Death on the Lizard by Robin Paige

reddened angrily.
    Kate sighed, wishing that Patsy and Bradford could mend their frayed relationship, which had been strained since Bradford had married Edith. Patsy’s sister-in-law, once a free, frank young woman, had inherited a sum of money and was rapidly turning into a frowning matron.
    â€œGoodbye, Kate,” Charles said, and bent to kiss her. Bradford went to crank the Panhard, and in a few minutes the motorcar was clattering down the lane.
    â€œOn the whole,” Jenna Loveday said, regarding the cloud of dust rising in its wake, “I rather prefer horses.” She turned to Kate. “I’m sorry if that sounded offensive. I only meant that—”
    â€œI know,” Kate said, with a rueful smile. “Perhaps progress isn’t worth it, after all.” She looked around at the green fields, with the moor behind. “It would be a great pity if progress destroyed any of this beauty.”
    Patsy slipped her arm around Jenna’s waist. “Thank you so much for inviting us, Jenna. I’m delighted to see you looking well.”
    â€œAppearances are often deceiving,” Jenna said ambiguously. And then, with a smile and a toss of her head, she said, “Come with me, ladies. I will show you to your rooms, and then, since it’s so lovely out of doors, we’ll have our tea on the terrace.”
    She began talking as they walked, in what sounded to Kate like a determinedly cheerful voice. “We’re not at all elegant here, I’m afraid. The name “Penhallow Manor” may sound as if it belongs to a grand country house, but we’re very old-fashioned, and I fear that you will think us terribly primitive. There’s no gas, no telephone, of course, and certainly no electricity. But I think you’ll be comfortable, especially since it’s July. In the winter—” She laughed gaily. “Well, that’s rather a different story. Cold feet and chilblains are the rule.”
    â€œWhat?” Patsy pretended great shock. “Primitive, with the most advanced wireless station in the world not seven miles away?” She laughed. “Just wait until I’ve told you, Jenna, what it’s like to live in a tent in the Arabian desert. Talk about the primitive life!”
    A little later, Kate was alone in the upstairs bedroom to which she had been shown, and had completed her unpacking. The room was small but indeed comfortable, the stone floor brightened with woven rag rugs, the walls covered with cream-painted plaster. The windows, a pair of deep-set casements, opened outward into a profusion of blooming roses which flooded the room with their delicate scent. The manor house was set on a high point of land, with the Helford River to the east and Frenchman’s Creek to the south. The landscape was green and lush and mysterious, and the warm light of the afternoon sun brushed the rustling trees with gold. At the foot of the lawn, a donkey was pulling a mowing machine across the lush green grass, while in the herb garden, a woman with a basket over her arm was cutting lavender. On the terrace below, bordered with a profusion of blooming flowers, their hostess was seeing to the arrangements for an outdoor tea. The murmur of voices floated on the somnolent summer air.
    Ah, said Beryl, with a long sigh, it’s very beautiful, isn’t it? And Kate could see why Jenna Loveday resisted the idea of living in London. It had to do with the light falling like a benediction across the green grass and trees, the woodland sloping down to the creek and the river beyond. And the promise of pixies and elves dancing across the open moors in the moonlight.
    And then, just as Kate turned away from the window, she caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye, a pale shape flitting, mothlike, through the shadowy woods. Beryl was immediately intrigued.
    Oh, look! she exclaimed. Is it a fairy? A pixie? Kate, we simply must write a fairy