his points, but as a lifeâs companion ⦠Well, letâs say my parents werenât far off the mark. Iâve certainly no desire for a second venture into matrimony. Ah, hereâs our coffee. Thank you, Alice.â
The maid transferred a Wedgewood coffee set and a plate of shortbread from her tray to the wrought-iron table. Mrs. LeBeau dispensed coffee and biscuits.
âMarvellous shortbread,â said Daisy after her first bite.
âMy cook-housekeeper is Scottish.â
âAnd your maid is from London, isnât she? Not local, anyway.â
âI have a flat in London and I spend a good deal of time there. And I donât care for gossiping servants,â Mrs. LeBeau admitted with a wry smile. âThere is enough talk without a maid who goes home twice a week to report my every move to her family. You live in London, donât you? Lady John mentioned Chelsea, I think.â
Daisy accepted the change of subject, for the moment at least. They talked about London and Daisyâs work. Mrs. LeBeau kept the conversation steered firmly away from her own concerns, until at last Daisy could not decently prolong her visit.
A fearful waste after such a promising start, she thought as they descended the steps together and went into the house. The police had a great advantage in being able to pose direct questions instead of having to feel around in the dark.
On the way to the front door, Mrs. LeBeau picked up a small pile of letters from the hall table. She opened the door and bade Daisy goodbye. Daisy was half way down the path when she heard an exasperated exclamation behind her.
âOh no, not another of the wretched things!â
Mrs. LeBeau was leaning against the doorpost, staring at one of the envelopes in her hand with mingled annoyance and apprehension. Perking up, Daisy hurried back to her.
âIs something wrong? Can I help?â
âNo, no, itâs just â¦â Mrs. LeBeauâs voice faded, and she looked searchingly at Daisy, who did her best to appear guilelessly sympathetic. âActually, it would be a relief to tell someone about it, but Iâd hate to shock you.â
âI donât think Iâm frightfully shockable. Living in Bohemian Chelsea, you know, and then Iâve helped the police with one or two criminal investigations â¦â
âI wouldnât want the police involved in this,â said the Scarlet Woman in alarm.
âOf course not. May I guess? Itâs an anonymous letter, isnât it? I happen to know youâre not the only one to get them.â
âNo?â Mrs. LeBeauâs expression lightened. âPerhaps itâs silly, but that does make me feel better. Come back in, wonât you?â
She led the way into a drawing room decorated in light blues and greys, with touches of peach, and vases of roses everywhere. A modern, comfortable sofa and easy chairs continued the colour scheme. The rest of the furniture had the simple, elegant lines of traditional Sheraton and Hepplewhite designs, whether antique or reproduction Daisy was not competent to judge. There were two well-filled bookcases, as well as a gramophone with a pile of records, and an expensive wireless set.
âWhat a lovely room!â A painting hanging over the mantel caught her eye and she went across to study it. A twisted thorn tree to one side framed the foreground of sun-bleached grasses and a range of dark, rocky hills which stood out against a deep blue sky. âAnd what an interesting picture.â
âThe Witwatersrand, âwhence cometh my help,â if youâll pardon the blasphemy.â
âIâm not very religious. You painted this?â Daisy asked, noticing the initials âW. L.â in the corner.
âYes, I had to keep myself occupied somehow. My friends forgive its deficiencies, and my enemies are not invited into my house. I have enemies, you know, in the village.â She took a
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