An Unmentionable Murder

Table of Contents

 

 

Praise for the delightful mysteries of
Kate Kingsbury . . .

“Sitting Marsh and its array of small-town citizens are realistically and humorously depicted.”

—
The Mystery Reader

 
“Likable characters, period details, and a puzzle that kept me guessing until the end . . . Very enjoyable.”

—
Mystery News

 
“Clever and cunning . . . Delightfully unique and entertaining. A most delicious tea-time mystery with just the right atmosphere and a charming cast of characters.”

—
The Literary Times

 
“Delightful and charming.”—
Painted Rock Reviews

 
“Well-drawn characters.”—
Publishers Weekly

 
“Full of humor, suspense, adventure, and touches of romance . . . delightful.”—
Rendezvous

 
“A fun-to-read historical mystery.”—
Midwest Book Review

 
“Trust me, you will not be disappointed . . . Ms. Kingsbury has created a memorable series with delightful characters that can be enjoyed over and over again.”

—
MyShelf.com

 
“Sublime . . . Fascinating mid-twentieth-century mystery.”

—
BookBrowser

 
“[Kingsbury's] characters are strongly drawn, and she knows the tensions that underlie the calm and soothing surface of an English village.”

—
Salem (OR) Statesman Journal

 
Visit Kate Kingsbury's website at
www.doreenrobertshight.com

A BICYCLE BUILT FOR MURDER
DEATH IS IN THE AIR
FOR WHOM DEATH TOLLS
DIG DEEP FOR MURDER
PAINT BY MURDER
BERRIED ALIVE
FIRE WHEN READY
WEDDING ROWS
AN UNMENTIONABLE MURDER

 
Pennyfoot Hotel Mysteries by Kate Kingsbury

 
ROOM WITH A CLUE
DO NOT DISTURB
SERVICE FOR TWO
EAT, DRINK, AND BE BURIED
CHECK-OUT TIME
GROUNDS FOR MURDER
PAY THE PIPER
CHIVALRY IS DEAD
RING FOR TOMB SERVICE
DEATH WITH RESERVATIONS
DYING ROOM ONLY
MAID TO MURDER
NO CLUE AT THE INN

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 
PUBLISHER'S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

 
AN UNMENTIONABLE MURDER

 
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

 
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / August 2006

 
Copyright © 2006 by Doreen Roberts Hight.

 
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without
permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of
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For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
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375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

eISBN : 978-0-425-21114-4

 
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
The name BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the BERKLEY PRIME CRIME design are trademarks be-
longing to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

 

CHAPTER 1

Martin Chezzlewit was eighty-five years old and not in the best of health. At times his mind was clear as a bell, but there were times when he made no sense at all. He'd been a butler at the Manor House for more than sixty years, long before the Earl of Wellsborough's daughter, Lady Elizabeth Hartleigh Compton, was born.

Martin took his job quite seriously, but these days, what with the constant climbing of stairs, and the ever-present hazards of wartime England, his duties often became too much for him, and he would wander off to his room for a lengthy nap.

Therefore, when he failed to turn up at the appointed time for the midday meal that fateful day, at first no one was particularly concerned.

Violet, busy at the stove as usual, did her best to mangle whatever provisions could be scrounged from the measly offerings of rationed food. Cooking in wartime England was a challenge for the best of cooks. Violet was not the best of cooks.

Elizabeth sat at the large kitchen table that had been scrubbed smooth by generations of housemaids, and anxiously scanned the newspaper for the latest accounts of the Allied invasion, which had occurred three days earlier. She had a personal interest in the events of the past three days. American flying officers billeted in her mansion had been involved in the battle.

Major Earl Monroe and his men had been absent from the Manor House for more than two weeks. Elizabeth was concerned for all the men, of course. Her concern for the handsome major, however, bordered on terror. News of the dangers faced by the pilots and their crews was sparse, but one didn't need an overactive imagination to understand the consequences of flying over occupied France and Germany.

