Mistletoe and Murder Read Free Page B

exotic flavour entirely appropriate to her exotic surroundings.
    So that explained the mystery, Daisy assumed, taking the chair opposite her hostess. The noble Earls of Westmoor would not take kindly to the introduction of a “native” into the family. For how many decades had the poor woman been shut away at Brockdene, out of sight and out of mind? No doubt her anxious look was the product of many a snub.
    â€œIt’s very kind of you to put me up,” Daisy said warmly. “I’m looking forward to writing about your home. It looks like a fascinating house.”
    â€œIt’s quite old. Godfrey, my son, says the rest of Brockdene, apart from this wing, has changed remarkably little over the centuries. He knows all about it,” Mrs. Norville said with obvious pride.
    â€œYes, Mr. Norville has already offered to give me a tour. It will be frightfully helpful to have an expert on hand. Mrs. Norville, I didn’t know when I wrote to you that Lord Westmoor had invited all of my family to stay here for Christmas. I do hope he warned you.”
    â€œHe wrote to Mrs. Pardon, and she told Dora.” She
seemed to think it quite natural that she should be passed over. In response to Daisy’s enquiring look, she explained, “Dora is my daughter-in-law.”
    â€œMrs. Godfrey Norville? I see.” Daisy wondered how many more Norvilles were in residence.
    Curiosity must wait, though. She had work to do before the rest of her own family arrived, and she wanted to go and take photographs while the weather was fine. But a few more minutes of conversation would be only courteous. Glancing about the room, she ventured, “What an interesting collection you have in here.”
    Mrs. Norville smiled. “My older boy, Victor, is a seaman, the captain of a merchant ship. He sails all over the world. He sends me these things or brings them when he manages to get home for a few days. They remind me of my childhood, before I went to the mission school.”
    â€œIn India? You must miss it.”
    â€œI have never grown accustomed to the English winter, though I have lived at Brockdene for nearly fifty years. But my sons are Englishmen,” she added almost fiercely.
    So determined a defence must be the result of past attacks. Daisy was dying to know more, but she really must get started on her article. “Of course they are,” she said. “I haven’t met Captain Norville, but Mr. Norville couldn’t possibly be mistaken for anything else. And now I’d better go and find him to take up his offer to show me about.”
    â€œI hope you will come back for tea.” Mrs. Norville was shy again. “Dora always brings up tea at half-past four.”
    â€œI’ll be here,” Daisy promised, the stale cheese sandwich she had snatched for lunch at Plymouth station already a distant memory.
    As she stepped out of the sitting room, a young girl came
along the passage towards her. In a blue skirt and cardigan and white blouse, with her long, flaxen hair held back by an Alice band, she looked about fourteen, and large for her age. Her pudgy face was suspicious.
    â€œWhat have you been saying to my Gran?” she demanded.
    â€œâ€˜How do you do.’”
    â€œHow do you do,” the girl said impatiently, scowling. “I’m Jemima Norville.”
    â€œHow do you do?” said Daisy with a quite different intonation. “I’m Mrs. Fletcher. I’ve just been saying ‘How do you do’ to Mrs. Norville.”
    Jemima blinked at her with a bewilderment reminiscent of Godfrey Norville, who must be her father. “Why?” she asked.
    â€œBecause I’ve come to stay at Brockdene, and she is my hostess. One always says ‘How do you do’ to one’s hostess as soon as one is presentable after the journey. And now I’m going to look for Mr. Norville, who is going to show me over the old house.”
    â€œDaddy’ll