivia threw the knife down and turned to face her. "I'm going tomorrow because the suffragettes are holding a big protest and I want to help them, that's why."
Mrs. Wilkins glanced at Grace, whose wide blue gazeseemed fixed on Olivia's face. The cook could tell the child was tom between obeying the rules and supporting her friend. "You're not yet eighteen. The suffragettes know better than to let you protest with them."
"They won't know, will they." Olivia nudged Grace in the ribs. "We both look older when we're dressed up."
Now Mrs. Wilkins felt really worried. There was no stopping Olivia once she'd made up her mind. "Grace is right. If you get caught you could end up in prison." She leaned closer to the girls and lowered her voice to an ominous tone. "You know what they do to suffragettes in prison?"
Grace looked terrified, but Olivia merely shrugged. "They only beat you if you don't behave."
"They do worse than that," Mrs. Wilkins assured her, hoping Olivia wouldn't ask her what she meant by that. She knew that dreadful things happened to the protestors while they were locked up, but she didn't know any of the details and she didn't want to know.
"Well, then, we just won't have to get caught, that's all." Olivia's expression dared Grace to oppose her. "You coming with me or not?"
Grace sent a frightened glance at the cook, then whispered, "I s'pose so."
"That's that, then." Olivia fished in the cold water for her knife and picked up another potato.
Mrs. Wilkins pinched her lips together. She didn't like tattling on the girls. For the life of her she didn't. She liked being on good terms with them, sharing a laugh or two at Monica Fingle's expense. After all, if you couldn't laugh now and then, the world would be a pretty miserable place.
Not that she'd ever seen Monica laugh, or even smile come to that. Something must have happened to that woman to make her so shrewish. Mrs. Wilkins could even feelsorry for Monica when she didn't take out her bad temper on the girls. Always on their backs she was, telling them off for every little thing.
The cook picked up the whisk and started beating the eggs with a furious whirling of her wrist. She had a real problem on her hands now. If she said nothing and let the maids go to Witcheston and they got caught and thrown in jail, then she'd feel responsible for getting them into trouble. On the other hand, if she told Monica what the girls had planned, the housekeeper would come down on them like a felled oak. Mrs. Wilkins let out a long sigh. They'd probably end up not speaking to her and take weeks to forgive her.
She could hear the girls whispering again behind her, but she had no heart to listen. She knew what she had to do, and she didn't like it one bit.
Police Constable Cyril Shipham arrived shortly afternoon. Having ridden his bicycle from the village under the hot sun, sweat bathed his forehead beneath the brim of his heavy helmet. He paused at the gates of Bellehaven to wipe his face with his handkerchief before tugging on the bell rope to announce his presence.
The long wait that followed did nothing to improve his temper. If there was one thing he couldn't abide, it was being kept waiting. By women, no
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