Murder at Mullings--A 1930s country house murder mystery Read Free Page A

the day she saw him off in 1915 that she would never see him in this life again. She read the same anguished awareness in his mother’s eyes and they clung together before reminding themselves it was wash day and humble duties must go on. A telegram brought the news of Robert’s death three months later. Florie was yet another war widow; more fortunate than many in that she didn’t have to worry about keeping a roof over her head or putting food into hungry little mouths. And yet she chafed to leave Farn Deane, to escape the aching emptiness of rooms he would never again enter. Unfortunately she was more needed than ever, especially when her mother-in-law died in 1919. Everything changed the following year, when Tom married Gracie, a farmer’s daughter from Kingsbury Knox, who was more than capable taking over the household reins.
    Florie was considering her future with an optimism she had not felt for a long time, when Mrs Longbrow, the housekeeper under whom she had worked at Mullings and who was now well into her seventies, came to see her. This was not an unusual occurrence – she quite often stopped by for a cup of tea and a chat – and Florie had retained her fond interest in life at Mullings. She had gone to the church to see Lionel marry and had grieved when he and his wife were killed in a motoring accident, the fault of the other driver, on returning home from a weekend in London. They left behind them a two-year-old son named Edward after his grandfather but called Ned. His presence, Mrs Longbrow had assured Florie on several occasions, had done a world of good in bringing solace to Lord Stodmarsh and his good lady. Mr William had also married. When those who had not seen his bride asked for a description of her, the most frequent response was, a fine figure of a woman – so often the more tactful way of saying
stout.
On the occasion of her latest visit to Farn Deane, Mrs Longbrow brought news on her own account.
    â€˜It’ll be a sad wrench, Florie, but the time has come for me to take life easier. I’m going to live with my widowed sister in Weymouth, and what I’m here to suggest is you take over from me at Mullings. You’re the right age, close enough to what I was when I was taken on as housekeeper.’
    Florie’s teacup rattled as she set it down in its saucer. ‘It’s very good of you to think of me.’
    â€˜I did think of you,’ the old lady’s face crinkled into a smile, ‘but it was His Lordship that suggested it. He’s always thought very highly of you. So don’t go disappointing him or Lady Stodmarsh, who’s none too well, as you’ll have heard – crippled now with the rheumatism and so tired much of the time.’
    â€˜Thank you, Mrs Longbrow – there’s nothing I’d like better.’
    â€˜Well, that’s a relief! I’m sure it won’t make difficulties that Mr Grumidge the butler and some other members of the staff are new since your day. You’ve got what it takes to get along without giving in, which, when it comes down to it, is what this job entails.’
    And so Florie returned to Mullings at the age of thirty-five. In doing so, she felt that she had left Robert’s grief-imprinted image behind at Farn Deane, allowing her to remember only the happiness. She received an especially warm and respectful welcome from Mrs McDonald the cook, who looked very little different from the old days, and was just as nimble on her feet despite her fifteen stone.
    â€˜Nice, hard-working little Florie is how I thought of you when you first come here, Mrs Norris, if you’ll forgive the remembering.’
    Almost imperceptibly over the years she had become ‘Florence’ to her family, with the exception of her cousin Hattie Fly in London, whom she did not see as often as she would have liked, but was in regular correspondence. In the eyes of the others, she had gone too far up