Murder at Mullings--A 1930s country house murder mystery Read Online Free

that Nanny would seem to have created for herself, at least to pass muster in daylight hours, had abandoned her – or she it. She hurled her response at Florence’s retreating back. That the words were slurred did not lessen their force.
    â€˜Hot milk, my foot! That slop’s for the likes of the mistress. It’s a wonder nobody’s dosed her nightly cup with more than the bicarb she takes in it! Talk about enjoying ill health to the hilt! You’d think her husband for one would’ve had enough of it by now. The man might as well be wed to his grandma for all the good that limp lily will do him under the sheets! Or would it be more respectful to say Lillian, you posh-voiced stuck-up piece?’
    Florence pivoted. ‘Either go downstairs without another word or I’ll rouse Mr Grumidge, who I’m sure will be in agreement that you should be removed from this house within the hour.’ She waited for the woman to go before continuing along the corridor and taking the short flight of steps to the night nursery. First things first. She needed urgently to make sure that Ned was all right; then she would decide whether or not to wait till morning to report the situation to the butler.
    Even in the short, narrow bed, Ned looked pathetically small when Florence went in to him. The room was dimly lit, accentuating his pallor amidst the freckles. She loved those freckles, loved everything about him, even at his naughtiest times.
    She sat down on the coverlet beside him, her heart aching, brimming with the need to reassure him of the wakeful world’s safety.
    â€˜Tell me, dear.’ She gently cupped his hand in hers, as if cradling a wounded bird.
    â€˜It was a bad, bad dream,’ Ned whimpered, all his customary bravado gone. ‘It was the one I often have – about Mummy and Daddy. They hated having to go and live in the cemetery. They kept trying to tell people before they got buried that they were scared of going down into the dark and the cold. They didn’t want to leave me or Mullings.’
    â€˜No, of course they didn’t; but when they got to heaven they’ll have stopped being sad; knowing they’d always be with you – in a different, but very special way.’
    â€˜I want to believe that … I do most of the time.’ Ned relaxed against her shoulder. ‘You won’t ever leave me; will you, Florie? Not ever in a hundred years, even when I’m older than Grandpa? Promise me you’ll stay!’ The green, amber-flecked eyes held hers in desperate appeal. ‘Promise, honour of a Stodmarsh. You’re the nearest possible to one, aren’t you?’
    â€˜Well, it’s very kind of you to think so. Your family has been a big part of my life for a long time now.’ How should she continue? Florence had always thought it terribly wrong to lie to a child. She knew as well as anyone that in life there is no certainty; something can always happen beyond our control or deepest wishes that alters everything. Tomorrow, next week, next year, any time during his growing-up years, the ground could shift beneath her feet and his. But she couldn’t bring herself to look into those stricken eyes and slide behind the use of unsatisfying soothing noises – saying she would do her level best; that he mustn’t worry about it. She drew him to her and stroked the spiky ginger hair back from his damp brow.
    â€˜I promise, Ned.’ He had insisted sternly on her third day as housekeeper that she not address him as Master Ned. ‘But what’s most important is that you’ll grow up here with your grandparents; they love you enormously. And they’re such wonderful people.’
    â€˜Not more special than you.’ The mulish note, which had undoubtedly irritated, if not infuriated, Nanny, entered his voice. ‘Grandfather is marvellous, of course, and I do love Grandmother, but being unwell all the time she