sound enthusiastic.
‘No, it’s not the Madeira, it’s just … well … just before we sat down I was reading the evening newspaper. It seems that a whole party of guests staying at one of the lodging housesin Pershore fell ill after eating a meal of Brown Windsor soup, pheasant pie and cheese.’
‘Could it have been the pheasant pie?’ suggested Lucy.
‘Perhaps, but then it could have easily been the Brown Windsor soup. I suppose the dense, brown viscosity of the dish could hide anything of a suspicious nature.’
‘I saw Susan prepare it – beef, lamb, vegetables, faggots of herbs.’
‘Certainly a great deal of things.’
‘Did any of these people die as a result of this meal?’ asked Lucy becoming irritated by her husband’s questioning.
‘Yes, apparently one of the guests died during the night after eating the soup.’
‘Well don’t eat it if you don’t want to. I’ll ring for Susan to take it away,’ said Lucy thrusting her spoon back into the bowl with a clatter
‘No, don’t do that. I’m sorry. I’m sure it is all right,’ replied Ravenscroft taking another sip of the liquid. ‘Actually it is quite pleasant.’
‘I do wish you would make up your mind, Samuel.’
‘I have. The soup is fine.’
‘You are only saying that so as not to hurt my feelings.’
‘No, not at all. It really is very good.’
‘Now I come to think of it, it does have a rather peculiar odour,’ said Lucy after taking another mouthful. ‘I think we should leave it. Perhaps the lamb was not as fresh as it should have been. I will have a word with the butcher.’
‘If you say so, but don’t reject the dish on my account.’
‘No, I don’t like it. We should definitely leave it,’ said Lucy ringing the small hand bell on the table.
‘Now you are annoyed with me,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘I am sorry. I should not have mentioned it.’
‘Ah, Susan, I think we have had enough of the BrownWindsor. If you would take it away please,’ said Lucy ignoring her husband’s last remark, and addressing the maid as she entered the room.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ replied the maid casting a suspicious eye at the half-full bowls.
Suddenly, the loud noise of the front doorbell being pressed broke the silence of the room.
‘Surely that cannot be Tom Crabb again? It seems that every time we sit down to eat, our meal is interrupted by some police matter or other,’ said an annoyed Lucy.
‘Shall I tell him to wait, Mrs Ravenscroft, until after I have served the main course?’ asked Susan.
‘No, I suppose you had better let him in,’ replied a resigned Lucy.
‘I’m sorry, my dear. I am sure it must be something of great importance for Tom to call upon us at such a late hour,’ suggested Ravenscroft hoping to placate his wife.
The maid left the room and returned a moment or two later. ‘Please Mr Ravenscroft, it’s not Constable Crabb. It’s a young lad. Says he must speak to you most urgently.’
‘Strange. Did this youth give his name?’ asked Ravenscroft .
‘No, sir,’ replied the maid.
‘Then I think you should instruct him to visit the police station. Tell him we are dining and cannot be disturbed,’ instructed Lucy.
‘Sorry to intrude, Mister Ravenscroft,’ said a young man peering round the doorpost.
‘Stebbins!’ exclaimed Ravenscroft.
‘Sorry for the interruption, Mister Ravenscroft, Mrs Ravenscroft ,’ said the smiling, fresh-faced youth removing his cap and stepping into the room. ‘I knows you is dining, sir, but I thought you would want to know as soon as possible.’
‘Who is this young man?’ asked a bewildered Lucy.
‘This is Stebbins, the boots whom I first encountered at the Tudor when I first visited Malvern,’ explained Ravenscroft. ‘What is it, Stebbins? You can see that we are busy at the moment?’
‘Terrible business, sir. Poisoned he was!’ pronounced the youth with a flourish.
‘Who has been poisoned?’ asked Ravenscroft regretting that he had asked
‘No, it’s not the Madeira, it’s just … well … just before we sat down I was reading the evening newspaper. It seems that a whole party of guests staying at one of the lodging housesin Pershore fell ill after eating a meal of Brown Windsor soup, pheasant pie and cheese.’
‘Could it have been the pheasant pie?’ suggested Lucy.
‘Perhaps, but then it could have easily been the Brown Windsor soup. I suppose the dense, brown viscosity of the dish could hide anything of a suspicious nature.’
‘I saw Susan prepare it – beef, lamb, vegetables, faggots of herbs.’
‘Certainly a great deal of things.’
‘Did any of these people die as a result of this meal?’ asked Lucy becoming irritated by her husband’s questioning.
‘Yes, apparently one of the guests died during the night after eating the soup.’
‘Well don’t eat it if you don’t want to. I’ll ring for Susan to take it away,’ said Lucy thrusting her spoon back into the bowl with a clatter
‘No, don’t do that. I’m sorry. I’m sure it is all right,’ replied Ravenscroft taking another sip of the liquid. ‘Actually it is quite pleasant.’
‘I do wish you would make up your mind, Samuel.’
‘I have. The soup is fine.’
‘You are only saying that so as not to hurt my feelings.’
‘No, not at all. It really is very good.’
‘Now I come to think of it, it does have a rather peculiar odour,’ said Lucy after taking another mouthful. ‘I think we should leave it. Perhaps the lamb was not as fresh as it should have been. I will have a word with the butcher.’
‘If you say so, but don’t reject the dish on my account.’
‘No, I don’t like it. We should definitely leave it,’ said Lucy ringing the small hand bell on the table.
‘Now you are annoyed with me,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘I am sorry. I should not have mentioned it.’
‘Ah, Susan, I think we have had enough of the BrownWindsor. If you would take it away please,’ said Lucy ignoring her husband’s last remark, and addressing the maid as she entered the room.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ replied the maid casting a suspicious eye at the half-full bowls.
Suddenly, the loud noise of the front doorbell being pressed broke the silence of the room.
‘Surely that cannot be Tom Crabb again? It seems that every time we sit down to eat, our meal is interrupted by some police matter or other,’ said an annoyed Lucy.
‘Shall I tell him to wait, Mrs Ravenscroft, until after I have served the main course?’ asked Susan.
‘No, I suppose you had better let him in,’ replied a resigned Lucy.
‘I’m sorry, my dear. I am sure it must be something of great importance for Tom to call upon us at such a late hour,’ suggested Ravenscroft hoping to placate his wife.
The maid left the room and returned a moment or two later. ‘Please Mr Ravenscroft, it’s not Constable Crabb. It’s a young lad. Says he must speak to you most urgently.’
‘Strange. Did this youth give his name?’ asked Ravenscroft .
‘No, sir,’ replied the maid.
‘Then I think you should instruct him to visit the police station. Tell him we are dining and cannot be disturbed,’ instructed Lucy.
‘Sorry to intrude, Mister Ravenscroft,’ said a young man peering round the doorpost.
‘Stebbins!’ exclaimed Ravenscroft.
‘Sorry for the interruption, Mister Ravenscroft, Mrs Ravenscroft ,’ said the smiling, fresh-faced youth removing his cap and stepping into the room. ‘I knows you is dining, sir, but I thought you would want to know as soon as possible.’
‘Who is this young man?’ asked a bewildered Lucy.
‘This is Stebbins, the boots whom I first encountered at the Tudor when I first visited Malvern,’ explained Ravenscroft. ‘What is it, Stebbins? You can see that we are busy at the moment?’
‘Terrible business, sir. Poisoned he was!’ pronounced the youth with a flourish.
‘Who has been poisoned?’ asked Ravenscroft regretting that he had asked
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