The Mystery of a Butcher's Shop Read Free

lot?’ asked Felicity Broome, poking about with her racket among the laurels.
    â€˜Four. X for Xenophon, P for Pandora, K for Sybil Thorndike, and this last little chap with the black smudge on his shirt, he’s Q for Quince.’
    â€˜K for what?’ asked Felicity, abandoning her tactics among the shrubbery and commencing to lower the tennis-net.
    â€˜Sybil Thorndike. Didn’t you see her at Hammersmith as Katharina the Shrew?’
    â€˜Of course I didn’t. And you’re not to tell me about it. I’m too envious.’ Felicity smiled sweetly. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
    â€˜Doesn’t your pater care about the theatre? Moral scruples and what not?’
    â€˜Father hasn’t any morals. He’s a clergyman,’ said Felicity, with perfect gravity. ‘We can’t afford the theatre, that’s all. What were you saying about your mother?’
    â€˜The mater? Oh, yes. I was about to remark that she is now putting that reverend bird over there through her version of the Catechism. You know: What is your name? – de Vere or Snooks? Who gave you this name, your ancestors who came over with William One –’
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜Billy the Lad. Also ran, Harold Godwinson. Don’t you know any English history?’
    â€˜Idiot! Go on.’
    â€˜Yes. Well, if you say your people didn’t come over with Bill, she wants to know whether you collected your meaty handle with the assistance of letters patent for making bully beef in the Great War, daddy, or what? Especially what. I say, I wonder whether there are cucumber sandwiches for tea? Of course, if you answer to the name of Snooks, you’re damned.’
    Felicity sat down in the middle of the court and shaded her eyes with a slim sun-kissed arm.
    â€˜But he isn’t a reverend gentleman,’ she said, narrowly observing Theodore Grayling, who was being personally conducted from garden bed to other garden beds by the majestic Mrs Bryce Harringay. Her loud, juicy voice came clearly across the grass, although the words she said were indistinguishable.
    â€˜How twiggee he isn’t a padre?’ asked Aubrey, sitting beside Felicity and clasping his white-flannelled knees.
    â€˜Hasn’t a dog-collar. Use your eyes, little boy. I’m going in now to get washed before tea. Coming?’
    â€˜Let’s go in through the library. The windows are open. I expect old Jim is in there. I say, he’s got the hump to-day or something. Have you noticed?’
    â€˜I don’t think he is very well,’ returned Felicity, as the boy hauled her to her feet. ‘He looks so dreadfully white and tired. And he is rather a jolly man usually, isn’t he?’
    â€˜Don’t know him frightfully well, you know. His mater and old Rupert’s mater never hit it off or something, and my pater, who was the brother, got himself cut off with the proverbial bob for hectic proceedings with the lasses during his youth – the mater jolly well reformed him, though, after they married – and he couldn’t stick either of his sisters, so I’ve hardly ever met Jim until this holiday.”
    â€˜You like him, though, don’t you?’ asked Felicity, as they strolled towards the house.
    â€˜Oh, he’s all right.’ Aubrey tucked her racket under his arm with his own, and she passed before him up the steps and in at the open French windows.
    Jim Redsey, still weak from the shock of his aunt’s remark, sat up as the two entered.
    â€˜Hullo, Jimsey,’ said Felicity. ‘I say, are you all right? You look dreadfully white.’
    â€˜Touch of the sun, I expect,’ returned Jim, with a sickly grin. ‘Both want your tea, I expect. Ring for it, Stick, will you? Your mater jolly well handed me a kick in the ribs just now, so you owe me something for that. I thought something serious was up, but it seems she has only heard about a woman named