Free Touch and Go by Patricia Wentworth Page B

his rather sniggering laugh.
    Lucilla kicked him under the table, and Miss Marina flowed serenely on.
    â€œFor my parents, dear boy. My mother was very nervous and delicate, and I’m sure such an unpleasant thing as a skeleton in the garden would have upset her very much. I’ve often heard her say that she would have insisted on my father leaving at once. She had a feeling that the lodger might be there too. But it shows, does it not, Mr. Brown, that murder will out?”
    Quite seriously and respectfully Mr. John Brown disagreed.
    â€œNot always, Miss Hildred,” he said. “A great many murders are never found out at all. They are too carefully planned and too cleverly carried out.”
    To Sarah’s surprise she felt a shiver run over her. She and Mr. Brown were on one side of the table, with Lucilla and Ricky opposite. Uncle Geoffrey had the head and Aunt Marina the foot. It was as if a little cold wind had moved in the room. Sarah’s spine crept. She looked across to Lucilla and frowned. What was the matter with them all? The girl looked as white as a bit of paper. From her left, Mr. Hildred said,
    â€œRather a ghastly topic for the dinner-table, Marina. Lucilla will be having bad dreams.” He began with pleasant ease to talk of a play he had seen in town. Was Mr. Brown fond of the theatre?… Well then, he should certainly not miss such first-class acting.
    In the drawing-room Miss Marina approved of Mr. Brown. She produced her very highest award. “My dear, I think we may say— a gentleman . Do you not agree with me?”
    Sarah agreed. Lucilla giggled.
    Miss Marina went on talking happily about the decadence of manners, and how rare it was to meet anyone whom you could call a gentleman—“I mean, of course, my dear, outside one’s own circle and social connections”—until the men came in.
    It was later in the evening that Sarah found herself a little apart from the others with Geoffrey Hildred. He was, she found, an enthusiastic collector of china, and he had taken her to the far end of the room to show her what she privately thought an extremely ugly plate. Uncle Geoffrey, it appeared, admired it with passion. It was Lucilla’s property, having been one of her mother’s wedding presents, and he feared very much that it had never been properly appreciated. Lucilla, of course, was too young—“And poor Lucy’s taste—well, well, I mustn’t say anything about that now, poor thing.” He discoursed instead upon ceramics in general, and Chinese art in particular. He handled the plate lovingly, and made Sarah feel the glaze. It was a long time before she had an opportunity of saying more than “Yes,” and, “I see.” All the Hildreds seemed to like being listened to, and in a general way Sarah did not mind listening. Uncle Geoffrey’s discourse was interesting enough, but she had something to say, and she thought this might be a good opportunity of saying it. She waited as long as possible and then plunged.
    â€œMr. Hildred—may I ask you something?”
    He looked first surprised and then rather pleased.
    â€œMy dear Miss Trent, of course, of course.” There was a moment when Sarah wondered whether the “Miss Trent” would be forthcoming, but there it was, quite conventional and proper. Uncle Geoffrey’s blue eyes beamed affectionately upon her as he assured her that he was at all times at her disposal. “Anything I can do, or anything you want to know.”
    â€œThank you very much, Mr. Hildred, it’s very nice of you. I want to ask you something about Lucilla. Is she very imaginative?”
    Uncle Geoffrey looked distressed. His beaming gaze clouded a little.
    â€œNow what exactly do you mean by that?”
    â€œJust what I say.” Why must people always beat about the bush? None of the Hildreds seemed to be able to give a plain answer to a plain