Read Online Tied Up in Tinsel by Ngaio Marsh - Free Book Online Page B

but she shut him up with one of her looks.
    The paper had fallen on its face. She reversed it and read and — a phenomenon that is distressing in the elderly — blushed to the roots of her hair.
    “Aunt Bed —?”
    Her mouth shut like a trap. An extraordinary expression came into her face. Fury? Troy wondered. Fury certainly but something else? Could it possibly be some faint hint of gratification? Without a word she handed the paper to her nephew.
    As Hilary read it his eyebrows rose. He opened his mouth, shut it, reread the message, and then, to Troy’s utter amazement, made a stifled sound and covered his mouth. He stared wildly at her, seemed to pull himself together, and in a trembling voice said, “This is — no — I mean — this is preposterous. My dear Aunt Bed!”
    “Don’t call me
that
,” shouted his aunt.
    “I’m most dreadfully sorry. I always do — oh! Oh! I see.”
    “Fred. Are you better?”
    “I’m all right now, thank you, B. It was just one of my little go’s. It wasn’t — that thing that brought it on, I do assure you. Hilly’s quite right, my dear. It
is
preposterous. I’m very angry, of course, on your account, but it
is
rather ridiculous, you know.”
    “I
don’t
know. Outrageous, yes. Ridiculous, no. This person should be horsewhipped.”
    “Yes, indeed. But I’m not quite up to horsewhipping, B, and in any case one doesn’t know who to whip.”
    “One can find out, I hope.”
    “Yes, well, that’s another story. Hilly and I must have a good talk.”
    “What you must do is go to bed,” she said.
    “Well — perhaps. I do want to be all right for tomorrow, don’t I? And yet — we were going to do the tree and I love that.”
    “Don’t be a fool, Fred. We’ll ring for Moult. Hilary and he can —”
    “I don’t want Hilary and Moult. There’s no need. I’ll go upstairs backwards if you like. Don’t
fuss
, B.” Colonel Forrester stood up. He made Troy a little bow. “I am so awfully sorry,” he said, “for being such a bore.”
    “You’re nothing of the sort.”
    “Sweet of you. Good-night. Good-night, Cressida, my dear. Good-night, Bert. Ready, B?”
    “He’s the boss, after all,” Troy thought as he left on his wife’s arm. Hilary followed them out.
    “What a turn-up for the books,” Mr. Smith remarked. “Oh dear!”
    Cressida dragged herself out of her chair. “Everybody’s on about the Forrester bit,” she complained. “Nobody seems to remember
I’ve
been insulted. We’re not even allowed to know what this one said. You know. What was written. They could hardly call Aunt B a sinful lady, could they? Or could they?”
    “Not,” said Mr. Smith, “with any marketing potential they couldn’t.”
    “I’m going to bed,” Cressida said, trailing about the room. “I want a word with Hilary. I’ll find him upstairs, I suppose. Good-night, Mrs. Alleyn.”
    “Do we just abandon all this — the tree and so on?”
    “I daresay he’ll do it when he comes down. It’s not late, after all, is it? Good-night, Mr. Smith.”
    “ ’Nighty-night, Beautiful,” said Mr. Smith. “Not to worry. It’s a funny old world but we don’t care, do we?”
    “I must say I do, rather. You know?” said Cressida and left them.
    “Marvellous!” Mr. Smith observed and poured himself a drink. “Can I offer you anything, Mrs. A?”
    “Not at the moment, thank you. Do
you
think this is all a rather objectionable practical joke?”
    “Ah! That’s talking. Do I? Not to say practical joke, exactly, I don’t. But in a manner of speaking…”
    He broke off and looked pretty sharply at Troy. “Upset your apple-cart a bit, has it?”
    “Well —”
    “Here!
You
haven’t been favoured, yourself? Have you?”
    “Not with a message.”
    “With something, though?”
    “Nothing that matters,” said Troy, remembering her promise to Mervyn and wishing Mr. Smith was not quite so sharp.
    “Keeping it to yourself?” he said. “Your privilege of course, but