The Mantle of God_A Romantic Traditional Cosy Mystery by Caron Allan

Author:Caron Allan [Allan, Caron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 1533453004
Amazon: B076CRSZFQ
Publisher: Caron Allan
Published: 2017-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

‘WHAT ON EARTH IS MOTHER up to at the moment?’ Dottie asked her father over lunch the next day. ‘She’s hardly ever here. She’s always rushing off.’

‘I know,’ said her father, and his tone indicated he wasn’t too worried about the situation. ‘Some new charity or welfare thing, I don’t doubt. You know how she’s always got the bit between her teeth about some cause or other. This one’s with your friend Mrs Gerard.’

‘Hmm.’ Dottie picked at her food, she had no appetite at the moment. She sighed too, and loudly.

Her father watched her closely for a while and then, with uncharacteristic insight he said, ‘Something on your mind, dear?’

‘It’s just this terrible thing about Daphne. Janet had it from Sergeant Maple this morning, as you know they are walking out together. No doubt it’s still supposed to be kept quiet, but he seems to tell her rather a lot of secret police business. But... poor Daphne. I mean, I never really liked her, but...’

‘I know, dear. However, I can’t pretend I liked the girl. Rather fast, I always thought. No doubt that’s not what you youngsters call it these days.’

‘Hmm.’

‘And she was trying to be fast with your young fellow, from what I can make out,’ Mr Manderson ventured cautiously, still watching his daughter closely over the edge of his newspaper. She recoiled slightly at his words, which told him all he wanted to know. He reached out to pat her hand. ‘Don’t fret, my love, he’ll be back.’

‘I don’t care what he does!’ she declared, shoving back her chair with a crash and running from the room. He heard her run up the stairs, across the landing and into her room. Above his head there came an almighty crash as she slammed the door with all her might. The whole house seemed to shake with the force of it.

Alone at the dining table, Herbert Manderson pushed away his empty plate and, setting aside his newspaper, reached for the domed dessert dish, his mouth already watering. Lifting the lid, he found nothing inside apart from a note from his wife. ‘No Dessert, Herbert—You Are On A Diet!’ This was all heavily underlined to press home her point. He set down the lid rather loudly. Herbert Manderson felt an urge to copy his daughter and shove back his chair and run upstairs, slamming doors as he went.

Instead he went to his study and settled himself at his desk with a whisky and a box of biscuits. He reflected on his younger daughter’s behaviour. Mentally he began to calculate the likely cost of a wedding for her. ‘Not this year,’ he told himself, ‘so definitely next.’ He made some notes in his diary.

After the business of the meeting of the Daughters of Esther was over and dealt with, and refreshments were being enjoyed, Mrs Manderson found herself seated beside the leader of the group. It was clear the woman had something on her mind, which she quickly laid out for

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