Her calls to the American base had been met with polite but firm reminders that information to the general public was restricted. Since she could hardly reveal the fact that she was madly in love with the major and therefore could hardly be considered general public, she was forced to bite her tongue and go back to the interminable waiting that so many British women endured these days.

If only Earl were not in the middle of a lengthy divorce, if only she were not the lady of the manor and expected to conduct herself with decorum, if only this damn war would finally end and put everyone out of their misery, life would once more be bearable.

Wallowing in her own personal hell, she was unaware of Violet addressing her until she heard her name spoken much too sharply by her housekeeper.

“Lizzie! For goodness' sake, have you gone deaf?”

Elizabeth raised her head and frowned at Violet, who stood with her head tilted to one side, looking like an angry robin defending its nest. “I beg your pardon?”

“I've spoken to you three times, and you haven't heard a blinking word I said.”

That was no excuse to talk to her in that manner, Elizabeth thought wryly, but then Violet had special privileges, thanks to her lifelong tenure at the manor and the fact that she and Martin were all that were left of the hordes of servants that once ran the Manor House so efficiently. “I'm sorry,” she said, mustering up a smile. “I was thinking about something else. What did you say?”

Violet still looked put out. “I said, the rag and bone man came again today. I gave him those old curtains we pulled down last year. They almost fell to bits when I shook them out but he seemed pleased with them.”

“That's nice,” Elizabeth murmured.

“And stop worrying about the major.” Violet withdrew a pie dish from the oven and slapped the door shut with a bang. “He'll be back soon enough.”

Annoyed that her thoughts were so transparent, Elizabeth said stiffly, “I wish I had your optimism, not to mention your clairvoyance.”

Violet clicked her tongue and turned to face her again. “You're going to worry yourself into an early grave, Lizzie. Why don't you—” She broke off as the door burst open and a pair of giggling girls tumbled into the kitchen.

Sadie was in the lead, and the boisterous housemaid came to a sharp stop when she caught sight of Elizabeth at the table. Polly, Elizabeth's young assistant, bumped into Sadie, sending her forward a step or two.

“How many times,” Violet screeched, “have I told you two to watch your manners in Madam's presence!”

Both girls mumbled an apology and slid onto their seats at the table. “So who's going to an early grave, then?” Sadie demanded, having apparently overheard Violet's last remark.

The housekeeper ignored her and started dishing up the pie onto plates.

“No one, I hope,” Elizabeth said, with a silent prayer. She looked at Sadie, wondering how to phrase the question uppermost in her mind. “I don't suppose you've heard from Joe?” she asked at last.

Sadie shook her head and reached for a plate of thinly sliced bread. “Not since the invasion, m'm. Don't suppose they can say much, though, can they. Especially since Joe is only my boyfriend. I'll say one thing for these Yanks, they know how to keep their mouths shut, that's for sure.”

“Not like some people I could mention,” Violet snapped, as she slapped a plate in front of Elizabeth.

She put the other plate down in front of Sadie, who looked at the pile of mashed potatoes covering a gray mess that defied description.

“What's this, then?” Sadie demanded, sniffing warily at the offering. “It doesn't look like shepherd's pie.”

“Well, it is.” Violet stomped back to the stove to get two more plates. “It's just a wartime version of it, that's all. It's Lord Woolton pie.”

“What the flipping heck is that?” Sadie handed the plate of bread to Elizabeth, who took a slice, silently echoing Sadie's sentiments. The pie did look awfully dismal.

“It's a recipe Lord Woolton sent out. Everyone's using it nowadays.” Violet returned to the table and placed a plate in front of Polly, and set another plate in front of Martin's empty chair.

“So who's he when his mother's home?” Sadie asked rudely.

Polly, who wore much the same expression as Sadie's when she observed her plate, piped up. “He's the Minister of Food, isn't he, m'm?”