Authors: M.C. Beaton
Ginny
M. C. Beaton
is the author of the hugely successful Agatha Raisin and Hamish Macbeth series, as well as a quartet of Edwardian murder mysteries featuring heroine Lady Rose Summer, many Regency romance series, and a stand-alone murder mystery,
The Skeleton in the Closet
– all published by Constable & Robinson. She left a full-time career in journalism to turn to writing, and now divides her time between the Cotswolds and Paris. Visit
www.agatharaisin.com
for more, or follow M. C. Beaton on Twitter: @mc_beaton.
Titles by M. C. Beaton
The Poor Relation
Lady Fortescue Steps Out · Miss Tonks Turns to Crime · Mrs Budley Falls from Grace Sir Philip’s Folly · Colonel Sandhurst to the Rescue · Back in Society
A House for the Season
The Miser of Mayfair · Plain Jane · The Wicked Godmother Rake’s Progress · The Adventuress · Rainbird’s Revenge
The Six Sisters
Minerva · The Taming of Annabelle · Deirdre and Desire Daphne · Diana the Huntress · Frederica in Fashion
Edwardian Murder Mysteries
Snobbery with Violence · Hasty Death · Sick of Shadows Our Lady of Pain
The Travelling Matchmaker
Emily Goes to Exeter · Belinda Goes to Bath · Penelope Goes to Portsmouth Beatrice Goes to Brighton · Deborah Goes to Dover · Yvonne Goes to York
Agatha Raisin
Agatha Raisin and the Quiche of Death · Agatha Raisin and the Vicious Vet Agatha Raisin and the Potted Gardener · Agatha Raisin and the Walkers of Dembley Agatha Raisin and the Murderous Marriage · Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death · Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden
Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryfam · Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell Agatha Raisin and the Day the Floods Came
Agatha Raisin and the Curious Curate · Agatha Raisin and the Haunted House Agatha Raisin and the Deadly Dance · Agatha Raisin and the Perfect Paragon Agatha Raisin and Love, Lies and Liquor Agatha Raisin and Kissing Christmas Goodbye
Agatha Raisin and a Spoonful of Poison · Agatha Raisin: There Goes the Bride Agatha Raisin and the Busy Body · Agatha Raisin: As the Pig Turns Agatha Raisin: Hiss and Hers · Agatha Raisin and the Christmas Crumble
Hamish Macbeth
Death of a Gossip · Death of a Cad · Death of an Outsider Death of a Perfect Wife · Death of a Hussy · Death of a Snob Death of a Prankster · Death of a Glutton · Death of a Travelling Man Death of a Charming Man · Death of a Nag · Death of a Macho Man Death of a Dentist · Death of a Scriptwriter · Death of an Addict A Highland Christmas · Death of a Dustman · Death of a Celebrity Death of a Village · Death of a Poison Pen · Death of a Bore Death of a Dreamer · Death of a Maid · Death of a Gentle Lady Death of a Witch · Death of a Valentine · Death of a Sweep Death of a Kingfisher · Death of Yesterday
The Skeleton in the Closet
Also available
The Agatha Raisin Companion
M. C. Beaton
Constable & Robinson Ltd.
55–56 Russell Square
London WC1B 4HP
First electronic edition published 2011
by RosettaBooks LLC, New York
First published in the UK by Canvas,
an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd., 2013
Copyright © M. C. Beaton, 1980
The right of M. C. Beaton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-1-47210-118-1 (ebook)
Printed and bound in the UK
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
For Joe and Ann Carroll
CHAPTER ONE
The long drawing room at Courtney was silent except for the sound of muffled sobbing from the two ladies present and yawns and groans from the two gentlemen.
Miss Barbara Briggs, called the Perpetual Debutante by her friends and enemies alike, raised the wisp of a handkerchief to one faded-blue eye.
“Poor, poor Uncle Giles. On his deathbed at last. Well, everyone knows how I’ve taken care of him and always remembered his birthdays and Christmases. I am sure he shall call for me soon.” Her bandeau, which was slipping over her pepper-and-salt hair, gave her faded features a slightly drunken look, and the other female present looked at her in derision.
Miss Tansy Bloomington was the epitome of the modern Edwardian woman. She wore a sulphur-yellow tea gown embellished with designs of angry-looking little blue Chinese. Her twelve-inch cigarette holder was firmly clenched in one strong tanned muscular hand and her bright-red hair was screwed up on top of her head. Her prominent nose and heavy-lidded eyes gave her the appearance of a bird of prey. Like her cousin, Miss Briggs, Miss Bloomington had discovered a hitherto hidden affection for her dying uncle and was closing in on his bedside with the intention of persuading Mr. Frayne that a modern woman like herself would be the safest one to inherit his great fortune. Like Miss Briggs, she was in her thirties and unwed.
