Read Death at the Manor (The Asharton Manor Mysteries Book 1) for Free Online

Smith said as Violet rushed over to her, her hands up in her hair, pulling it out from the pins.
    “It’s Madam, it’s Madam – oh, Mrs. Smith, it’s awful – she’s lying there all cold, there’s something wrong – all cold – I think she’s dead—”
    Talk about cold. A drenching, chilly wave washed over me, just as I gasped and I heard Mrs. Cotting do the same.
    Mrs. Smith just stared blankly. “What on Earth are you talking about, Violet?”
    “Madam’s dead, I think she’s dead!”
    Meg, who was setting bread at the kitchen table, gave a short sharp scream. We all jumped and Mrs. Smith got up quickly. “Dead? Don’t be ridiculous!”
    Violet was still moaning and crying. Mrs Cotting drew her over to a chair and sat her down. She, Mrs Smith and I looked at each other, silently wondering.
    “Joan, come with me,” Mrs. Smith said, finally. She and Mrs. Cotting exchanged another quick glance and Mrs. Cotting nodded very slightly. Violet had sunk her head into her hands and both she and Meg were crying. I think Mrs. Smith wanted someone she could rely on to accompany her. If I was capable of thinking anything, I was pleased, but my heart was thumping. I thought of that silvery dart of anxiety that I’d felt walking into the kitchen. Had I had a premonition?
    We walked quickly up the main staircase. I knew then that Mrs. Smith was worried, because we would normally have taken the servants’ stairs. We reached the landing, where Madam’s door stood ajar. Mrs. Smith hesitated on the landing. Then – I could hear her take a deep breath – she walked inside the room and I followed her.
    The bedside light was on and the tea tray deposited on the table next to the bed. Madam lay in bed like a marble statue. I could see at first glance that she was dead; her mouth hung open and there was a greyish tinge to her skin, as if she’d walked through a room full of dust and cobwebs. I could smell it too – death smells like nothing else, sweet and rank at the same time. I swallowed.
    “Oh, my lord,” said Mrs. Smith, breathing fast. “Oh, my lord. Oh Joan… oh, my lord…”
    I looked at her in alarm. She was very pale, with a sheen of perspiration over her face like a transparent veil.
    “Quick—” I said and got her to a chair just in time. I helped her put her head near her ample lap, wishing I had some smelling salts. I looked at the dressing table, thinking I might see some there, but the light was too dim and the table too far away in the enormous room for me to see clearly.
    “Wait here, I’ll get help,” I said. Mrs. Smith said something muffled in reply, but I didn’t stop to ask her to repeat it. I ran quickly to the door and down the corridor to Mr. Manfield’s room and knocked before I had a chance to think about what I was doing.
    It seemed an age before I heard a sleepy voice say, “Come in.” I almost fell into the room, such was my haste – I didn’t stop to think what he might think of me, a servant, barging into his bedchamber without so much as a by your leave. As I opened my mouth to gasp out the news, I realised what I was about to say. I was about to tell him his sister was dead.
    “What’s that?” he asked, as if he couldn’t just believe what he’d heard.
    I had to repeat myself, this time at least remembering to add, “I’m so sorry, sir.”
    Mr. Manfield got slowly out of bed and reached for his gown. I hastily dropped my eyes.
    “Did I hear you correctly?” he asked. He put one hand up to his face and I could see his fingers shaking. “Did I?”
    “I’m so sorry,” I said desperately. “Please, will you come with me, sir?”
    When we got back into the room, Mrs. Smith had raised her head. She still looked deathly pale, but her breathing had steadied a little.
    Mr. Manfield gasped when he saw the still figure on the bed. He didn’t say anything else. For a moment, the three of us looked on in silence.
    The door opened behind us and made all three of us jump.