Authors: M.C. Beaton
Henrietta
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, several 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.mcbeatonbooks.co.uk
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
Henrietta
M. C. Beaton
Constable & Robinson Ltd.
55–56 Russell Square
London WC1B 4HP
First electronic edition published 2011 by RosettaBooks LLC, New York
This edition published in the UK by Canvas,
an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd., 2013
Copyright © M. C. Beaton, 1979
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: 978-1-47210-128-0 (ebook)
Cover copyright © Constable & Robinson
To my friend Madeline Trezza,
her husband Tony,
and her children Dana and Anthony.
S
O THIS WAS
L
ONDON
!
Miss Henrietta Sandford cowered in the corner of the carriage and fervently wished that she had never left the quiet county town of Nethercote to answer the mysterious summons she had received only that morning. The noise of the city streets was deafening as crowds jostled along the pavements under the old overhanging buildings. The smell from the kennels in the middle of the street was nigh overwhelming.
The hack negotiated the film of Ludgate Hill and then picked its leisurely way up Fleet Street past the red latticed windows of the taverns. The shop signs rattled and creaked mournfully as they swung back and forth in the bitter November wind.
The hack came to a halt in the press of traffic. Suddenly a drunk pressed his face against the carriage window, staring mindlessly at Henrietta with wild red eyes peering out from a forest of long, greasy unkempt hair.
She gave a squeak of alarm and turned her head away. The carriage jerked forward and she went over the events of the morning in an effort to settle her mind.
She had been going about her parish duties of visiting the poor—or rather her brother, the vicar’s duties—when suddenly an unfamiliar soberly dressed servant appeared by her side.
He had a message for her from her Great-Aunt, Mrs. Hester Tankerton. Henrietta was not aware until that moment that she had a Great-Aunt or indeed any other living relative apart from her brother, Henry. Mrs. Tankerton feared she was dying, explained the servant and was desirous of seeing Miss Sandford without delay. He cautioned, she
must not tell
anyone, especially her brother, of her visit.
Henrietta had been first frightened and then intrigued. Bullied by her brother and treated as little better than a servant, Henrietta had experienced very little excitement in her life. London was only a few hours ride from Nethercote, and all at once, Henrietta had decided to go. The servant seemed respectable. And before she had had time to draw breath, she was swaying and bumping along the London road. Now as she stared out at the strange sights and sounds of the metropolis, she felt she had been indeed mad to go on such a wild venture.
With a sigh of relief, she noticed that the streets seemed to be getting broader and quieter and at last the coach came to a stop in front of an imposing mansion.
Feeling suddenly quite shabby in her outmoded pelisse and refurbished poke bonnet, Henrietta knocked firmly on the door. It was opened by a middle-aged butler who bowed her into a shadowy hallway with various servants sitting around on wooden benches. Obviously Mrs. Tankerton’s staff was taking advantage of her illness, thought Henrietta. Even in provincial Nethercote, the servants were expected to remain in their own quarters unless they were actively engaged in work. Evidence of Mrs. Tankerton’s old-fashioned ways was amply illustrated when Henrietta was ushered into a cedar parlor on the first floor to await her Great-Aunt’s summons. A ring of hard upright chairs stood in a circle on an uncarpeted floor where the ladies were supposed to sit and coze. Obviously Mrs. Tankerton did not believe in the more relaxed atmosphere of the modern drawingroom with its oriental rugs and scattered chairs.
There was no fire in the grate and the wind howled dismally in the chimney. After what seemed like an age, the butler reappeared to inform Miss Sandford in hushed accents that Mrs. Tankerton awaited her.
She passed up another narrow flight of stairs to a massive oak door and into a dark bedroom dominated by a huge four-poster on which a small figure lay hunched against the pillows. Henrietta hesitated on the threshold, her heart beating fast. The curtains were tightly drawn and the only light came from a single candle beside the bed. The bare floor was waxed to a high shine. The only other furniture was a table beside the bed, laden with phials and medicine bottles and a few occasional chairs crowded against the far wall.
“Is that Miss Sandford, Hobbard?” came a querulous voice from the bed. The butler placed a chair beside the bed and withdrew. Henrietta moved slowly forward.
“Come here child and let me have a look at you.” Mrs. Hester Tankerton raised herself slightly on the pillows. She was an elderly woman with thin wisps of grey hair escaping from under an enormous lace cap. The face was waxen, almost translucent, held to this world by a pair of small bright eyes like a bird’s. Henrietta stood before her, her hazel eyes looking wonderingly at the small figure on the bed. Mrs. Tankerton sank back on the pillows as if the small effort had completely exhausted her. “You don’t look like your brother,” said Mrs. Tankerton, “but that’s about all I can say for you.”
“You know Henry?” asked Henrietta in surprise.
“’Course I know Henry,” snapped the invalid. “I know Henry and about every other toady in London. I’m very rich and I’m about to make my will. What d’ye think of that?”
Henrietta moved her hands in a sort of bewildered embarrassment and remained silent.
“Faugh!” said Mrs. Tankerton in disgust. “Milk and water miss! I am looking for an heir worthy of my fortune. Not some countrified, dowdy miss, frightened to open her mouth. Be off with you!”
She struggled to reach a small handbell beside the bed.
“Allow me, madame,” said a voice like ice. Mrs. Tankerton looked up and encountered such a blazing look of dislike in Henrietta’s large eyes that she remained frozen, her withered hand stopped motionless in mid air.
“You,” said Miss Sandford, clearly and distinctly, “are a horrible old woman. No amount of money in the world gives you the right to be uncivil, madame. Good day to you!”
She marched past the astounded butler who had just arrived at the door of the room, and ran lightly down the stairs. She gave vent to her lacerated feelings by slamming the street door behind her with a resounding and most unladylike bang, and jumped into the coach.
Hobbard went forward anxiously to where his old mistress lay shaking on the bed. To his surprise he found that Mrs. Tankerton was convulsed with laughter.
“By George, Hobbard,” she gasped. “Send for my lawyers. This’ll put the cat among the pigeons. I’d give a monkey to see the look on Henry Sandford’s face when the will is read.
“She’ll do. Yes, I really think she’ll do.…”