Mr. Frayne’s two nephews made up the other members of the party: Jeffrey Beardington-Smythe, square and choleric and middle-aged; and Cyril Booth, willowy and handsome and twenty.
Mr. Frayne was a noted miser, although he did spend money on the upkeep of Courtney, his stately home. It was what was known as a desirable residence, having everything that an English country house should have, from its stately Georgian rooms and long windows to a handsome stone terrace decorated with peacocks and urns and a formal garden originally laid out by Capability Brown, now maintained by a large outdoor staff. He was a nasty old man and had lived in seclusion for most of his life. Now that he was dying, he was, however, not in the least surprised to find that he had so many affectionate relatives. He was only surprised that they were stupid enough to demonstrate their affections at the last minute.
If he had shown any sign of being at all fond of anyone, it was his rich neighbor, Lord Gerald de Fremney, and since Lord Gerald had everything—good looks, wealth, and a splendid home of his own—the hopeful relatives were sure he would not figure in Mr. Frayne’s will and were consequently relieved to see Lord Gerald when he strode into the room.
Their looks of welcome faded at his opening words.
“I see the vultures are already gathered,” drawled Lord Gerald.
Jeffrey Beardington-Smythe began to bluster. “I say, talk like a gentleman,” he snapped. “I was always fond of the old boy.”
“It seems to me,” said Lord Gerald with irritating good nature, “that you’ve taken a long time to show it.”
The four of Mr. Frayne’s relatives now looked at Lord Gerald de Fremney with dislike. He was a very tall young man with thick fair hair and black eyes; an exotic combination of color that had made more than one feminine heart flutter. He was impeccably dressed in a biscuit-colored suit with a pale-gold waistcoat embroidered with yellow freesias (
That shows the fellow’s a cad
, thought Jeffrey), and had rather studied languid movements—a hangover from his Oxford days—that belied his muscular athletic figure. He spoke in a light, pleasant, rather mocking voice that was usually held to be charming but which struck the ears of his present audience as downright irritating.
Miss Briggs began to sob noisily. “How
can
you, Lord Gerald, when you should know I have always loved Uncle dearly?”
“Rubbish,” said Tansy Bloomington nastily. “I’m the one Uncle has most in common with. We talk man to man.”
“Dear me,” said Lord Gerald, and Tansy rammed another cigarette into her holder as if she dearly wished she were shoving it somewhere else.
“He—he’s quite right, you know,” said Cyril Booth from his position by the fireplace. “I’m only after the old b-boy’s m-money. I h-hate
deceit
, you know. So shuddery. So frightfully, terribly ugh.”
“Ugh? Ugh? What kind of language is that, you poor clown?” snapped Tansy.
Cyril gave her a weary look from a pair of limpid blue eyes and refrained from answering.
“What I really came to tell you,” said Lord Gerald, “is that Mr. Frayne wishes to see you.
All
of you.”
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” howled Jeffrey Beardington-Smythe, heaving his great bulk out of a delicate Chippendale chair.
In a hurried, undignified scramble, the four scrambled for the stairs, each one eager to reach the bedroom door first. Lord Gerald followed at a more leisurely pace.
Mr. Giles Frayne was lying back against the lace pillows of his four-poster bed. His eyes were lusterless and his face was like wax. Cancer had been eating away at him for the past year and he looked as weary of this life as he actually was. His thin cadaverous face looked like a skull and his sparse gray hair was neatly combed across his yellow scalp.
Something flickered in the depths of his eyes as the visitors entered but apart from that the figure in the bed did not move. He waited until Lord Gerald arrived and then he spoke. His voice was dry and rusty and seemed to come from very far away.
“I want to talk to you lot about my will,” said Mr. Frayne.
“Oh,
Unky! Don’t!
” wailed Miss Briggs, bringing her handkerchief once more into play.
“Yes, do, Uncle,” countered Tansy, and turning to Miss Briggs, she said, “Uncle doesn’t care for all that wishy-washy nonsense, Barbara. Let him get to the point.” And with that she blew a ferocious cloud of cigarette smoke around the sickchamber.
“Don’t keep interrupting me,” said Mr. Frayne in a slightly stronger voice. “I haven’t got much time. Glad to see you, Lord Gerald. We ain’t had much in common but you’ve been a good neighbor and the only person I know who appreciates my library. You shall have it.”
“That’s very generous of you,” said Lord Gerald. “There are some fine books in your collection, sir.”
The four relatives heaved an almost audible sigh of relief. That was Lord Gerald de Fremney disposed of. Now to the meat of the matter.
“My house,” quavered Mr. Frayne, “my
beloved
house, Courtney, my town house, and all my money is to go to—” Here he was overcome by a fit of coughing while the four relatives craned eagerly forward.