Read 02 Murder at the Mansion for Free Online Page A

had always listened to her mother.
    “There’s been a death.”
    Philippa balked, causing hot tea to spill upon the grained wood of the oak table.
    “Oh dear, I’m sorry, Vicar,” she said, materializing a cloth in her hand almost instantaneously and wiping away the spill. “May I ask who?”
    “John Cartwright. Sir John Cartwright.”
    Philippa’s eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open with surprise. She halted her wiping and slumped down onto a chair.
    “Heavens!”
    “Yes, under very peculiar circumstances as well. I’m still in utter confusion as to how it happened.”
    Annabelle watched as Biscuit stepped through the cat door, her green eyes fixed upon the table, and hopped up onto a shelf. She curled her tail around her feet and watched, as still and delicate as the ornamental figure of Christ beside her.
    “Allow me, Philippa,” the Vicar said, as she swallowed the last of her sandwich and poured some more tea into her cup. “I haven’t told you the most incredible detail yet.”
    Philippa leaned forward, as if fearful she might miss the Vicar’s next words.
    “Sir John Cartwright was murdered.”
    Philippa sat back suddenly, as if thrown, and sighed. She looked incredulously around the room as if an explanation lay somewhere in the Vicar’s accumulation of bric-a-brac.
    “Are you sure, Vicar?” she managed to say eventually.
    “Fairly certain, yes.”
    “How ghastly! I don’t believe we’ve ever had a murder in Upton St. Mary. It’s unimaginable .”
    “I saw his body with my own eyes,” Annabelle said, her hand hovering between a second sandwich and a cupcake, before settling reluctantly on a sandwich.
    Annabelle continued to recount the events of the morning in as much detail as possible, with all the skill of narration her sermons were lauded for. Even this though wasn’t quite enough for Philippa, who prodded and poked with questions large and small. With all the curiosity and tenacity of a police dog, Philippa diligently went over all the inconsistencies of the Vicar’s story, confirming each detail multiple times, and asking the Vicar’s opinion throughout
    “What of the girl?”
    “You say she was young?”
    “Did you notice any differences in her appearance the second time you saw her?”
    “How did the scream sound exactly?”
    “There was no sound after that?”
    “How long did it take you to reach the bedroom?”
    “Did you notice any vehicles on the way there?”
    “How large was the house?”
    “What was John Cartwright wearing?”
    “Were any of the police officer’s acting suspiciously?”
    Once Philippa had exhausted both her questions and the Vicar, she allowed Annabelle to take a cupcake and eat it in peace. They both sat, enjoying a few moments of silence, as they considered the situation in the warm, comfy ambience of the Vicar’s kitchen.
    Annabelle finished the cupcake, wiped the crumbs from her lips delicately, and broke the silence, “Please don’t concern yourself with this, Philippa. It’s in the capable hands of Inspector Nicholls now, and I’m sure he’ll find the awful creature who committed this sin eventually.”
    “Yes, Vicar,” Philippa said, gazing at her teacup absently, “but I was just trying to remember something.”
    “Yes?”
    “Who in the village is a capable archer?”
    “That was just one of the many questions I was hoping to answer soon,” replied the Vicar, standing up from the table and fixing her cassock in the mirror hung beside the window. “Regardless, let’s put this horrid affair aside for now. Life goes on, even in the presence of death. Tomorrow’s Sunday, and all this fuss has given me no time at all to prepare.”
    “Yes, Vicar. I’ll leave you to it. I’ve yet to call the carpenter about that rickety pew.”
    “Oh. That’s not been fixed yet?”
    “Unfortunately not, Vicar,” Philippa said, picking the china up from the table and arranging it neatly beside the sink. “Ah, Vicar?”
    “Yes?”