Read Online The Stately Home Murder by Catherine Aird - Free Book Online Page B

Dyson pointed towards the suit of armor with the wrong end of the tripod. “Williams, it’s closing time.”
    Williams obediently moved forward and lowered the visor and they went.
    Dillow put down the heavy silver tea tray.
    Presently he would take away the silver teapot (Ann and Paul Bateman, 1792), the hot-water jug (Paul Storr, 1816), and the tray (unknown craftsman, 1807), clean them and stow them away in green baize in his pantry. For the time being he laid the tray on the kitchen table. Mrs. Morley, the housekeeper, would see to the china (Copeland) and the housemaid would deal with everything else.
    Mrs. Morley looked at the butler. “I expect you could do with a cup of tea yourself, Mr. Dillow, after all that fuss and to-do.”
    He sank into a chair. “That I could, Mrs. Morley, thank you. It’s bad enough as it is on open days, but finding Mr. Meredith like that … oh dear, oh dear.”
    â€œIt’s not very nice, I must say.” Mrs. Morley pursed her lips. “Dying is one thing—we’ve all got to go sometime, Mr. Dillow—but dying in a suit of armor …”
    Dillow shook his head. Seen close, he was not as old as he seemed at first sight. It was simply that his occupation and bearing gave the impression of age. “I don’t like it at all,” he said.
    â€œThe press will,” forecast Mrs. Morley, herself an avid reader of the more sensational Sunday newspapers.
    The butler said, “I got quite accustomed to the press in my last position. My late employer … er … almost encouraged them. Always offered them a glass of something.”
    â€œAh, Mr. Dillow, but then he was in business.”
    â€œBaggies Bearings,” said the butler promptly. “‘All industry runs on Baggies Bearings’—that was their advertising slogan. I think they did, too. No money troubles there.”
    â€œBusiness is different,” insisted Mrs. Morley.
    â€œFree advertising, that’s what he called it every time there was anything in the papers. He used to say even having his art collection mentioned did the bearings a bit of good.”
    â€œWell I never,” said Mrs. Morley, who could not have said offhand what a bearing was and who knew still less about advertising.
    â€œMind you,” said Dillow ominously, “once they got hold of a story there was no stopping them.”
    Mrs. Morley looked disapproving. “I don’t think his Lordship will favor them mentioning Ornum House.”
    â€œThey’ll rake up everything they can lay their hands on,” warned Dillow.
    â€œI’m sure”—stoutly—“there would be nothing that Mr. Meredith would need to hide. There couldn’t have been a pleasanter gentleman.”
    â€œI wasn’t thinking of Mr. Meredith, Mrs. Morley.”
    The housekeeper looked up quickly. “Master William hasn’t been in trouble again, has he?”
    â€œI couldn’t say, I’m sure, Mrs. Morley.”
    Butler and housekeeper exchanged meaningful glances.
    Mrs. Morley poured out two cups of tea.
    The butler took a sip. “He’s down, that’s all I know.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œI heard he was in The Ornum Arms last night.”
    Mrs. Morley clucked her disapprobation. “No good ever came out of his going there.”
    â€œThe police,” said Dillow carefully, “are going to want to know when Mr. Meredith was last seen alive.”
    â€œFriday,” said Mrs. Morley. “You did a tea tray for him in the library.”
    â€œSo I did,” concurred Dillow. “Just after four o’clock.”
    â€œHot buttered toast,” said Mrs. Morley, “if you remember. And fruit cake and petit beurre biscuits.”
    â€œHe ate the lot,” said Dillow. “There was nothing left when I took his tray.”
    â€œWhen would that have been, Mr. Dillow?”
    â€œAbout five