Free Death and the Maiden by Gladys Mitchell

Thomas.’
    â€˜Verra guid,’ said Thomas, indicating by his tone that it was very far from that. ‘And for the young leddy?’
    â€˜Gin and Italian,’ said Connie, ‘and get an evening paper, Thomas, will you?’
    â€˜There’ll be nae mair peppers the night, but ye may borrow mine if ye’ll promise no to do the crossword,’ said Thomas. ‘Ye filled in victors for lictors on Wednesday, and put me out terrible.’
    â€˜But “victors” was right! I looked at the answers next day!’ said Connie indignantly.
    â€˜I dinna work out the crossword to get it right,’ said Thomas withering her. ‘Ony fule can dae that! But if ye pit lictor where it should hae been victor , ye get mallet in place of velvet and that gives ye antimony instead of enticing. Enticing! Well, well!’ He laughed shortly. ‘ Enticing , where he could hae pit antimony !’
    â€˜That’s a very odd sort of man,’ said Mr Tidson, gazing with nervous interest at Thomas’ retreating form and at the two dragon’s eyes of silver buttons on the back of the old man’s livery; for Thomas acted both as porter and cocktail waiter in the same greenish uniform. It had silver-braided cuffs and silver buttons, and he had worn it for years past. It was almost threadbare, but nothing would induce him to take to the new and smart blue-and-gold suit which the manageress had been anxious to provide. He had confided to Connie when she had come down early one morning and had discovered him, with the coat off, going over the buttons with plate powder, that he liked fine to gie his wee lozenges a bit of a shine, for, between themselves, (meaning himself and Connie), they minded him on a kiltie suit he had had as a wee laddie in Kilmarnock.
    â€˜He is not only an odd sort of man; he is a very intelligent fellow,’ said Miss Carmody. ‘And he serves very good sherry,’ she added, ‘although perhaps that is more to the credit of the hotel than to his own personal credit.’
    â€˜We are not having sherry to-day, though,’ said Crete, ‘and Thomas does not approve of champagne cocktails.’
    She smiled at Thomas when he returned with the glasses. Thomas inclined his head in acknowledgement of the smile, but did not move a muscle of his Covenanting face as he set the cocktails down on the polished table.
    â€˜I think,’ said Mrs Bradley suddenly, ‘that Connie ought to take me up all the hills to-morrow. Will you?’ she added, turning to the girl. ‘I believe you walk fast and far, and I feel the need of exercise.’
    â€˜I’d love to go with you,’ replied Connie. ‘But what about you, Aunt Prissie?’ she added, turning towards Miss Carmody.
    â€˜You and Mrs Bradley would walk my legs off,’ Miss Carmody comfortably replied. ‘I shall write up my Mothers. It is a task much overdue. I will sit with Crete whilst she does her embroidery. What do you say, Crete, to that?’
    â€˜She says nothing,’ said Mr Tidson, raising his glass. ‘What can she say, my dear Prissie? Convention does not permit her to say that she prefers her own company, and if she does pretend to welcome your presence you are not to be blamed if you think her protestations sincere.’
    He sipped his cocktail thoughtfully after this rather rude speech, then suddenly started, and called excitedly for Thomas. The factotum appeared, and gazed with disapproval at the party.
    â€˜What will ye?’ he enquired, looming like a minor prophet with a major message, uncompromisingly beside the tiny table.
    â€˜This cocktail! Where’s the brandy?’ Mr Tidson demanded. Thomas picked up the glass, bent bristling brows upon the complainant, walked to the window, held the innocent drink to the light, and then replied in justly withering tones:
    â€˜I will be speiring.’
    â€˜Oh, dear!’ said Miss Carmody, taking up