Free The Primrose Pursuit by Suzette A. Hill

engineered his own decapitation, so someone else must have had a hand. Not , I thought, the headmaster because despite what Emily had said regarding their dispute over the timetable clashes, Winchbrooke is one who will do anything for a quiet life, or so Emily assures me, and going so far as to murder one of his own staff would surely defeat the object. Such urges can backfire – as my poor brother once found to his cost. No, surely someone else was the culprit.
    I reflected upon the rose. For a bloom that had beenin the pond for some time you would expect bedraggled petals or none at all. But from what I recalled the thing had looked perkily pristine, which rather suggested that Topping’s committal to water had taken place shortly before my arrival. Whether the gory coup de grâce had been struck in situ or at an earlier stage, or indeed whether it had been delivered pre- or post-mortem, were not aspects I cared to pursue: the fact that the committal, in whatever mode, was likely to have occurred just minutes prior to my being there was more than enough. Just think, it could have been happening at the very time I was scooping that fourth trick from under Daisy Wingate’s nose!
    I downed further fortification and after which began to feel distinctly queasy – though whether the effects of squeamishness or overindulgence I couldn’t be sure. Possibly the brandy itself: our wine merchant’s stock is notoriously poor. (Must remember to order from Berry Bros in future.) But nausea apart, it was now past two o’clock and time for bed. On my way up I looked in on the kitchen where to my surprise I saw both animals curled up in Bouncer’s basket. I had never seen that before and Francis used to tell me they couldn’t abide each other’s sleeping quarters. Strange … but then so was Topping and his lost head. I had always said he spelt trouble. Bloody man!
    As I undressed, it crossed my mind I should apprise the police of my startling find; a quick call to the station should have them up and running all right. I pictured Sergeant Wilding at the duty desk bellowing his cohorts into action with truncheons primed and walkie-talkies jabbering – and somehow the scene plunged me into even greater weariness. I paused irresolute, envisaging the pandemonium; and with stocking in one hand and pyjama top in the other,weighed the pros and cons. Police or sleep? The latter was the more enticing. And thus with dawn only four hours hence I decided to shelve the matter. After all, it was not as if the body had been found in a river and thus liable to float away: one cannot proceed far in a dew pond. And even in these urban times, here in Sussex there still lurks a random shepherd or two, and doubtless such a one would make the same discovery. A hue and cry would ensue while I could remain at a safe distance, i.e. in bed, and thus be spared the tedium of a nocturnal visit from the investigating authorities.
    Yes, I told myself, when in doubt wait and see – one of Pa’s more practical dicta. Luckily the condition of doubtfulness rarely afflicts me, unlike it did Francis, but when such moments do befall, staying one’s hand is no bad thing.
     
    The hand, however, was not stayed for long as curiosity got the better of me. Thus with the first note of the blackbird I flung back the bedclothes wildly agog to learn more of Topping’s misadventure and the cause of such malice – for malice there had most certainly been. Naturally, the man must have done something pretty dire to inflame such an attack. My earlier suspicions were entirely justified, spot on surely; though I have to say that I had not foreseen him as a victim , rather the reverse. Nevertheless it just went to show that he had been far from kosher, however good his Latin. I mean if he had been above board he wouldn’t have got murdered, would he? (Admittedly no one could have accused Mrs Fotherington of not being above board, but then she had been a special case … as was