Death Beside the Seaside (Lady Hardcastle Mystery, #6)

by T.E. Kinsey

She said, ‘Well!’ in a tone that signified that we were everything that was wrong with the world,

Vintage Karen

‘So much for our fabled espionage skills,’ I said. ‘We’d be dead and stuffed in the kitchen bins by now if we were on a job.’ ‘You would, perhaps. I see myself as being the sort of girl to be bundled up in an exquisite Persian rug and dumped in the Caspian Sea at dead of night.’ ‘There’s a class struggle even in death,’ I said.

‘True. Although after seeing the show at the Moulin Rouge I did rather expect them all to show their bloomers at the end.’ ‘Disappointed, then?’ ‘Of course – who doesn’t like bloomers?’

‘We had been at war with them less than fifty years earlier,’ I said. ‘With Napoleon. But once they’d got their brief flirtation with world domination out of their system they went straight back to painting on the banks of the Seine and being condescending about everyone else’s cooking.’

‘You see?’ she said. ‘You’re champing at the bit just as much as I am. You already have a plan.’ ‘It’s more a case of being compelled by a nun,’ I said. ‘Force of habit?’ ‘Exactly that.’

‘He kicked the door open when it would have taken him less than a minute to pick the lock. That’s masculine problem-solving.’

‘I think it’s sweet that you imagine I shall spend my declining years writing your biography,’ I said. ‘I expect it to be frank but flattering,’ she said. ‘And if it’s not, I shall haunt you.’

‘Oh, I’m not grumbling,’ she said. ‘To tell the truth I’m rather looking forward to silver hair, wrinkles, and the opportunity to be unpardonably rude.

But I’d still like my life to amount to more than a full belly and a seat by the fire.’

‘There’s nothing going on. Now stop meddling in it.’

‘We have,’ she said. ‘Flo fetched it last night.’ ‘From . . . ?’ ‘From under Adelia Wilson’s bed.’ ‘What was she doing under Adelia Wilson’s bed?’ ‘Fetching the strongbox, dear. Do try to keep up.’

Whether by convention and habit, or more likely a shared set of needs, we all seem to travel with the same things. A few changes of clothes, some maintenance equipment for those clothes and for ourselves, and a handful of the personal items we imagine we can’t be without even for a few days – a favourite pen, a treasured book, a photograph of a loved one. A life miniaturized and made portable.

They’re still not pals, the Japanese and the Russians.’ ‘A war will do that,’ I said.

‘I love my brother as if he were a brother worth having, too, and he’s an absolute dunderhead. A nincompoop of the first water.

Heads would remain unturned, eyelids unbatted, gasts unflabbered.

‘Knees? I was just going to kill him.’

‘I’m sure I’ve already pointed out your chumpiness, but you wouldn’t listen to that, either. I thought I might have been being a bit rude, but you really are the most dunderheaded imbecile I’ve ever encountered.’