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

‘Oh yes,’ he nodded with a stony expression. ‘I got most of the story when I was twelve. That’s when it was in the papers. But we’re not going to get into that now. It has nothing to do with you.’

Simmy found herself unable to agree with this. ‘It seems to me that it might have quite a lot of relevance,’ she said, without quite knowing her reasons. She could feel Ben at her shoulder, urging her to stick to the subject. ‘You’re not Hilda’s brother, then? Or Ambrose’s?’

‘Leave it,’ said Richmond tightly, and Christopher muttered something similar.

‘Yes, but—’ Simmy persisted. ‘I’m sorry, but it leaves so much unexplained. And where does Josephine fit into it?’

‘Yes, that’s the nub, isn’t it? That’s what we’re doing here. Which of the accursed Armitages stabbed her to death in her own home – and why? You’ll be thinking it was me, due to being rejected by her, as I’m sure you’ll have discovered by now. And I’m thinking that weaselly Fabian’s capable of anything. And Petrock’s all excited because he thinks it’ll make his book sell better if there’s a nice murder all tied up with his old auntie.’

‘And Keith?’ prompted Christopher, with a smile of pure enjoyment on his face. Simmy could see that he felt justified in relishing the situation, given Richmond’s straight talking.

‘Who knows what Keith is thinking?’ said his father. ‘Never was any good at explaining himself. But there’s no way he’d kill anyone. He hasn’t got the spirit for it.’

‘It’s often the quiet ones,’ said Christopher.

‘My son is no killer,’ Richmond repeated firmly. ‘Not either of my sons, in fact. Petrock’s a selfish swine at times, but he wouldn’t take the risk. He knows he’d never get away with it. Besides, neither of them would have the slightest reason to do such a thing.’

Simmy glanced anxiously at Robin, who should be having his bath and bedtime feed by now, but he appeared to be sleeping soundly. Forget the routine, she silently adjured herself. This is too interesting to stop now. Christopher evidently felt the same. ‘It would make more sense to kill Aunt Hilda,’ he said. ‘Except she died anyway.’

‘And left the house to Josephine, which was a surprise, I admit – but a nice one. Showed the rest of them up. Sloppy of them to let that happen. Funny, when you think about it. Nice house, so they tell me.’

Christopher stared. ‘It’s barely half a mile from here. You can’t seriously tell us you’ve never seen it.’

‘I live in Workington, nearly an hour’s drive away. Until today I hadn’t left the farm for six weeks. The Land Rover’s not even taxed, so I have to hope I don’t get stopped going home.’

Simmy giggled, suddenly thinking that her mother would share her liking for this unusual man. She savoured various images of him working on his farm, throwing hay bales around or even driving a tractor, with only one arm.

‘You’re not dairy, then,’ said Christopher. ‘Otherwise you’d be doing the milking now.’

‘It’s not that sort of farm,’ said Richmond stiffly. ‘More a matter of polytunnels and packing sheds. Tomatoes, peppers and so forth and a few acres of soft fruit. Blackcurrants mostly.’

‘I see,’ Christopher nodded, with the subtlest suggestion of scorn. ‘A sort of market garden, then.’

‘Do you grow flowers?’ Simmy asked, mindful of her role as a florist. Richmond shook his head. From one moment to the next it had become clear to them all that the conversation was over. Even Robin – who was learning quickly – picked up the atmosphere and began to whimper.

‘Better get this young man home to bed,’ said Christopher, squaring his shoulders. ‘I’m not sure what we’ve accomplished, but it was good to meet you.’

‘And you,’ said Richmond with a straight look. ‘I mean that. It’s not often you meet a decent little family like you. I know I don’t cut much of a figure, and you had no reason to trust me or listen to me, but you’ve been good enough to hear me out, and I’m grateful. We’re in a pickle, between us, and you ought never to have been dragged into it, but there it is. It’s good to talk to someone who knew Josie and will miss her as much as I do – or very nearly.’ The little speech seemed to embarrass the speaker more than the listeners. His eyes grew shiny.

Simmy was increasingly sleepy; the task of maintaining a hold on any logical thread was proving difficult by that point. She had tried listing headings that she could report to Ben, but everything seemed to fly around in disconnected shreds, with nothing remotely resembling a clue to Josephine’s murder to be glimpsed. And yet, there had to be something. Every instinct insisted this was so.

The next hour was devoted to Robin’s needs, and then Simmy fell asleep over his feed. Christopher found them on the bed in a heap together and heartlessly woke them up. ‘Put him down, and come and talk to me for a bit,’ he ordered.

But Robin had other ideas. His day had been spent almost entirely asleep and now he wanted to be sociable. ‘You can play with him while I have another nap,’ said Simmy. ‘Come back in half an hour.’

Grumbling about the loss of an evening and the whole idea of a routine going out of the window, he did as he was ordered. It was nearly nine when he came back with a docile baby and dragged Simmy downstairs. ‘We’ll have to talk it through now,’ he insisted. ‘There won’t be another chance until this time tomorrow.’

With a muzzy head and a guilty sense that Christopher was right about the routine, she followed him into the kitchen where he gave her a mug of coffee and yet more cake – this time small pieces of the one Angie had donated. ‘This is the last of it,’ he said. ‘It’ll be biscuits from here on.’

‘That’s a shame,’