Free The Mysterious Affair at Castaway House by Stephanie Lam Page A

and eating a boiled egg, was Mrs Bray.
    She was wearing a similar gown to the one she had been wearing yesterday, draped over a sort of Chinese pyjama affair, which most likely were not pyjamas at all. She had also styled her hair and done something to her face, because the sallow demeanour of the day before was gone. A gold locket with some elaborate engraving hung round her neck. She did not bother to glance up when I came in, and continued reading as if I were not there at all.
    I was determined not to stoop to her level. ‘Good morning,’ I said, and was rewarded by a murmur from the parlourmaid, Agnes, who was placing cold meats on trivets that stood on the polished sideboard, but a silence from Mrs Bray. The stutter that had been the curse of my school life trampled my tongue for several seconds before I managed to say, ‘Is th-th-th-that coffee fresh?’
    Agnes picked up the pot. ‘I’ll be back immediate,’ she said, and left the room, leaving me alone with the witch. Previous trips to Lancaster Gate and various other relatives’ houses had instructed me with the breakfast-room modus operandi, and I sat down as far from Mrs Bray as possible, helping myself to slivers of bacon, a couple of eggs, two plump sausages and a spoonful of mushrooms.
    From the hallway, there came the faint sound of crockery smashing and a hurriedly hushed-up commotion. Mrs Bray shook her paper and looked at Scone as he entered, bringing the scent of fresh coffee before him. ‘Everything all right?’
    ‘A broken teacup, madam.’ He set the coffee and toast on the table.
    Mrs Bray pulled a slice of toast from the rack. ‘I suppose that’s the girl again.’
    Scone nodded. ‘I shall dock her wages, of course.’
    She smeared jam on her toast, the flat of her blade crushing the bread. ‘Just tell her that if she can’t manage to hold a tray properly I’ll boot her all the way down to kitchen maid and she can bother Mrs Pennyworth instead.’
    ‘Very good, madam.’ He left the room, presumably to give poor Agnes a dressing down on his mistress’s behalf. I wondered what bad luck had led the mite to serve in such a graceless household, but I forbore to comment and instead managed to eat my extremely delicious bacon, which melted under my tongue in a way it never did at home.
    After a while, however, I sensed I was being watched, and looked up. Mrs Bray was drinking her coffee, appraising me. ‘I see you’re not on the train back to the hinterland yet,’ she said. Her blood-tinted nails tapped her china cup.
    The bacon caught in my throat. I swallowed it with difficulty. ‘My health requires me to stay.’
    She rested her elbows on the arms of her chair. ‘Very good. I suppose I should feel guilty now for upsetting the poor invalid.’
    I speared a mushroom. ‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘You didn’t upset me in the slightest.’
    She put her head to one side and surveyed me. ‘Perhaps not,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you’re so grateful to be in these fabled rooms that you’ll put up with anything.’
    I felt myself turning purple but tried to keep my voice low as I said, ‘I never much notice my surroundings, to be honest.’
    ‘Oh, come on now.’ She leaned her chin on her hand. ‘The first time I saw the inside of Castaway I nearly wet myself. Do you know, Mr Carver, you and I have a lot in common. We’re both outcasts, after all.’
    I glared at her. In my lap, my napkin was scrunched in my fist. ‘I don’t believe I’m an outcast,’ I said. ‘And I wouldn’t presume to speak on your behalf.’
    She widened her eyes. ‘But Alec’s told me all about it. How your mother was cut off from the family fortune because she got herself up the duff by a minor official. Still, I’m sure it was a thrilling romance, wasn’t it? And all worth it in the end.’
    Irony gleamed coolly in her gaze. I squeezed my fork with my left hand, longing to plunge it into that delicate white forearm which was turned towards me