Read Ellis Peters - George Felse 04 - A Nice Derangement of Epitaphs for Free Online

table.
    Tim looked up from the paper. “What’s to-morrow?”
    “The big day. The day we take the lid off the old gentleman. Mummy said Uncle Simon was alerting the squad last night. Wouldn’t do if anybody got caught with his pants down, would it? Except the squire, I suppose it’s all one to him by this time.”
    Not at his most gay and extrovert in the morning, Tim squinted almost morosely at his son over his coffee cup, and wondered if anyone, even at fifteen, could really be as bright and callous as this before breakfast.
    “I know!” said Paddy, fending off the look with a grin. “That’s no way to talk about the dead. Still, I bet he’s the only one around Maymouth who isn’t excited about this bit of research. 7 am! And if you’re not, you ought to be. It’s your family. And just think, we may be making history.” He reached for the cereal packet as if it had been the crock of gold, and helped himself liberally. “Mummy, how’s that fresh coffee coming?”
    From the corridor Phil’s voice retorted hollowly: “Being carried by me, as usual.” She came in with the tray, and closed the door expertly with her elbow.
    Paddy received his cup, laced it with brown sugar to his liking, and returned happily to his preoccupation.
    “Think we really shall find anything, Dad? In the coffin?”
    Phil stiffened, the coffee-pot suspended in her hand. She looked from her husband to her son, and inquired in suspiciously mild tones: “And where did you get the ‘we’?”
    Paddy’s eyes widened in momentary doubt and dismay, and smiled again in the immediate confidence that she must be pulling his leg. “Come off it! You wouldn’t go and spoil it, would you? Not when it’s Uncle Simon’s own personal project? I’ve got to be there, of course.” His smile sagged a little; her face hadn’t melted. “Oh, gosh, you
wouldn’t
make me miss the only bit of real excitement there’s ever going to be in Maymouth?” Inevitably he appealed to Tim across the table. “Dad, you didn’t say I couldn’t. We were just talking about it, and you
didn’t
say—”
    “I didn’t say you could,” said Tim, truthfully, but aware that he was hedging. He looked doubtfully at Phil’s cloudy face, observed the set of her jaw, and could have kicked himself. He should have known that she wouldn’t think grubbing about among tombs and bones a proper occupation for her ewe lamb. Mothers are like that. Especially mothers as achingly unsure of their hold on what they love as Phil.
    “No, but I thought you understood that I was taking it for granted. You must have known I wanted to be there, you could have told me right away if you didn’t mean to let me. I’m sorry if I should have asked, but I never thought. I’ll ask now. Please, Mummy, is it all right with you if I go along with Uncle Simon and Dad to open Jan Treverra’s tomb to-morrow?”
    He recited this in a parody of his child’s voice, wrinkling his nose at her provocatively; which, according to all the rules, should have been the right thing, and paid off handsomely. But it wasn’t the right thing, and it wasn’t going to pay off. He saw it at once, and was appalled to think he had so stupidly clinched the case against himself. Never reduce anything to a formula; if you do, you’re stuck with it.
    “No,” said Phil, gently but firmly, “I’m sorry, but it isn’t all right with me. You’re not going, and that’s that. Now forget it.”
    Paddy pushed his chair back a little, brows drawn down over a level and injured stare. “Why not? Why don’t you want me to?”
    “Because it’s no place for you, and I’d rather you stayed away from it.”
    “Think I’d be having nightmares?” he demanded, suddenly breaking into a broad but uncertain smile. “Now, look, Mummy, I’m fifteen. I know what bones are like, and I know we’re all going the same way in the end. It doesn’t worry me a bit. You needn’t be afraid I’ll turn morbid.”
    “
No
!”