Bright Hair About the Bone by Barbara Cleverly

person.”
    â€œShe seems real to Daniel. She sends you her regards and asks you to look her up when you go to Burgundy. How did he know you were going there?”
    â€œHe didn’t. I think that’s a suggestion. No, marching orders. He’s telling me to go.”
    Esmé lost interest in her marmalade cake. “Dangerous stuff! If the French police with all the resources at their disposal can’t bring it to an acceptable conclusion, why on earth do you suppose a lone English girl could succeed? No!” She shook her head vehemently. “You meant the world to Daniel. He would never expose you to the dangers of a situation like this. Show me where it says so.”
    â€œRight here,” said Letty, pointing. “
If you do come out—bring good company. Suggest Judy and her friend. Plenty for them to do in this town.
I warned you this was very nursery-oriented! Daniel knew I would not only understand but would be alarmed by the references to the past.
Judy and her friend.
I was given a Punch and Judy set of wooden puppets one Christmas. I absolutely hated Mr. Punch and threw him away, but I kept Judy and her friend. Now do you see?”
    â€œSorry. You’ll have to tell me.”
    â€œJudy’s friend and protector was a
policeman.
This is Daniel’s way of telling me I shouldn’t go out there by myself and that I should take the precaution of somehow setting up police involvement…That there was something criminal going on there.”
    Esmé handed back the postcard. “So what have we got? Daniel’s in trouble. Hating something about Burgundy—a well-founded sentiment in the light of what was to happen—and suspecting that something was about to go badly wrong, he encourages—no,
requires
—you to inveigle a Scotland Yard Inspector into accompanying you to this benighted spot. Once there you are to locate this Uffington woman—a phantom—who will obligingly lead you further down into the awful maze. Am I getting this right? Well, it’s quite clear then, Letty. I see no problem. There’s only one action you can, in all conscience, perform, isn’t there? More tea? You pour.”
    â€œOh, right. And what action do you have in mind?”
    Letty, with cup in one hand and teapot in the other, could do nothing to prevent her friend from making a sudden lunge across the table to snatch her letter of recommendation to Charles Paradee.
    â€œYou tear
this
to shreds! I’ll do it for you. And you go nowhere near this wretched Fontigny. You write a polite note to this Paradee person telling him that, after all, you find you will not be available to come and dig with him. I don’t want to hear a second body’s been found oozing its lifeblood away into a medieval gutter!”

CHAPTER 5
    S ir Richard Talbot lounged in his favourite armchair, the remains of a glass of Talisker at his elbow, the latest Buchan novel on his knee. After a good day’s hunting and a congenial dinner, he should have been at ease. Fretfully, he poured himself a second whisky and calmed himself with the familiar gesture of holding up the cut-glass tumbler to the glow of the fire, the better to admire the amber liquid. His agitation persisted and he glowered across the hearth rug at the cause of his state of unease. Four narrowed eyes returned his glower.
    â€œYou can’t hide behind that glass for much longer, Daddy,” said Letty. “You’re going to have to give us your answer. Just say yes and we’ll leave you in peace to go back to your shocker.”
    â€œPay no attention to her, Sir Richard! You know what she’s like! Say no, or there’ll be another coffin coming back from France,” insisted Esmé boldly.
    Sir Richard looked at the two earnest faces on the sofa opposite and sighed. Why these two had remained such firm friends over the years was a mystery to him. They never agreed about anything.