Free A Death in Two Parts by Jane Aiken Hodge

She had simply taken it and accepted the old lady’s assurance that she had dealt with the Black Stag ever since she moved to the Hall. “And with Joseph in the house that’s plenty of dealing,” she had concluded.
    Just the same, Patience felt acutely uncomfortable as she waited in the antler-hung hallway of the inn while the elegant young lady who condescended to act as barmaid retired with the cheque to the nether regions. When she returned she was more haughty than ever. “No; sorry,” she said, “we don’t cash cheques for transients.”
    Patience felt herself blushing. “But Mrs Ffeathers is not a transient. She says she’s been dealing here for years.”
    â€œThat’s as may be,” said the young lady, “but Mr Pangbourne says we don’t cash her cheques. I’m sorry to inconvenience you, I’m sure” – she was clearly delighted – “but that’s what he said. You can see him if you want to.”
    This finally routed Patience. “Oh, no, thank you; I’ll just have to tell Mrs Ffeathers …” The young lady had turned her back and Patience dwindled unhappily down the hall and out into the street.
    Not a successful expedition. She had paid for the chocolate animals and Mrs Ffeathers’ pills out of her own dwindling resources, and would have to give up her project of a relaxed and Featherstoneless tea in The Old Bunhouse, across the road; and anyway, it was getting dark.
    It was quite dark when she got back to Featherstone Hall, and Mrs Ffeathers was full of solicitude.
    â€œInconsiderate old party that I am,” she greeted Patience, with eyes even more sparkling than usual, “I was so set on my sweets I clean forgot how soon the afternoons close in these days. But you’re such a capable girl; I’m sure you can find your way anywhere in the dark.” She seemed to find something particularly amusing in the idea. “And did you manage without anyone knowing? What a clever girl!”
    She was being mocked, Patience thought, and wondered just why. It added, somehow, to an uncomfortable feeling that had been in the back of her mind all afternoon. There was more, she could not help thinking, to this expedition than Mrs Ffeathers had let on.
    â€œHere are your pills.” She took the little packet out ofher bag. “But I’m afraid I couldn’t cash the cheque. They didn’t seem to know you at the Black Stag.”
    Mrs Ffeathers burst into delighted laughter. “I don’t suppose they did. I’ve never bought so much as a bottle of soda water there. Oh, Patience, you are a gullible pet; it’s really too bad to take advantage of you. I really half thought they’d cash it for you, you’re so blessedly sure of yourself. That’s why I made it for fifty, just to be sure.” She took the cheque from Patience, tore it in tiny pieces and put it carefully in the centre of the fire.
    â€œBut I don’t understand,” said Patience, half puzzled, half angry.
    â€œI don’t suppose you do. That cheque, my love, was one I stopped at the bank yesterday. I told them someone had taken it out of my book and I couldn’t be answerable for what happened to it. And if the bank ever shows whoever looked at it at the Black Stag my signature – and if
they’ve
any kind of a memory, which I don’t suppose they have – they’ll say the signatures were bad forgeries. Just the kind of thing a girl who didn’t know me very well might try to do.
Now
d’you understand?” Mrs Ffeathers sat back in her chair, her bright eyes sparkling with satisfaction. “
Now
I think you’ll tell me what they say about me in the dining room, my girl, and any other little thing I want to know, and without quite so many of your holier-than-thou airs and graces either, or you may find yourself answering some awkward questions from the