A Death in the Family Read Free Page A

the door.
    In the gas-light of the library I realised Merry was quite correct. My clothes were clinging far too closely to my body. No wonder the gentlemen had said what they did. I got down on my hands and knees, determined to get the job over with as quickly as possible.
    My hands were numb with cold and I quickly discovered the rags had been previously used for polishing and had enough oil left on them to make them almost impervious to water. I pushed and dabbed at the carpet doing what I could and longing for the stifling warmth of the kitchen. Finally, I thought I had done the best possible under the circumstances. However, when I stood up, I realised that where I had knelt I had left another wet patch. Cursing my own stupidity and Mrs Wilson’s malevolence I spread the driest of the rags on the floor at the edge of the new patch, knelt on that and applied myself to my impossible task. It was as much my fear I would be let go before being fed as my desire to prove myself that kept me going.
    What seemed like a lifetime later I stood up and looked down at the carpet. I had only succeeded in making it all worse. There was now even the odd smear of polish on the pale pattern. I could have screamed with frustration.
    A door opened somewhere below. The gentlemen must be on their way up! Between facing them in my current state and facing Mrs Wilson I chose to retreat. I opened the passage entrance and darted through. In the darkness I tripped over something and landed flat on my face. My hands touched something wet.
    Fortunately I was too numb from cold to feel any pain. My eyes were still adjusting to the gloom, but my fingers found a man’s shoe. They travelled up to a trouser leg. ‘Excuse me,’ I whispered softly. But already I knew there was something solid and heavy about this form that was not right. I edged backward towards the door, my heart beating faster and faster. I pushed the panel and let the light from the library shine in through a crack. It took me several moments to understand what I was seeing.
    The strip of pale yellow light fell upon a recumbent gentleman of middle age in evening dress. He was lying with his limbs tangled oddly about him. His gaze was fixed and distant. One hand was clutched to his chest and there was a pool of liquid spread around him. I pushed the door open wider and saw the full glory of his scarlet blood, the silver glint of the knife hilt and the death glaze on his pale blue eyes. Only then did I fully comprehend what I had found.

The Body in the Library
    I briefly considered the option of swooning in a ladylike manner, but I was denied this by virtue of position: I was a maid, and by natural inclination, I have never known how to swoon. Instead I did what I believe most females of sensibility would have done finding themselves alone with a murdered corpse. I screamed exceedingly loudly and pelted out of the room.
    I was, of course, still frozen to the bone, so my egress was somewhat erratic. However, I located the main door by reason of its size, and skated, wet and panting, to an awkward halt with the balustrade of the upper landing wedged firmly against my midriff. My screaming stopped at once as all the air was punched out of me by the ironwork.
    Some 15 feet below, the butler, whose shoe I had recently trodden on, paused in his path towards the main door and stared up at me with the expression of a startled carp.
    The doorbell rang, loud and insistent, and doubtless not for the first time. Mr Holdsworth gave himself a small shake, tore his gaze away from me and continued his progress across the black and white tiled hall.
    ‘Body,’ I gasped, leaning over the balcony. And then more loudly, ‘There’s a body in the library.’
    I saw his shoulders stiffen, but the measured gait continued. Clearly, he was determined the presence of a madwoman in the house would not detain him from his duties.
    Suddenly, I felt quite light-headed. My cold fingers found the balustrade and