Free The Shadow at Greystone Chase (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 10) by Clara Benson

her, and so she contented herself with directing a half-exasperated look and a shake of the head at him, at which he blushed, and thus the matter dropped.
    ‘What’s our plan?’ said Freddy as they set forth. He was wearing a set of execrable tweeds which had caused Angela to wince, but which, he assured her, were the very thing necessary to convince everybody of his credentials as a young man of recently-acquired riches.
    ‘I’m not quite sure,’ said Angela. ‘It’s a great pity Godfrey de Lisle couldn’t show us around himself, because it’s he I really want to speak to—although, to be perfectly honest, I have no idea how to approach the subject. It’s not as though I can smile brightly and say, “I understand your brother was a murderer, Mr. de Lisle. How fascinating! Tell me, do you really think he did it?”’
    ‘Not the most subtle approach, no,’ agreed Freddy. ‘Still, though, when all’s said and done it might be better this way. If we’re lucky we’ll be handed over to the butler and perhaps he will gossip. You’d better send William to the kitchens to work his charms on the maids. You won’t mind, will you, William?’
    William was always happy to accept any task which required him to talk to young ladies, and so readily agreed to try and find out anything he could.
    ‘I don’t suppose many of them were there at the time,’ said Angela, ‘but there might be someone who is still with the family and remembers what happened. At any rate, do what you can.’
    ‘Very well, ma’am,’ said William. ‘I’ll do my best.’
    They now turned in through the gates and proceeded up the short drive. Greystone Chase was partly screened from view by two large oak trees, but through the leaves they could see the building, with its two grey turrets and its tall chimneys. As they drew closer it seemed to Angela that the house was frowning upon them, and she had the strongest impression of a place in which visitors were not welcome—or perhaps it was just her knowledge of what had happened there which made her think so. At any rate, she was feeling nervous but did her best to hide it. So this was the house in which Edgar Valencourt had supposedly murdered his wife. What would they find out?
    ‘What do you think, Mother? Shall we buy it?’ said Freddy.
    ‘Not until we’ve seen the size of the bedrooms,’ said Angela. ‘I won’t take anything less than thirty feet square. One can barely turn around in anything smaller.’
    ‘I shall make a note and ask pointed questions,’ said Freddy, as they drew up in front of the house.
    They alighted and were immediately greeted with impeccable politeness by a smart, middle-aged woman, who had come out to meet them and who introduced herself as the housekeeper, Mrs. Smith. Angela presented her with a letter of introduction from Mr. Gilverson, and she glanced at it but was well-bred enough not to appear to examine it too closely.
    ‘Mr. de Lisle is terribly sorry he will not be able to show you around himself,’ said Mrs. Smith, ‘but he is at present in London on urgent business. Mrs. de Lisle is unfortunately indisposed, but she has instructed me to tell you that if there is anything you require you have only to ask.’
    She conducted them through the front door and into a large entrance-hall.
    ‘We understand that at one time this hall was much more ornate,’ said Mrs. Smith. ‘But one of Mr. de Lisle’s forebears on the English side was something of a puritan. He disliked too much fuss and so had a lot of it taken out, although as you can see this carved panelling escaped the destruction, and is considered by experts to be a particularly fine example of the art.’
    Mrs. and Mr. Wells agreed dutifully that it was very attractive, and that it was a pity that much of the original decoration had been lost, and they moved on to a large drawing-room, and from thence to a dining-room, a music-room, a library and a smaller morning-room. From the state of