Джорджетт Хейер - Death in the Stocks

“Nothing four nine six, or something. You'd better look it up. Did either of you take the dogs for a walk this morning?”

“Take the dogs for a walk? No, of course I didn't,” said Kenneth, flicking over the leaves of the telephone directory. “Hell, someone'll have to do this for me! There are pages of Williams! Blast the wench, why must she have a surname like that?”

“There's no call for you to swear,” said Murgatroyd.

“You want to look for the initial. No, Miss Tony, you know very well that one thing I won't do is take those murdering dogs of yours out. You get rid of them and have a nice little fox-terrier, and we'll see.”

“Oh, well, I'd better take them now, I suppose,” replied Antonia, and put on her hat again and strolled out.

The flat, which was over a garage, had a small yard attached to it, reached by an iron stair leading out of the kitchen. The garage, which Antonia rented, had a door giving on to the yard, and had been converted into a roomy kennel. Three bull-terrier bitches occupied it, and greeted their mistress in the boisterous manner of their kind. She put them all on leashes, called Bill to heel, and started out for a walk, sped on her way by Murgatroyd, who came to the top of the iron stairs to say that if she happened to be passing a dairy she might bring in another half-dozen eggs. “Ten to one we'll have that Miss Williams here to supper,” Murgatroyd said gloomily. “Enough to make your poor Mother turn in her grave! Her and her poster-sketches! And what's to stop her and Master Kenneth getting married now Mr Arnold's no more?”

“Nothing,” replied Antonia, resisting the efforts of one of the bitches to entangle her legs with the lead.

“That's what I say,” agreed Murgatroyd. “There's always something to take the gilt off the ginger-bread.”

Antonia left her to her cogitations, and set off in the direction of the Embankment. When she returned it was an hour later, and she had forgotten the eggs. Having given her dogs their evening meal, she ran up the steps to the kitchen, where she found Murgatroyd making pastry. A fair girl, with shrewd grey eyes and a rather square chin, was sitting with her elbows on the table, watching Murgatroyd. She smiled when she saw Antonia. “Hullo!” she said. “Just looked in for a minute.”

“I haven't got the eggs,” announced Antonia.

“It's all right: I got them,” the other girl said. “I hear your half-brother's been murdered. I don't condole, do I?”

“No. Is the blushing Violet here?”

“Yes,” said Leslie Rivers in a very steady voice. “So I thought I wouldn't stay.”

“You can't anyway: there isn't enough to eat. Seen Kenneth?”

“Yes,” said Leslie Rivers again. “He's with Violet. I suppose it's useless for me to say anything, but if Kenneth isn't careful he'll land himself in jug. I should think the police are bound to think he murdered your half-brother.”

“No, they won't. They think I did. Kenneth wasn't there.”

“He hasn't got an alibi,” stated Leslie in her matter-of-fact way. “He doesn't seem to see how with him inheriting all that money, and being in debt, and loathing Arnold, things are bound to point his way.”

“I bet he didn't do it, all the same,” replied Antonia.

“The point is you may find it hard to prove he didn't.”

“I wonder if he could have?” Antonia said thoughtfully.

Murgatroyd let the rolling-pin fall with a clatter. “I never did in all my born days! Whatever will you say next, Miss Tony? Your own brother too, as wouldn't hurt a fly.”

“If you had a fly-swotting competition, he'd win it,” Antonia replied sensibly. “I'm not saying he did kill Arnold; I only wondered. I wouldn't put it above him, would you, Leslie?”

“I don't know. He's a weird creature. Yes, of course I would. What rot you are talking, Tony! I'm going.”

Five minutes later Antonia wandered into the studio and nodded curtly to the girl in the big arm-chair. “Hullo! Come to celebrate?”

Miss Williams raised a pair of velvety brown eyes to Antonia's face, and put up a well-manicured hand to smooth her sleek black hair. “Tony darling, I don't think you ought to talk like that,” she said. “Personally, I feel -”

“Good God, you were right!” exclaimed Kenneth. “My adored one, where did you pick up that bestial habit? Don't say personally, I implore you!”

A faint tinge of colour stole into the creamy cheeks. “Well, really, Kenneth!” said Miss Williams.

“For God's sake, don't hurt her feelings,” begged Antonia. “I'm damned if I'll have any nauseating reconciliations over supper. And while we happen to be on this subject, who the devil asked you how you think I should talk, Violet?”

The brown eyes narrowed a little. “I suppose I can have my opinions, can't I?” said Miss Williams silkily.

“You look lovely when you're angry,” said Kenneth suddenly. “Go on, Tony: say something more.”

Miss Williams' beautiful lips parted and showed small very white teeth. “I think you're perfectly horrid, both of you, and I utterly refuse to quarrel with you. Poor little me! What chance have I got with two people at me once? How awful for you to have actually been at Mr Vereker's house when it happened, Tony! It must have been ghastly for you. I simply can't bear to think of it. Let's talk of something else!”

“Why can't you bear to think of it?” asked Kenneth, not so much captious as interested. “Do you object to blood?”

She gave a shudder. “Don't Kenneth, please! Really, I can't stand it.”

“Just as you like, my treasure, though why you should turn queasy at the thought of Arnold's being stabbed I can't imagine. You never even knew him.”

“Oh, no, I shouldn't know him if I saw him,” said Violet. “It isn't that. I just don't like talking about gruesome things.”

“She's being womanly,” explained Antonia. Her eye alighted on a couple of gold-necked bottles. “Where the hell did they spring from?”

“I boned 'em off Frank Crewe,” replied Kenneth. “We've got to celebrate this.”

“Kenneth!”

“That's all right,” soothed Antonia. “He meant his accession to wealth.”

“But you can't drink champagne when Mr Vereker's been murdered! It isn't decent!”

“I can drink champagne at any time,” replied Antonia.

“What have you done to your nails?”

Violet extended her hands. “Silver lacquer. Do you like it?”

“No,” said Antonia. “Kenneth, if you're the heir you'll have to make me an allowance, because I want a new car.”

“All right, anything you say,” agreed Kenneth.

“There are sure to be Death Duties,” Violet said practically. “It's absolutely wicked the amount one has to pay. Still, there's the house as well. That'll be yours, won't it, Kenneth?”

“Do you mean that barrack in Eaton Place?” demanded Kenneth. “You don't imagine I'm going to live in a barn like that, do you?”

“Why ever not?” Violet sat up, staring at him. “It's an awfully good address.”

“Who cares about an awfully good address? If you'd ever been inside it you wouldn't expect me to live there. It's got Turkey carpets, and a lot of Empire furniture, and pink silk panels in the drawing-room, and a glass lustre, and marble-topped tables with gilt legs.”

“We could always get rid of anything we didn't like, but I must say I like nice things, I mean things that are good.”

“Turkey stair carpeting and gilt mirrors?” said Kenneth incredulously.

“I don't see why not.”

“Darling, your taste is quite damnable.”

“I can't see that there's any need for you to be rude because I like things you don't like. I think Turkey carpets are sort of warm and - and expensive looking.”