Free Murder At Wittenham Park by R. W. Heber Page A

demanded brusquely, “what’s the problem?”
    â€œI’m not taking him his early-morning tea. No way.” Tracy’s language was an odd mixture of shop-girl English and TV Americanisms.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œThat Welch. When I went to make up his room he pinched my—”
    â€œGoosed you?”
    Tracy’s face reddened. “Yes, milady. I won’t do it. No way when he’s there, I won’t. He can have a tray left outside his door.”
    Normally Dee Dee would never dream of her guests’ not having tea taken in to them. The place might just as well be a hotel. Damn Welch! But it was a solution. Instead of castigating the maid, she beamed at her.
    â€œWhat a clever idea! But you must do the same for everyone. And if he bothers you again, we’ll call the police.” Dee Dee rather hoped he would, though the idea of anyone goosing a girl as fat as Tracy was bizarre. Then it occurred to her that while she had the chance she ought to remind her about tomorrow morning’s happenings. “And don’t forget, you come to the State Bedroom at seven-thirty, pretend you’ve found me dead, run out into the passage and start screaming the house down.”
    Tracy brightened up. She’d enjoy doing that. “Yes, milady,” she said enthusiastically. “I’ll scream like a banshee.”
    â€œPerhaps not quite so loud. Just so that everyone hears.”
    With this agreed, Dee Dee made her way through to the dining-room and was pleased to find that Dodgson had followed her orders implicitly. There was silver everywhere. A pair of massive candelabra graced the long mahogany table. Between them stood a silver statuette of a Guardsman in a bearskin. Silver saltcellars and pepper-pots, solid silver cutlery and slender-stemmed wine glasses all helped complete the atmosphere promised in the brochure.
    Welch had been audibly impressed, while Jim Savage understood why his hostess was concerned about theft. He wouldn’t put it past Adrienne or the tipsy Priscilla to slip a souvenir into their handbags; nor Welch to pocket a spoon. Even the seating plan was indicated by crested name cards held in little silver clips.
    Where to put people had worried Dee Dee. The main thing was to keep Welch at one remove from both herself and Buck. So he was on one side of the centre facing Hamish, with Jemma and Dulcie separating Gilroy from them at the far end, while she had Savage on her right and the two remaining women on her left. Loredana sat smirkingly next to Hamish. Trevor Chancemain had still not arrived and it had occurred to her to invite Ted, the lion keeper, to improve the balance, but he had no small talk.
    Overall it was not a bad plan. Jim Savage could tip her off if anyone did start stealing the spoons and she could keep an eye on Priscilla’s drinking. But she had overestimated her ability to insulate Welch from Buck. Unexpectedly the man who broke the barrier was Hamish.
    The prawn with thin slices of avocado had gone down well and Dodgson was about to go round with a dish of chicken Maryland when Hamish leaned towards Buck.
    â€œSorry to be the bearer of ill tidings,” he said, “but just before I left the office I heard that Lloyds has posted another six-billion loss. Calls for up to half a million will be sent out tomorrow morning.”
    Gilroy’s face paled and the impact on him was so obvious that even Priscilla stopped chattering, though she ostentatiously held up her wineglass for it to be refilled by Dodgson.
    â€œThat don’t worry me,” Welch said quickly, “I ain’t on the worst syndicates.” He caught Hamish’s eye and Hamish nodded halfheartedly, or so it seemed to Jim.
    â€œHow d’you know about Lloyds?” Gilroy asked.
    â€œFor my sins,” Hamish said unctuously, “I work there.”
    At this point Jim Savage began taking serious note of the conversation. There was something staged