Free Silent as the Grave by Bill Kitson

she told them roundly.
    If there had been the remotest chance of us getting any support in our search that remark ended it effectively enough. ‘Go ahead and make martyrs of yourselves, but don’t blame me if there’s nothing left for you,’ Polly added her pennyweight.
    Eve was in fine blazing form by now. ‘I’m sorry,’ the sweetness of her opening belied the sting in the tail, ‘I didn’t realize Mulgrave Castle had been added to your chain of restaurants and that you were now managing the place,’ she told Polly.
    We walked out of the room; the only sound that of our footsteps.

Chapter Six
    Five minutes later we were selecting suitable footwear from the collection of wellington boots lined up against the wall of the passage next to the kitchen entrance. From inside we could hear the clatter of pots and pans. Polly had rejoined Cathy Marsh in the kitchen and there seemed an angry tone to the way the utensils were being handled. As we put on weather-resistant coats I admitted to Charlie that I was puzzled none of the other children had joined us. ‘It’s snowing hard, there’s a game of hide-and-seek and the outside possibility of a gruesome discovery,’ I suggested, ‘I can’t see that failing to attract kids.’
    He acknowledged the truth of it with a grin. ‘Normally they would. As for the twins, Sammy would certainly have been along but for the fact she’s got a sore throat and Ma’s banned it. Becky, well, you wouldn’t get her outside unless it was one of her precious books that was missing. As for my dear cousins,’ there was as much sarcasm in his voice as I’d managed earlier, ‘they’re all dominated by their doting parents.’
    Eve was having difficulty with a recalcitrant wellington. She put her hand on my shoulder to steady herself. I didn’t think it worth pointing out that she could have used the wall to equally good effect. When she had mastered the misbehaving boot she straightened and looked at her nephew. ‘You don’t think much of Russell or Colin, do you, Charlie?’
    His tone was as dismissive as a twelve-year-old could muster, ‘They’re a pair of creeps and spongers,’ he told us.
    Eventually, we were suitably attired. I inspected my companions and made one minor alteration. Eve had opted for a red bobble cap. I removed this and replaced it with a smartly checked deerstalker. ‘It’s better for keeping your ears warm and it won’t clash as violently with your hair colouring,’ I told her.
    We encountered our first difficulty with Rathbone, the butler, when we attempted to obtain the keys to aid our expedition. He told Charlie that he could not release them ‘without Sir Anthony’s permission’.
    I’m not sure if Charlie inherited his temper from his aunt or whether it came from elsewhere. ‘Don’t be a prat, Ollie,’ he told the butler, ‘otherwise I’ll have to tell Pa I’ve seen you watering the port down.’
    We got the keys without further objection. Rathbone opened up a small cupboard in his pantry and there was an impressive array of keys hanging from nails inside. Each key was neatly labelled.
    â€˜Which ones do we want, Adam?’ Charlie asked.
    â€˜All the outbuildings plus the garden door, where we found the puddle.’
    Charlie passed the keys to Eve and me, with Rathbone looking on in smouldering disapproval. He paused after selecting keys to the stables, the greenhouses, and the family chapel. ‘Ollie, where’s the key to the garden door?’
    â€˜It should be there,’ the butler muttered sourly. ‘That door hasn’t been opened since October.’
    â€˜Well it isn’t, look for yourself,’ Charlie insisted.
    After a long, close scrutiny Rathbone reluctantly admitted that the key was indeed missing. It was at that point that my belief in my theory strengthened.