Page 26 of And Then There Was the One
“You do realize that’s not theactualknife that killed Lady Tunbridge?” Georgie asked. “It’s one of Mrs. Penbaker’s kitchen knives—I believe Mr. Penbaker asked the butcher for a bit of blood to make it look properly gruesome.”
Miss de Vere and Miss Singh were identical portraits of disappointment. “You mean the blood comes froman animal?”Miss Singh asked, her eyes wide and horrified. “I don’t mind if it’s human blood, but the thought of some poor creature being butchered…” She shook her head.
Miss de Vere glanced at the clock on the wall opposite their table and started. “Asha,” she said, “the Murderous Meander starts in five minutes!” Both ladies drained their teacups, Miss de Vere reaching for her handbag and producing a shilling that she placed on the table. They rose, but then hesitated for a second, eyeing Georgie.
“Yes?” she asked cautiously.
“It’s only…” Miss Singh trailed off, looking nervous, and then said in a rush, “would you please sign our notebook, Miss Radcliffe? The autograph of acelebritysleuth would mean so much to us.” She extended the Detective Devotees notebook and handed Georgie a pen, and Georgie, feeling that it would be unnecessarily churlish to refuse, quickly scrawled her name.
“Not a word,” she said to Sebastian as the Murder Tourists departed amidst a few more breathless proclamations of their admiration. “Not a single word.”
After they were at last blessedly free of both the Murder Tourists and the tearoom—though only after Sebastian had consumed enough scones to fuel an army—and were making their way slowly down the high street, Georgie reached out a hand to seize him by the elbow and yank him to a halt.
“I don’t want to get my hopes up,” Sebastian said, looking down at her, “but does this signal a thawing in relations? Are you hoping I might offer you my arm?”
“Perhaps I’ll find another heavy object dropped on my head, and then your dream will come true,” she said. “But until then, no. But do you know, Miss Singh’s discussion ofThe Deathly Dispatchmade me wonder—where do you think they get the information they print? I refuse to read it, but it sounds like they must have a source among the police—they’re much more tight-lipped when giving Arthur information to report on. And they speak awfully favorably about Detective Inspector Harriday.”
“Yet another mystery to add to our list. Remarkable quantity of them per capita here, don’t you think?”
“I do think,” she agreed coldly. “Which is, if you will recall,the reason you are here.” She shook her head. “This is growing more maddening by the moment—Murder Tourists everywhere! Dr. Severin not being remotely helpful! Rogue newsletter writers!”
“Would you like to know what I do when I am feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders?”
“Not if it involves nudity.”
“Ah.” He fell silent.
Her mind was turning in confused circles, but then a thought occurred to her. “The Murder Tourists will all be on the Murderous Meander just now,” she said, “meaning the murder exhibition at the village hall should be pretty quiet.”
“Of course,” he said wisely. “Eager to revisit the relics of your previous successes, to bolster your spirits for the difficult task that lies ahead?”
“No,” she said shortly. “Mrs. Penbaker runs the exhibition, so this might be a chance to speak to her alone.”
“Ah,” he said, unfazed. “I suppose that makes sense, too. Shall we invite her to lunch?”
Georgie stared at him incredulously. “You just atethree scones, how can you possibly be thinking about lunch?”
“Not forme,” he protested, looking wounded, then appeared to reconsider. “Well, I’m sure I wouldn’t say no to a bite, if it were on offer—”
“Argh!” Georgie threw her hands up to clutch at her hair, feeling as though she were losing her mind. Surely this case wasn’t worth it—why not just assume Penbaker had died of natural causes and send Sebastian on his merry way? She could already picture the days of peace that would await her in his absence. She could spend an entire day in her garden, she thought dreamily. Plants couldn’t talk. She had never fully appreciated this particular virtue of theirs until now.
“But,” Sebastian continued, apparently blind to her distress, “old Fitzy takes an awful lot of lunch meetings, you know.” He paused significantly, as though expecting her to immediately change her tune in the face of this knowledge. “I’m very good at booking tables as a result.” He looked at her hopefully.
“I think you’ll find we do things a bit differently here,” she said, crossing her arms. “Now, follow me, and for the love of God, donotflirt with Mrs. Penbaker.”
“I wish I could promise you that, Georgie,” he said, sounding honestly regretful. “But when the spirit of flirtation moves me, I find myself powerless in its grip.” He shook his head sadly. “It is both a blessing and a curse, really.”
“On second thought,” she said, setting off down the street without bothering to confirm that he was following, “perhapsit is best if you don’t say anything at all. Mrs. Penbaker is a bit more reserved than her husband was—I don’t want you to scare her off.”
“But Georgie, old bean,” he said; glancing to the side, she saw that he was matching her stride, smiling at her winningly while dodging puddles that would ruin his ridiculous, impractical shoes. “Wives absolutelyadoreme.”
“Yes,” she agreed sweetly. “Rather too much, I expect. I believe it’s recently got you into trouble, in fact?”
Rather than looking chastened, he merely appeared even more amused. “Touché, my dear Georgie. But this time, it will prove to be useful. Just you wait.”
The village hall was located in the very center of town, directly opposite the green and behind a low stone wall. A tidy garden featuring roses, peonies, and lupins lined the short path leading from the street to the oak doors. Georgie noted with some disapproval that there was a patch of Himalayan balsam, but she had already learned that lectures on invasive plant species were not often well-received.
Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face as they approached, however, because Sebastian asked, “What is it?”
