The Ullswater Undertaking by Rebecca Tope (read dune .TXT) 📕

people to understand that our intentions are honourable, and that it’s little more than coincidence that they’ve become involved in our story. It’s a chain of connection, so to speak, from Josephine to them, with us Armitages in the middle.’

‘There is a point,’ Keith argued. ‘Explain about what Josephine was saying.’

‘Oh, that.’ Petrock turned his chiselled features towards Simmy. ‘I believe Keith means me to tell you that my aunt left all her papers to Josephine, along with the house. Thousands of old letters, notebooks, one or two diaries, along with financial statements, theatre programmes. It’s mainly the letters, though.’

‘Filing cabinets!’ said Simmy suddenly.

Petrock blinked. ‘Well, yes. Four of them, to be exact. We helped her move them to her house. You wouldn’t believe how heavy they were.’

‘She died beside them,’ said Simmy, enjoying the sense of a picture coming together, despite the horror of a violent attack on an innocent woman.

Again, nobody spoke for too many seconds. Robin made a particularly embarrassing slurp, which drew at least two pairs of eyes to her breast.

‘Did she?’ said Keith.

‘Is it possible she was trying to protect something in them?’ Christopher asked. ‘Was there anything of actual value inside?’

‘Apparently not,’ said Petrock with a sigh.

Simmy was visualising the pattern as more of a circle than a chain. One of Ben’s flowcharts would probably give it a different shape again, with side-shoots and satellites and big question marks. ‘Well there’s certainly no sign of a point yet,’ she said, easing Robin off the nipple and switching him to the other side, without any conscious thought. It was no more of a process than kicking off shoes would have been or rubbing an itch. Her lack of self-consciousness made it all the easier for the men to accommodate it. But she was faintly aware that it put her in competition with Petrock as the focal point in the room. As the only female, she knew she possessed a definite power.

‘If there is a point, then it’s the family papers,’ said Keith. ‘All those letters. Even Petrock doesn’t know what’s in most of them.’

Petrock shook his head. ‘I’ve seen the ones that matter. I’ve quoted them in the book.’ This appeared to be his cue, and with no further invitation, he flicked through until somewhere close to halfway through the typescript. ‘Here – listen to this.’ Taking a breath, he began to read. ‘“Hilda’s thirty-fifth birthday was spent on the golden sands of the historic island of Santorini. She was accompanied by three friends, all of whom shared her passion for sunshine and good food. Indeed, the hotel invoice still exists, which makes it plain that regular cocktails were consumed prior to three-course dinners, frequently involving shellfish and other expensive fare. That same month she enrolled on an art appreciation course in Hampstead, but only attended three lectures before dropping out. It was believed in the family that this was due to one of the class drawing attention to her identity as the main individual in a recent – and wholly spurious – story in the media concerning her past. Hilda felt bitterly towards this treacherous classmate for many years afterwards.”’ He stopped, looking round brightly, as if at a class of eager pupils. ‘You see how rich a life she led. And almost every week has some sort of written record. It’s taken me two years so far, and it’s far from complete.’

‘Phew!’ said Simmy. ‘Two years sounds like very good going. Do you have to juggle it with a job as well?’

‘Indeed I do. Luckily, I find I can work on the train. I have a fifty-minute commute twice a day.’

‘Wouldn’t you say he’s rather too free with his adjectives?’ said Uncle Ambrose in a mild tone.

‘I didn’t notice,’ said Simmy diplomatically. ‘I was too involved in the story.’

‘He’ll never find a publisher for it,’ said Keith. ‘Can’t see why he’s bothering, personally. Fabian thinks the same.’

‘Well, if that’s all,’ said Christopher, standing up, suddenly looking much more forceful. ‘We really have quite a lot to do.’

‘We haven’t talked about Richmond,’ bleated Fabian. ‘I thought that’s what we came for.’

‘Whatever gave you that idea?’ asked Keith, who seemed to be speaking for everyone, while revealing little of himself.

‘Oh, we know plenty about him already,’ said Simmy, feeling reckless. ‘I gather he wanted to marry Josephine?’

The effect was gratifying. Fabian twitched feverishly, Keith took a long deep breath and Petrock put a dramatic hand to his chest. ‘Who told you that?’ he demanded.

‘Why? It’s not a secret, is it?’

‘It’s old news, anyway,’ said Keith. ‘He’d given up years ago.’

‘It would be interesting to meet him, all the same,’ said Simmy, still enjoying a sense of mischief.

‘We’ve lost sight of Hilda again,’ said Fabian irritably. He looked round at all the faces. ‘The simple fact is that Petrock needed Josephine’s help with his book. She knew how to find archive stuff on the Internet and kept proper notes for him.’

‘And me,’ piped up the aged Ambrose. ‘I understand archives as well, don’t forget. Better than anyone, including the wretched Miss Trubshaw. Not that anyone ever asked for my help,’ he added bitterly.

‘It wasn’t a matter of archives,’ said Petrock. ‘We only wanted to get back to the sixties and seventies – not the Dark Ages.’

‘So – who killed her then?’ asked Christopher loudly and suddenly. ‘Isn’t that why you’re here – to persuade us that it was none of you lot? Or are you oh-so-subtly trying to point the finger at the absent Richmond? Is that what all this is about?’

Nobody said anything, until Robin detached himself from his mother and emitted one of his prodigious belches.

Chapter Thirteen

It was a shameful seven o’clock before Simmy managed to find time for a proper conversation with Ben. He had texted again by then, clearly losing patience. A whole day had passed without any communication between them, and for him, in the middle of an absorbing murder, this was intolerable.

‘Where’ve you been?’ he began, like any controlling husband.

‘Where