Blue Murder by Harriet Rutland

less awkward than usual, for Mr. Hardstaffe, one of the wide circle of men who are not usually in control of their tempers before ten o’clock in the morning, was almost exuberant, and did not even glance at his watch when his guest came downstairs and found the others already eating porridge.
    Mrs. Hardstaffe was unsmiling and monosyllabic, but this was not strange, since she commenced each day with the grievance that her husband would not allow her to have breakfast in bed.
    As for Leda, she was her usual, imperturbable, cheerful self.
    Really, no one can help admiring her, he thought. She takes everything in her stride. And a pretty hefty stride, too, he added, rather ruefully, as he remembered the pace she set for their walks together.
    â€œSorry to be late,” he murmured. “I’ve been packing my case.”
    Mr. Hardstaffe looked up.
    â€œYou’re not leaving us, are you?” he asked hopefully.
    â€œOh, no. I’m going to London for a few days on business.”
    â€œBut I thought you were afraid of bombs,” remarked Mrs. Hardstaffe.
    â€œMother!” protested Leda, turning to Arnold with a look which seemed to say, “What else can you expect from her !”
    â€œWell, I’m sure your father told me...”
    â€œRubbish!” snapped her husband. “Besides there haven’t been any in London for months. You’d better get back by Saturday,” he went on, putting his porridge plate on to the floor for the dogs to fight over. “We have a charming young guest coming to dinner.”
    â€œThat’s the first I’ve heard of it,” said Leda. “I think you might have asked me first. The food’s difficult enough without anyone extra, what with a ration book and a pink ration book and a yellow ration book. Who is it?”
    â€œMiss Fuller.”
    â€œMiss—?” Leda stared. “I thought you didn’t like having any of the teachers here. What’s the idea?”
    â€œDon’t ask me,” replied her father. “Your mother invited her.”
    â€œMother! You?”
    Mrs. Hardstaffe moistened her dry, colourless lips.
    â€œYes. Your father—that is—I thought that as she is leaving soon...”
    Leda smiled.
    â€œOh, if she’s leaving...” she said, and left the sentence to hang in mid-air. “If you want to catch that train, Arnold,” she went on, pushing back her chair, and moving from the table, “you’d better get a move on.”
    â€œAre you driving Mr. Smith to the station?” asked Mrs. Hardstaffe. “Can I do anything for you while you’re away?”
    â€œNo, no,” replied Leda hastily. “I’ll see to everything when I get back. You know you always upset them in the kitchen.”
    â€œI hope I’m not taking you away from anything important by deciding to go so suddenly,” said Arnold, when he was sitting beside Leda in his car, some minutes later. “I could easily have left the car at the station for you to pick up later.”
    â€œNonsense!” laughed Leda. “You mustn’t take any notice of Mother. Her one ambition is to go into the kitchen and tell the maids to stop doing one thing and go and do something else. She doesn’t like to feel that I have the ordering of everything, but she’s too bone-idle to do it herself. They simply dread her going into the kitchen. And anyway, I should be an ungrateful wretch if I couldn’t spare half-an-hour with you. You’re always doing things for me.”
    â€œNonsense!” exclaimed Arnold, in his turn. “I shall miss you when I get up to Town.”
    â€œSplendid!” was Leda’s gay reply. “There’s no danger of your forgetting to come back to us, then.”
    â€œRather not. Besides, I’ve got to finish my book, and you’re my inspiration, you know.”
    Leda looked straight ahead without speaking, for a few