Read Murder Most Posh: A Mrs. Xavier Stayton Mystery for Free Online Page A

on account of his bad knees.
       “Jerome, these are the girls I was telling you about,” said Mrs. Beaumont, as she elbowed the poor man.
       Jerome Beaumont, as I’ve already said, was a tiny man, perhaps five feet tall and as slender as a weed. The man’s hair was sandy blond, and just beginning to show signs of grey. His attire was impeccable; dressed in black tie, he looked quite the dandy. Had a speck of lint appeared upon him, he seemed the sort who might have a bit of breakdown.
       Mrs. Beaumont was reading aloud from the menu card that listed the dinner selections when the steward approached once more. The man was just pulling out the chair beside me when the angry voice of Countess Orlov caused me to wince.
       Her Russian accent and broken English didn’t hinder her ability to express what she was thinking. “I sit not with these people—how dare you!” Lifting a gloved hand, she pointed to a table for two in the corner. “There, you take us to private table.”
       The steward mumbled an apology while the countess’s husband grumbled under his breath, “You needn’t be so hostile.”
       The countess retorted something in her native tongue and strode away. 
       Maxie Beaumont rolled her eyes and said, “Why, I never…”
       Mr. Beaumont seemed to have missed the complete episode, and he commented in French, which Lucy translated in a whisper, “Why haven’t they brought out the soup?” 
       The table set for eight seemed too large for the four of us. It became apparent once the soup was served that the Emerson brothers would not be joining us either.
       Attempting to make conversation, Lucy asked Mrs. Beaumont, “Did you make it on time to your bridge game.”
       The woman’s dark eyes squinted oddly and then she fixed a toothy grin on her face, “Oh, yes, but just barely.”
       Mr. Beaumont mumbled something to which his wife replied, “In fact I did lose, but we were only playing for matchsticks.”
       Two waiters arrived and carefully laid out our entries.  With dinner served, Mrs. Beaumont told us, once more, about the sinking of the Tatiana . Her husband completely ignored her as he enjoyed his meal. The man ate slowly, almost methodically. He smelled each morsel of food before he placed it on his tongue and chewed with great care.
       Mrs. Beaumont crammed her mouth full and swallowed mighty gulps, and even occasionally picked at her teeth while explaining how the Tatiana wasn’t equipped with enough lifeboats.
       Lucy and I listened while we ate less quickly than Maxie and without the dedication of Jerome.
       I was relieved when dessert was served; this was quickly devoured during a blessed moment of silence.
       Eager to part company with the Beaumonts, I placed my napkin on the table and suggested to Lucy, “Perhaps we should make our way to the ballroom and listen to the orchestra.”
       Before my friend could respond, Mrs. Beaumont jabbed her husband’s elbow and said, “Oh, yes, that sounds like a grand idea, doesn’t it, Jerome?”
       A pained expression crossed the man’s delicate face. His coffee was only half drunk and more than three bites of his lemon cake remained on his plate. However, Maxie Beaumont had spoken, and he had no choice in the matter.
       We made our way forward to a splendid ballroom. Maxie remained at my side down the wide hall as she informed me that a new orchestra had recently been hired.
       Paying more attention to her than our path, I tripped on a little flight of three steps leading into the ballroom. With surprising agility, Maxie reached out and grasped my wrist before I tottered down.
       As I thanked her, Jerome cried out proudly, “Maxie Grip!”
       We all gave a little laugh, mine out of embarrassment. 
       The ballroom was even more spectacular than the dining room. Wood-paneled walls were topped with stained glass windows, which were illuminated. Neat little tables lined the