Foxden Hotel (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 5) by Madalyn Morgan (ebook reader ink txt) 📕

Someone, a girl by the sound of her sobs, ran past her down the aisle. Bess lowered her head, pretending to pray.

‘Katherine?’ a man called from the door. He called the name again, and Bess recognised the voice as Sir Gerald Hawksley’s. She heard his heavy footfall as he lumbered down the aisle after his daughter.

Without lifting her head higher than necessary, Bess looked in the direction of Katherine Hawksley’s cries and her father’s gentle consoling. With her head still bent, as if she was still praying, Bess slipped out of the pew and crept silently to the door. She looked back at father and daughter. They seemed unaware that anyone else was in the church, or they didn’t care - and Bess left unnoticed.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘Henry?’ Bess flew from behind the reception desk, ran across the hall to the foyer and threw her arms around the neck of her brother-in-law, and old friend, Henry Green. ‘What are you doing here?’ Leaning to the right, she looked round him at the door. ‘Ena not with you?’

‘No, she’ll be up at the weekend.’

‘I’ve missed her so much since she went back to London after New Year.’ Bess shook her head. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without her in the months leading up to the opening of the hotel, you know. Well,’ Bess said, without taking a breath, ‘it wouldn’t have opened.’ With her arm linked through Henry’s, Bess walked him over to reception. ‘I’ll find someone to take over here and we’ll go through to the dining room. Are you hungry? I’m sure Chef will rustle something up for you. George?’ Bess called, waving to a young porter who, having seen Henry with a case, had started down the stairs. ‘Would you take Mr Green’s case up to room…’ She turned the page in the hotel’s reservations diary. ‘You haven’t booked in.’

‘That’s because I’m staying in Lowarth, at the Denbigh Arms.’

‘The Denbigh? Why? We’ve got several vacant rooms. I know room seven is free. A lovely couple and their two daughters were here for a week and they left this morning.’ Bess took the bedroom plan from the drawer, opened it and spread it out across the desk, smoothing the creases where it had been folded with the palm of her hand. ‘Thirteen is available too, although it doesn’t have a view of the lake, which everyone wants-- Oh,’ Bess said, folding the bedroom plan and dropping it in the drawer. ‘Is that why you’re here? Did Frank ask you come up, after--?’ Bess looked around to see if any guests were within hearing distance. They weren’t, so she continued: ‘David Sutherland’s body was found in the lake?’

‘Frank didn’t ask me to come up.’ He glanced at George who, hearing Henry say he was staying at the Denbigh, had moved to the bottom of the stairs awaiting instruction. ‘But I am here on Military Intelligence business,’ he said, quietly.

‘Which is why you can’t stay here?’

‘Something like that. Look, Bess, I don’t think we should discuss it here. Is there someone who can stand in for you, so we can talk privately?’

‘Yes, Maeve, the receptionist. She’s in the staff room tidying her hair. She’ll be back any second. Like me she was caught in that awful storm this morning. She went to the dentist in Market Harborough and got soaked waiting for the bus back. Talk about rain! It was torrential. And cold? I got caught in it in Lowarth.’ Bess shook her shoulders in an exaggerated shiver. ‘Go through to the office and make yourself at home. And put a log on the fire, will you? I’m still cold after getting drenched earlier.’

Maeve returned as Henry closed the door to Bess and Frank’s office. ‘Ena’s husband has just arrived. He wants a private word. Are you all right to take over?’

‘Yes, of course. Sorry I took so long at the dentist - and now having to--’

Bess waved the apology away. ‘If Frank gets back from the wholesalers before Henry leaves, ask him to pop in.’ Maeve put her thumb up and leant forward to answer the ringing telephone.

‘What’s this about, Henry?’ Bess asked, entering the office.

‘David Sutherland.’

The bitter sweet taste of bile rose in Bess’s stomach and she swallowed hard. ‘Damn the man! He has been dead for goodness knows how long and he’s still causing grief.’ She shivered, for real this time. ‘I think I’m coming down with something.’ She opened the cupboard in the ornate mahogany sideboard and took out a bottle of brandy. ‘Want one?’

‘I didn’t think you drank the hard stuff, Bess!’

‘I don’t, very often. I never drink in the daytime, except in extreme circumstances, or for medicinal purposes.’ She poured a good measure into two tumblers and gave one to Henry.

‘So what’s today? An extreme circumstance or a medicinal purpose?’

‘Both!’ Bess said, and took a swig of her drink. Henry laughed. ‘Mm, that hit the spot.’ She shivered again. ‘Or perhaps not. I still feel chilled to the bone. I got caught in one hell of a downpour earlier. Well, I told you, didn’t I? Even my shoes were sodden.’

‘That’s what happens when you stand for a long time in torrential rain. Especially in an overgrown churchyard on a hill, where the wind cuts across an open space, like a derelict railway yard. That’ll chill you to the bone, all right.’

Bess lifted her glass to her lips and downed its contents. ‘How did you know?’

‘What? That you were at Sutherland’s funeral?’ Bess nodded. ‘Because I was there.’ Bess put her hand to her mouth. ‘Don’t worry, no one else saw you.’

‘How can you be sure? If you saw me--?’

‘Because it’s my job to see people but not be seen. I was there to see if any new faces from the fascist movement showed up, or