Read Online Death and the Cyprian Society by Pamela Christie - Free Book Online Page B

of course, because she would be dining alone. Alone . . . alone . . . the word ran through her mind like a dirge. But actually it was just as well that she had no engagements, because Eddie was here now.
    Arabella filled a fresh water carafe and took it upstairs to the sickroom. She placed it on the nightstand, and had just tiptoed out again when Fielding came puffing up the stairs.
    “Mr. Charles is here, ma’am! I asked him to wait in the liberry, but I’m afraid he’s gone an’ went into the dining room!”
    “Really? How extraordinary!”
    Arabella went to see for herself, because, as far as she knew, her brother had never clapped eyes on Eddie. But here he was now, come to meet his little child at last, and no doubt made wretched with remorse over his callous dereliction, even as Arabella was made over her treatment of Mr. Kendrick. Wasn’t it wonderful the way people could change? How they could suddenly see their past conduct and vow, henceforth, to atone for a lifetime of neglect?
    “Hello, Charles,” she said. “It was good of you to come. Eddie is asleep just now, but I think if she knew you were here, she would want you to wake her.”
    “Who?” asked Charles. His voice sounded hollow with indifference, but then Arabella saw that he was on his knees in front of her liquor cabinet, and had answered her with his head buried inside it.
    Reassured, she ventured again. “I assume you have come to visit Edwardina. She is out of danger, I am happy to say, and you may go up to see her, if you like.”
    “See her?” said Charles, standing up with a bottle in each hand. “Oh, I don’t think I will, you know; there is still apt to be some danger of contagion.”
    Now Arabella perceived that he had a pal with him, who stood in the shadows holding a large box, to which Charles added the latest two bottles.
    “What are you doing?” she asked.
    “What does it look like? I’m weeding your liquor cabinet. The boys and me have decided to have ourselves a reg’lar smash-up tonight, and I’m providin’ the smash!”
    “With my liquor?”
    “Why not? It’s a cinch we haven’t got any ourselves! There, Bumpy; that’ll do us for starters. Now, morris off to Benson’s, and I’ll look in around ten.”
    “Right-ho!” said Bumpy, who was, in fact, the disinherited son of Arabella’s architect. “Pleasure to see you, Miss Beaumont!”
    And he awkwardly tried to tip his hat, but with his hands full of liquor box, it just wasn’t possible.
    “I wish I could say the same, Mr. Soane,” Arabella replied coldly. “But as I have made it clear that you are not welcome in this house, you would hardly believe me. Fielding, please escort this person to the door at once.”
    “Yes, miss. Sorry, miss; I couldn’t see who it was, with his face hid behind them box flaps.”
    “That’s all right, Fielding. Just get him out now, if you please.”
    “She doesn’t have to,” said Charles, bending down to brush off the knees of his breeches. “Bumpy was leaving anyway.”
    He regarded his sister warily for a few moments, and she glared back at him, ready for anything. “Well,” he said at last, slapping his chest with open palms. “I don’t hold much with fancy French cooking, as you know. But since I’m here, I suppose I may as well stay to supper.”
    Over their meal, Arabella acquainted Charles with the circumstances of her pecuniary predicament. Not that she expected any help or sympathy from that quarter; her brother always gambled away any money he himself could manage to get hold of, and was not interested in helping other people. But he was a living, breathing dining companion, and Arabella felt that she either had to complain to someone or go mad.
    “So!” he said, when she had finished her tale of woe. “ ‘Cunny’ Worthington’s being blackmailed, is she? I am not surprised.”
    “You are not supposed to know that, Charles, so please don’t go bruiting it about at your club, or wherever you