Death and Miss Dane Page 11
“She couldn’t have been poor before she got this money. Didn’t you say she owned a large house and — ”
“Too large, and completely out of date. It sold very badly. Her husband hadn’t left her much—that was why she supplemented her income by taking in occasional guests. My father advised her to invest the proceeds of the Edinburgh house, but before he could advise her what to buy, she’d made her own decision and bought a packet of Terrazone shares—a tin mine God only knows where. She gave some of them to my father and his wife, but they weren’t worth the paper they were printed on. My father advised his wife to sell them at once.”
“And she did?”
“Yes.” He made the admission reluctantly. ‘‘She did. Two hundred shares in a tin mine which turned out...Two hundred shares which would have sold a month ago at...What the hell’s the use of thinking about it?”
“Is Lady Grantly crowing?”
“No. She’s too busy making plans to move. If you’d gone up with me, we might have talked her out of it. You could have met her as my future wife, we could have said we hoped she would consider moving to London instead of to York, we could have explained that we ourselves would soon be house-hunting and would put her in touch with any houses that might suit her. But you wouldn’t come, and so she’s still fixed on York.”
“What exactly did you say to her today?”
“Nothing. She doesn’t wait for anybody to say anything. She began, as I told you, by pretending not to recognise me. She went on to make disparaging remarks about my father. When I mentioned my engagement, she said that you had obviously not consulted the cards.”
“The what?”
“Cards.”
“What did she mean by that?”
“God knows. I didn’t ask her—I didn’t know how tangled it might get. She told my father that the cards had put her on to Terrazone. You see what I mean by being cracked? She was odd enough when we first met her, but I daresay her great-niece’s marriage, her great-niece’s subsequent elopement and her own recent lucky streak have all added up to send her over the edge.”
“What’s the house in Oatfields like?”
“Small, bleak, stuffed with furniture, most of it rather good. I would have liked to buy a couple of pieces. In fact, I suggested it—and wished I hadn’t. She—Are you listening?”
‘Yes and no. I was thinking.”
“Thinking about what?”
“Going to see her.”
For some moments, he was unable to speak. He turned in his chair and stared at her.
“Going to... going to...What the hell does that mean?”
“I thought I’d pay her a visit while I was up in Yorkshire, that’s all.”
“That’s all? That’s all? After having refused to go—”
“Don’t let’s go over all that again. Use your head. For years, you and your father have shied away from any mention of Lady Grantly. As it was nothing to do with me, I didn’t mind how much you shied. But now you’ve got me interested. Put it down to your gifts as a raconteur. You’ve turned her from a dim and rather dull figure into a real person, and I’d like to see her, even if it’s only to ask her what she meant about the cards.”
“And you couldn’t have come with me?”
“No. Anyway, all you wanted me to go for was to bully an old woman and—”
“Bully?”
“Persuade. Advise. Bully.”
“Look here, I’ve had enough of this. I’m going.”
“You haven’t drunk your coffee.”
“I don’t want my coffee. This is the kind of thing you’re always doing—refusing to co-operate, keeping well out of a thing, and then coming in at the last moment by a side door. To go and see her together”—He rose and jerked his coat off the hook on which he had hung it— “would have been reasonable. To profess interest now, to insinuate that you can do more on your own than my father and I have done... And anyway, you’re too late. You’ll be wasting your time. Goodbye. If I stay, we shall have a row, and if we have a row, I shall say things I don’t mean.”
“No you won’t. You’ll say things you do mean. —You’ve got a bit of pie on your blouse.”
“Would you kindly—”
“Sorry. Shirt. I wouldn’t put that scarf on, if I were you. It’s damp.”
He crumpled it up furiously and thrust it into his pocket. He opened the door, backed away to allow an old lady to cross the landing on her way to the bathroom, and turned for a last word.
“When are you going up?”
“On Wednesday. I’ll be back on Saturday, unless there’s a snow block.”
“And you’re serious about going to see Lady Grantly?”
“Serious? I thought it might be amusing.”
“Amusing is the last thing you’ll find it. I can’t think why the hell you want to do it. What have you and she in common?”
Emma did not tell him.
End of preview. To continue reading, watch for the book entitled “The Friendly Air” by Elizabeth Cadell, available on Kindle, Kobo, paperback, and soon on audio.
Also by Elizabeth Cadell
My Dear Aunt Flora
Fishy, Said the Admiral
River Lodge
Family Gathering
Iris in Winter
Sun in the Morning
The Greenwood Shady
The Frenchman & the Lady
Men & Angels
Journey's Eve
Spring Green
The Gentlemen Go By
The Cuckoo in Spring
Money to Burn
The Lark Shall Sing
Consider The Lilies
The Blue Sky of Spring
Bridal Array
Shadow on the Water
Sugar Candy Cottage
The Green Empress
Alice Where Art Thou?
The Yellow Brick Road
Six Impossible Things
Honey For Tea
Language of the Heart
Mixed Marriage
Letter to My Love
Death Among Friends
Be My Guest
Canary Yellow
The Fox From His Lair
The Corner Shop
The Stratton Story
The Golden Collar
The Past Tense of Love
The Friendly Air
Home for the Wedding
The Haymaker
Deck With Flowers
The Fledgling
Game in Diamonds
Parson's House
Round Dozen
Return Match
The Marrying Kind
Any Two Can Play
A Lion in the Way
Remains to be Seen
The Waiting Game
The Empty Nest
Out of the Rain
Death and Miss Dane
About the Author
Elizabeth Vandyke was born in British India at the beginning of the 20th century. She married a young Scotsman and became Elizabeth Cadell, remaining in India until the illness and death of her much-loved husband found her in England, with a son and a daughter to bring up, at the beginning of World War 2. At the end of the war she published her first book, a light-hearted depiction of the family life she loved. Humour and optimism conquered sorrow and widowhood, and the many books she wrote won her a wide public, besides enabling her to educate her children (her son joined the British Navy and became an Admiral), and allowing her to travel, which she loved. Spain, France and Portugal provide a background to many of her books, although England and India were not forgotten. She finally settled in Portugal, where her married daughter still lives, and died when well into her 80s, much missed by her 7 grandchildren, who had all benefitted from her humour, wisdom and gentle teaching. British India is now only a memory, and the quiet English village life that Elizabeth Cadell wrote about has changed a great deal, but her vivid characters, their love affairs and the tears and laughter they provoke, still attract many r
eaders, young and not-so-young, in this twenty-first century. Reprinting these books will please her fans and it is hoped will win her new ones.
Afterword
Note: Elizabeth Cadell is a British author who wrote her books using the traditional British spelling. Therefore because these books are being published worldwide, the heirs have agreed to keep her books exactly as she wrote them and not change the spelling.