Free The Problem at Two Tithes (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 7) by Clara Benson Page B

had twenty years ago, and she smiled to herself as she recognized a pear tree that she had been especially fond of as a girl, since she was convinced it produced the sweetest pears of all the trees in the place. She passed through quickly, for she was looking for something in particular, which she soon found. Just beyond the orchard, at the top of a slight incline, stood a stately oak tree of great age. From here it was possible to get a glimpse of Two Tithes house through the trees, and it was here that Joseph the footman—now Doggett the butler—with the help of the old gardener, long dead, had set up a swing for young Miss Angela at her special request. And there it still was, its wooden seat slightly cracked and its ropes greying and a little frayed, with a bare patch of ground below it which indicated that it was still used frequently—presumably by local children. Angela smiled and for the first time felt something akin to a twinge of affection for the old place. She walked over to the swing and tested the ropes, then brushed off the seat and sat down gingerly. It was something of a squeeze, and her legs were rather too long for it these days, but still it was a swing and it was hers. She pushed off with her feet and then let go, enjoying the long-forgotten sensation and recalling how delighted she had been when Joseph had first brought her here and proudly but shyly shown off his handiwork. Of course, she had been much more daring then, and had liked nothing better than to push herself as high as she could, then at the very highest point launch herself into the air to see how far away she could land. The swing had been the cause of many bumps and grazes, she remembered.
    She was still swinging gently back and forth, letting her thoughts drift pleasantly, when she suddenly became aware of someone approaching. It was the second of the two young men she had spotted that morning crossing the garden at Two Tithes, and he did not appear to have seen her, for he was scribbling in his notebook as he walked, stopping only occasionally to gaze into the air for a second and then resume writing. After proceeding slowly in this manner for some minutes he finally drew level with the oak tree, and stopped short as a particularly splendid idea seemed to strike him.
    ‘Ha!’ he exclaimed. ‘That’ll get ’em, see if it won’t!’
    He wrote down whatever it was, then closed his notebook with a snap and put it in his pocket. He took out a cigarette and inserted it into his mouth, then patted his jacket, looking for a light.
    ‘Hallo, Freddy,’ said Angela.
    Freddy Pilkington-Soames started and whirled round.
    ‘Good Lord, it’s Mrs. M!’ he said in astonishment. ‘Whatever are you doing here?’
    ‘Discovering that I’m rather wider these days than I was when I was twelve,’ she replied regretfully. ‘Still, I suppose I ought to be thankful that this branch appears to be holding my weight for now.’
    ‘Are you here for the murder?’ said Freddy. ‘Don’t tell me Scotland Yard have called you in specially.’
    ‘Of course not,’ said Angela. ‘It’s nothing to do with me. Did the Clarion send you? I saw you and your friend crossing the lawn this morning—and by the way, didn’t you know it’s very rude to walk through other people’s gardens?’
    ‘Nonsense,’ said Freddy. ‘It’s not as though I was stealing the begonias. It serves them right, anyhow—if people will insist on putting a house in my way then they must expect me to walk through it.’
    ‘A refreshing point of view, I admit,’ said Angela. ‘Still, though, you’d better watch out for Humphrey.’
    ‘Humphrey? Is he the pompous old ass who caught me on the croquet lawn and told me it was young men such as I who had got the nation into the parlous state in which it presently finds itself?’
    ‘That pompous old ass, as you call him, happens to be my brother,’ said Angela.
    ‘No!’ said Freddy, and regarded her with some surprise.