Page 30 of A Very Bookish Murder
George, her husband, was taking photos of everything in sight. ‘I’ve been to a few chateaux in my time,’ he said, eyeing his wife, ‘but this is my first experience of a Scottish castlebathed in sunshine!’
‘A rare sight this early in the year,’ Ross agreed, smiling. ‘Follow me if you want to see the Great Hall.’
There were shouts of assent all round, and everyone followed him round to the main door and into the enormous stone-walled, stone-floored Great Hall, watched only by the sightless eyes of the dozens of stags’ heads mounted every few feet fromeach other in the upper walls. Phones and cameras buzzed and bleeped before Ross ushered them all out.
As they returned to the picnic site, Joyce said, ‘We can’t possibly leave everything like this!’ She was looking in dismay at the cluttered tables.
‘Yes, you can,’ Ally said. ‘It won’t be the earl or Magda who’ll be washing these dishes.’ At that moment Mrs Fraser, along with Mrs Jamieson, appeared to clear up. ‘These two will have it tidy in no time.’
The two in question were already piling plates onto trays, Mrs Fraser saying, ‘Ye’ll only get in the way. Off with ye.’
As they wandered back down to the malthouse, Brigitte said, ‘Well, it’s for sure we aren’t going to want any dinner tonight!’
‘You’re all very welcome to sit in the garden,’ Ally said, ‘although I must apologise that I haven’t got round to doing much weeding lately.’ It was half past six, but the sun was still warm.
As they entered through the gate, Joyce approached Ally. She looked around warily before she spoke. ‘I’ve been wanting to have a quiet word with you all day but I haven’t had the chance before. I think I know who killed Jodi Jones,’ she said in little more than a whisper.
‘Really? What makes you think that?’ Ally asked.
‘Something I found out this morning. I don’t want it to be obvious that I’m talking to you now. I’ll come down a bit earlier in the morning, after I’ve slept on it. But I’m pretty confident that I’m right.’
‘Oh, Joyce!’ Ally exclaimed. ‘Can’t you tell menow?’
Joyce shook her head and held a forefinger over her pursed lips. ‘In the morning,’ she repeated before rushing out to join the others in the garden.
Ally was deep in thought as she brought out cushions from the summerhouse and scattered them over the garden furniture.They’d had a long, winter hibernation, and she had to knock the cobwebs off first. She noticed that her guests had eagerly partaken of the earl’s wine and were now looking decidedly sleepy.
As she returned to the house, Ally saw a woman walking up the drive and, as she neared, she recognised Laura.
‘Oh, hello,’ Ally greeted her. ‘I’m afraid the picnic’s over.’ Ally knew now where Laura had most likely been but did not want to give her any indication of that.
Laura gave a brief smile. ‘I just wondered where everyone was.’
‘They’re all stretched out in the garden, so why don’t you join them? Have you had a nice afternoon?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Laura replied politely before disappearing through the gate into the garden.
Ally shrugged as she re-entered the kitchen.
‘Strange woman, that Laura,’ she remarked later that evening to Ross. ‘She doesn’t say much, doesn’t participate much, so it can only be Owen that’s brought her up here. Wonder why she’s suddenly shown up?’
‘Come to kill again, I expect,’ Ross said with a wicked grin.
‘Be serious, Ross!’ Ally thought for a moment. ‘The earl is convinced it’s Penelope and doesn’t seem particularly horrified at the prospect. They greeted each other like old friends, which I suppose they are.’
‘These aristos will always stick together,’ Ross remarked. ‘For my money, I thought that the Frenchwoman’s husband was a little strange at times.’
‘George?’
‘Yes, George. What’s he doing here anyway? I don’t see any of the other husbands appearing.’
‘I’m not altogether sure that the othershavehusbands,’ Ally said thoughtfully. ‘At least, not husbands that they’re living with. So what was it about George that you thought to be strange?’
‘He just looks a bit shifty sometimes, that’s all. He was going on and on about how rubbishy Jodi Jones’s books were, and how he could never bring himself to publish “that sort of thing”.’
‘But he hadn’t arrived when Jodi was killed,’ Ally pointed out.
‘As far as you know,’ said Ross, narrowing his eyes.
