Free Tall Poppies by Janet Woods

and brother are all right.’
    Connie rolled her eyes. ‘Stop thinking the worst. There’s only one way to find out  . . . open the damned thing!’
    Livia used the sharpest kitchen knife and carefully prised open the flap, since it would be sacrilege to damage such an important and official-looking envelope. The letter was crisply typewritten on pale cream paper, the signature a crouching spider of a scribble that looked as though it might unfold its legs and sprint from the page. Simon Stone was typed underneath, in case his writing didn’t do his signature justice.
    Florence leaned over one shoulder to read the letter with her, painfully mouthing the words. Connie gazed over the other shoulder.
    â€˜Fancy,’ Connie said. ‘Mr Stone is coming here in person to see you. On Friday, at eleven.’
    â€˜That’s only three days away,’ Florence added.
    â€˜He has a matter of importance he needs to discuss with me.’
    â€˜He doesn’t give much away,’ Connie said, clearly disappointed. ‘And to think I signed as a witness to Mrs Sangster’s signature for him.’
    â€˜He’s probably coming to hand over the money that Mrs Sangster left for you and Mr Bugg in her will.’
    Connie looked aggressive. ‘He should have written to me then, since I’ve been here the longest.’
    Florence looked glum. ‘I wish someone would leave me fifty pounds.’
    â€˜Do you now?’ Connie’s hands went to her hips. ‘You haven’t worked here long enough. Mr Bugg was employed by the family when he were a lad, and I’ve worked here for nigh on thirty years. As for Livia, she’s been here for nearly five years, and she did a lot for poor Mrs Sangster that wasn’t her duty to do, and from the goodness of her heart. She’s never complained once. Mrs Sangster took a shine to her right from the beginning, and that’s a fact. But she didn’t get any legacy, so why are you complaining?’
    â€˜I’m not complaining. I just said—’
    Livia broke in swiftly, ‘But why would they need to see me for that when it’s none of my business? All they need do is give the money over to Major Henry. He told you the amount was insignificant, Connie, and he’d hand over the money when it had been cleared by the lawyers.’
    â€˜It might be insignificant to him, but when you’ve got only a small wage coming in  . . .’
    Florence shrugged, clearly uninterested because she was not to be included in any bounty that the death of Mrs Sangster had brought to Connie and Mr Bugg. ‘What shall I do with that personal stuff in the nurse’s room?’
    â€˜Pack it into her suitcase. I can’t authorize it to be sent on unless she’s left some money to pay for it. I’ll telephone Nurse Gifford and ask her what to do with it. Those nurses are run off their feet looking after the sick as well as the wounded. She doesn’t deserve to lose everything she owns just because Mrs Mortimer got into one of her moods.’
    â€˜Mortimer is a spiteful cow  . . . that she is,’ Connie murmured, and thumped her fist into a mound of risen bread dough. ‘I hope he doesn’t marry her, but she doesn’t give up easily. She was wearing Mrs Sangster’s blue coat with the velvet collar and matching hat when she left, and I’ve got an awful feeling  . . . In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mrs Mortimer hadn’t done away with her.’
    Florence’s eyes widened.
    So did Livia’s, because she suddenly remembered the pillow in Mrs Mortimer’s hands, and hearing her tell Mrs Sangster she could put her out of her misery. She made a murmur of distress in her throat. No  . . . it was spite on Mrs Mortimer’s part. And she must put a stop to this sort of speculation.
    She sent Connie a warning glance before saying to