Page 4 of Beatrix

There was nothing for it. Stepping out into the road, he slipped between the mostly stationary carriages and headed towards the Dog and Duck.

* * *

For some reason, the sound of genuine laughter had Beatrix gritting her teeth as she loitered outside the drawing-room door a few minutes later having instructed Mrs Williams to bring out the best china for their unexpected guest. On informing the cook and Peggy that Mr Robert Noon from Australia had come to visit, the level of excitement couldn’t have been any more feverish had the King of England stopped by for a visit.

Pursing her lips, she placed her hand on the door latch. She hadn’t quite been able to hear the deep-voiced comment that was even now eliciting such hilarity, but whatever it was, it… She frowned… Well, it irked her.

For the life of her she couldn’t imagine what it was about their Australian visitor that had rubbed her up the wrong way from the moment she’d laid eyes on him. It wasn’t that he’d mistaken her for a servant – it wasn’t the first time such a thing had happened, and Bea doubted it would be the last. This simply wouldn’t do. Whatever was wrong with her, she needed to pack it away until she was able to examine it more thoroughly in private.

Taking a deep breath, she smoothed down her skirt and pushed open the door, only to have Aggie suddenly barrel past her. Clearly, Mrs Williams’ supply of kitchen titbits had been temporarily exhausted.

‘Tarnation,’ Bea muttered as the door slammed backwards and sixty pounds of dog hurtled into the drawing room. The laughter abruptly stopped, replaced by a chorus of ‘Aggie, No…’

Hurrying into the drawing room, Bea stumbled to a halt, winced, then stifled a giggle. Their illustrious guest was plastered against the back of his chair with Aggie’s hind-legs balanced on his knees. She had a paw on each shoulder and was enthusiastically licking inside his right ear. Both her father and aunt had jumped to their feet and were trying to drag the excited dog back onto the floor. As she rushed over to help, Beatrix for some reason felt her humour completely restored.

Five minutes later, winded and momentarily speechless, Henry and Charlotte collapsed back against their own chairs while Beatrix pushed the shameless retriever out through the French doors. Seconds later, Mrs Williams came in with a large tray of tea, and not only scones, still warm from the oven, but a large Victoria sponge cake oozing with jam.

Still over become, Charlotte waved at Beatrix, a clear indication that she should pour. Obligingly, Bea climbed to her feet and looked over towards their guest who appeared to be completely unaffected by his close canine encounter. Indeed, his coat was still liberally coated in dog hair, which he seemed not to notice at all. ‘Would you like some tea, Mr Noon?’ she asked him politely.

‘That would be splendid, thank you. And please call me Rob.’ His smile did funny things to her stomach, and she swallowed, busying herself with the tea and blaming the unaccustomed pulsating sensation on her hunger…

After playing the hostess prettily enough to please even her aunt, Bea sat back down and fought the urge to laugh out loud as she caught sight of Aggie with her nose pressed against the glass.

‘She reminds me of my dogs.’ She turned her head towards the masculine chuckle to her left, suddenly aware that he was thousands of miles from home.

‘You have dogs?’ she murmured, sipping her tea.

‘Four of them,’ Rob answered. ‘And every one as bad-mannered as Agatha.’ His rueful tone spoke volumes, and Bea frowned slightly, feeling duty bound to defend their sole furry member, but one look at the retriever’s mournful face pressed hard against the window had her laughing instead.

‘Are they all as large as Aggie?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘All different shapes and sizes – mongrels going back generations.’ He grinned again before adding, ‘Like most of us Australians in truth.’

Beatrix eyed him in fascination. Now she’d put aside her strange animosity, she was bursting with questions. Unfortunately, her father jumped in first.

‘It is truly delightful to have you here with us, Robert, and I cannot deny that I’m looking forward to reading the letters you carry with you and hearing all about your life in Australia. It’s too long since I saw your father and would give much to see him again before we both depart this mortal coil.’

‘Well, since I doubt you’re going to be grinning at daisy roots this side of the new century, I would say you still have plenty of time, Henry.’ Charlotte’s voice was unusually confrontational, even for her - almost daring her brother to disagree. Of course, he didn’t. Bea imagined even God would think twice before arguing...

‘Naturally, my father feels the same,’ Rob answered, the sincerity in his voice unfeigned. ‘But…’ he paused, his face turning deadly serious.

‘…You’ve not travelled halfway across the world solely to make a social call,’ Henry finished for him. ‘Tell us why you’re here, lad.’

CHAPTER 3

Benedict Hartley stared down at the letter in front of him. The words had long since blurred into black squiggles and lines. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes wearily.

The last ten days had been the most difficult of his entire career. It went against every moral code he’d ever possessed to sit by and say nothing while the powers that be made Sir Charles Drayton the hero of the hour. The story concocted was that Sir Charles had heroically foiled a heinous plot involving the kidnapping of innocent children. After identifying the perpetrator as John Thorpe, a violent confrontation had ensued during which Drayton had been tragically shot – not, however, before managing to put an end to the fiend. The murder of the unfortunate Margaret Finch was also conveniently blamed on John Thorpe, naturally, after declaring her responsible for the Torquay jewellery thefts…

The most frightening part of the whole debacle was that the official story of events had been circulated within hours of Benedict reporting Drayton’s death. And Ben hadn’t needed to do or say a damn thing…

He had no idea where it had come from. He had no idea who it had come from.

That Jacob White was involved was certain. But Ben had been warned off. He looked down again at the letter in front of him. He was being transferred to the other end of the country. It was labelled a promotion. A reward for his excellent policing.

He had no doubt that an unfortunate accident would befall him before he reached his new posting…

With a muttered expletive, he grabbed hold of the letter, screwing it viciously into a ball and hurling it into a corner before burying his head in his hands, his mind searching desperately for a way out.