Free The Winter Garden Mystery by Carola Dunn Page A

And there was the tiny mole by her mouth, but then powder never covered that properly anyway.
    â€œMiss?” Gregg came in. “Is there anything I can do for you?” The maid’s eyes were red and her face blotchy.
    â€œNot at present, thanks. You’ve heard about Grace Moss, I take it? I’m so sorry. You must have known her well.”
    â€œYes, miss, she was at school with my sister, and then working here at the Hall. A merry creature, she was, always looking on the bright side of things. There wasn’t an ounce of harm in Gracie, for all Mr. Moody says she was a flighty piece and he wasn’t surprised when she run off.”
    â€œFlighty? I know she was walking out with Owen Morgan, but she didn’t run off after all.”
    â€œTo think she was lying dead all this time!” Gregg sniffed and wiped her eyes.
    â€œSo you can’t very well call her flighty.”
    â€œWell, it’s true she had an eye to the young master. I’m not saying there was anything in it, mind.”
    â€œA girl would have to be blind not to have an eye to Mr. Sebastian,” said Daisy uneasily. Did Owen have still another rival? Had Sebastian been a passive object of admiration, or had he played a more active part?
    â€œHe’s handsomer than any film actor, isn’t he, miss? And him going to be Sir Sebastian one day. No wonder if poor Gracie had her head turned. Oh, there’s the lunch gong, miss. Shall I show you the way?”
    â€œI think I can find it now, thank you, Gregg.” As the distant vibrations died away, Daisy gave her hair a last pat, smoothed her skirt, and set out for the dining room with a hollow feeling inside that was not entirely hunger.
    Lady Valeria had returned. Her husband, her children, her husband’s secretary, and her unwanted guest were all subdued by the tragedy, but Lady Valeria was angry.

    â€œI met a reporter at the gates,” she announced, as Moody ladled Scotch broth and the tiptoeing maid handed it round. “A man from the local paper. I sent him off with his tail between his legs but doubtless others will follow.”
    â€œMy dear,” said Sir Reginald mildly, “would it not be better to make a brief statement? They may invent stories to amuse the public if they don’t know the truth.”
    â€œTruth! Those troublemakers don’t know the meaning of the word. Give it them and they’ll only twist it. I have already told Moody that any servant who speaks to them will be instantly dismissed. Naturally none of us here will pander to their nosiness, except … .” She scowled at Daisy. “Of course I can’t stop you tattling to your colleagues, Miss Dalrymple.”
    â€œThey aren’t my colleagues, Lady Valeria,” Daisy said coldly. “I’m not a reporter. I write for a magazine, a most respectable magazine, not a newspaper or scandal sheet. Nor am I in the habit of tattling to anyone. You may be sure that as a guest at Occles Hall I shan’t discuss your affairs with the Press.”
    Lady Valeria’s sour look assured Daisy her words had hit their mark. “As a guest” she’d shun the Press, so her hostess was not likely to continue to press her to cut short her visit.
    She found something else to fume about instead. “Our affairs? The fact that it was on our property the silly girl died does not make it any affair of ours.”
    From the corner of her eye, Daisy thought she saw Sebastian’s hand move in what might be a gesture of protest, but when she glanced at him, he was languidly eating his soup. He seemed apathetic, as if in the aftermath of an emotional storm, though she had no way of knowing if that was the case.
    What had his relationship been with the dead girl?
    â€œI have spoken to that little man from the police,” Lady Valeria went on, “Inspector Rennet or whatever his name is. He quite understands that the family have nothing to