Death of a Prankster Read Free Page B

was sitting with yellow egg yolk streaming down her face. Charles and Titchy were laughing in a forced way. Andrew Trent was laughing so hard he looked as if he might have a seizure, and Jeffrey, Jan and Angela were in states of suppressed rage. It transpired that the old practical joker had put a device under the tablecloth and under Betty’s breakfast. He had then pressed a connecting lever and some wire spring had hurled the contents of Betty’s plate straight into her face.
    ‘You old fool,’ growled Angela. ‘One day someone will throttle the life out of you and it might be me.’
    ‘Did you cut the phones off?’ demanded Jeffrey.
    ‘Not I,’ said his brother, wiping his streaming eyes with his napkin. ‘Snow’s brought the lines down.’
    Enrico’s wife, who, it transpired, was called Maria, quietly came in with a basin of water and a face towel, which she presented to Betty before taking her ruined breakfast away. Enrico then came in with another plate of bacon and eggs. The Spanish servants glided noiselessly to and fro as if nothing out of the way had happened. What brought them to the far north of Scotland, to bleak Sutherland? wondered Melissa. Possibly the pay was good.
    Jan made an effort to be polite to Melissa, as did everyone else. But then, they were drawing together against the menace that was Andrew Trent. Melissa wondered how they were all going to pass the time, but there was an extensive library, a conservatory, and a games room in the basement, with billiards and table tennis. She joined Paul in the library, where they read until lunch. Lunch was a quiet affair. Andrew Trent seemed abstracted. In the afternoon the old man went up to bed. Melissa and Paul and Titchy and Charles played a noisy game of table tennis. Melissa began to think she might enjoy her stay after all.
    After dinner, instead of retiring to the drawing room, they were invited to assemble in the hall. The fire was burning low and the hall was lit by candle-light. Extra chairs had been brought in and they all sat in a circle round the fire.
    ‘How old is this house?’ asked Melissa. ‘I mean, it’s all been modernized with central heating and that, but the walls look old.’
    ‘Oh, it’s very old,’ said Mr Trent. He leaned forward in his chair, his hands folded on the handle of his stick and his chin resting on them. ‘About the fourteenth century. As a matter of fact, it’s haunted.’
    ‘Rubbish, Andrew,’ said Jeffrey.
    ‘I believe in ghosts,’ said Titchy suddenly.
    ‘There’s one here, all right,’ said Mr Trent. ‘It’s the ghost of an English knight.’
    ‘Tell us,’ squealed Titchy, clapping her hands.
    ‘Yes, do tell us what an English knight was doing in Scotland in the fourteenth century,’ sneered Jeffrey.
    ‘His name was Sir Guy Montfour,’ said Mr Trent dreamily. ‘He had returned from a crusade. On his way back through France he met Mary Mackay, the daughter of the chieftain of the Clan Mackay. He fell in love with her. But the Mackays left during the night. He decided to pursue them to Scotland –’ his voice sank eerily – ‘to this very house.’
    ‘I don’t believe a word of this,’ muttered Paul, but Melissa felt the spell the old man was casting on the group. The candles flickered in a slight draught and a log shifted in the hearth.
    ‘The chieftain pretended to welcome Sir Guy. Mary was obviously in love with the knight. The very next day, Mary was seized by the clan servants and taken to the coast. She was put on a boat to Norway, where she spent the rest of her life in exile. But Sir Guy … ah … what a tragedy!’
    The wind suddenly moaned around the house. Titchy searched for Charles’s hand and gripped it tightly.
    ‘They took Sir Guy out on a stag hunt. He did not know that his Mary had gone. He shot a fine stag up on the mountain. When he was bending over the dead beast, the chieftain took his claymore and sliced the poor knight’s head from his body. They