The Primrose Pursuit (24 page)

My dear Agnes,

Well my dear, all I can say is that life here has been quite extraordinary of late; in fact so much so that I am beginning to wonder whether you and Charles have made the right decision in electing to remain in Sussex. Kensington might be far safer.

For example, Mr Topping the Latin master I have been telling you about has been discovered dead on the brink of Beachy Head – sitting at the wheel of a car facing out to sea. Whose car? Mr Winchbrooke’s, if you please. Yes, our dear headmaster’s! As I wrote to Mother, three deaths in such a short space takes some beating. Needless to say, Mother didn’t think so and launched into some interminable ramble about the Crumbles murders in the twenties … Anyway, the headmaster had delegated Mr Topping to deliver the school car for its annual service at Caffyns’, Eastbourne’s best garage. He normally takes it there
himself
but since the little upset on the A27 he has become paranoid about traffic police ‘skulking in hedges’. Thus the arrangement was for Mr Topping to drive the car over to Eastbourne and then take the train back to Lewes, leaving the garage to deliver it to the school the following day. Evidently Hubert had decided to take the longer scenic route across the downs, as he had driven right up to the cliff edge – presumably to admire the sea view – and then promptly had a fatal heart attack. He was discovered by some intending suicide who now says he has found God – and is making a pretty penny telling his tale at every opportunity.

It has all been very unfortunate and Mr Winchbrooke is most upset. And when I pointed out that at least his beloved Rover was safe he said that was all very well but Latin masters were like gold dust and what the hell was he supposed to do now. There was no immediate answer to that but I daresay I shall find one.

Meanwhile the town continues to enjoy the novelty of the two murders, and Chief Superintendent MacManus marches about looking stern and grimly purposeful, though whether that signifies actual progress one cannot be sure. Bertha Twigg certainly seems to think so. As I was passing the gym yesterday, she bounded forth with bursting blouse, grabbed my arm and declared, ‘Be assured, Mrs Bartlett, murder will out and the law take its course!’

‘Well that’s nice,’ I said, and moved on quickly.

Alas, such optimism is not shared by our uplifting Mr Hutchins who, true to form, repeats incessantly
and
with great confidence that the law and its minions is an ass, and that with two members of staff already cut off in their prime he is bound to be the third. I gather from Matron that young Harris (he with the dreadful uncle) wants to know if he can open a book on it and does she reckon ten to one on a fair price. Really!

Well, as you may deduce, things have become more than a little trying. Neither have they been helped by
Fräulein
Hockheimer traipsing along the corridors in floods of tears demanding that a memorial plaque be erected to Topping and sited under the school motto in the chapel. You may not recall the motto but it is
semper nobilis
– ever noble. I think she sees some kind of connection between the words and the deceased. Between you and me, pleasant though Mr Topping was, I cannot help feeling the link just a trifle excessive … Perhaps there is something in the German psyche which persuades them to take things to unnecessary lengths. Anyway, I know that the headmaster isn’t too keen as his only concern seems to be whether such a plaque would be tax deductible.

I happened to mention the idea to Primrose who remarked caustically that she was surprised Hockheimer hadn’t suggested a posthumous Iron Cross, something which in her view would be immeasurably more fitting anyway. Since Primrose has never been well disposed to our German friends – and certainly not to poor Topping – I suspect this was not intended as a compliment!

And talking of Primrose, when I told her the good news that you would be returning within the
fortnight
and that we must have a little ‘Welcome Home’ celebration, she said that she was terribly sorry but couldn’t possibly attend and would send her apologies via Charles. When I asked her why on earth not, she said she was going away – for quite some time apparently. I was a little surprised as she certainly hadn’t mentioned this previously. I assumed it was some painting project but she said oh no, it was to do with her
health
. ‘Your health?’ I exclaimed. ‘Whatever’s wrong with it? You look remarkably hale to me.’

She then explained that it wasn’t so much physical as mental, that it was all to do with Dr Carstairs’ head and she needed a rest from it. I fear I couldn’t help smiling as Primrose has never stuck me as the sensitive type – far from it. And after all it’s not as if she had actually seen the gory thing! In fact I was about to say as much but thought better of it. She had that steely look in her eye (you know the one) so I changed the subject and asked instead what she was going to do with the animals and surely they would miss her. ‘Oh no,’ she assured me airily, ‘I have excellent friends who are only too eager to take charge.’ Frankly, Agnes, I cannot imagine who they might be, certainly no one we know. It would take a very tough hide indeed to deal with that pair. And when I asked her where she proposed going she looked vague and muttered something about taking the waters at Baden-Baden. Considering her scepticism of all things Gothic I find that rather hard to believe. However, I didn’t press the point.

Well at least there is one bright spot amidst the
gloom
– apart from your own imminent return. What a triumph that the planners have at last sanctioned Charles’s orangery project at Podmore. You must be so relieved. He, of course, is cock-a-hoop, and despite what poor Mr Topping urged about waiting and then adapting the stable’s original structure, talks excitedly not only about bulldozers but, if you please, employing dynamite too. It always amuses me the way our menfolk so love explosions. My own husband was just the same – couldn’t keep his hands off matches and lethal fireworks. Anyway, with luck the eruption will have happened before you arrive … And then, when dear Primrose elects to return from her salubrious sojourn, we must hold a little inaugural ceremony in honour of the first orange pip. Meanwhile, bon voyage!

Your good friend,

Emily

Allison & Busby Limited
12 Fitzroy Mews
London W1T 6DW
allisonandbusby.com

First published in 2016.
This ebook edition first published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2016.

Copyright © 2016 by S
UZETTE
A.
HILL

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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ISBN 978-0-7490-1972-3