Sick of Shadows by M. C. Beaton Page A

in.
    The commissioner, Sir Henry Taylor, was a bluff, red-faced man. “Sit down, Shufflebottom,” he said. “You must be thirsty after your journey. Tea?”
    Bert blinked in surprise, too startled to speak.
    “I know, you’d probably like a beer. Tretty,” he said to the attendant police officer, “fetch Mr. Shufflebottom a beer and bring me one as well. Now, there’s been this complaint from Lady Blenkinsop.”
    “I—I’m right sorry,” stuttered Bert. “You see, sir, what happened—”
    “Never mind. That old witch is always complaining about something. Ah, beer, just the thing. Drink up.”
    “Your health, sir.” Bert raised the tankard with a shaking hand.
    “I’ve been looking at your record. Very fine. No scandals. Everything dealt with quietly and decently. Then you rescued that family last year in Plomley at the fair when their carriage horse bolted. The reason I called you in was to tell you that we think the time has come to give you a little rise in salary as a token of our appreciation.”
    “Oh, sir, thank you, sir. What about Lady Blenkinsop?”
    “The lord lieutenant is calling on her. You will not be troubled by her.”

    Lady Blenkinsop was initially delighted when the lord lieutenant, Sir Percy Twisletone, called on her. She longed to mingle with the aristocracy, but they mostly shunned her.
    “I will get right to the point,” said Sir Percy. “You have put in a complaint against the village policeman because of his relative’s behaviour.”
    “Of course! Cheeky minx. I honoured her with an invitation to sing for me and she refused!”
    “Miss Rose comes from a very distant aristocratic branch of the family, fallen on hard times.”
    “I find it hard to believe that Shufflebottom has any aristocratic connections.”
    “They may have been, shall we say, on the wrong side of the blanket, but royalty—excuse me, I should not have said that—certain sins must be forgiven.”
    Lady Blenkinsop goggled at him. “Do you mean . . . ?”
    “I said nothing,” said Sir Percy sternly. “I only came to warn you to be careful whom you insult in future. The news can travel upwards to amazingly high circles.”
    “Oh, dear,” babbled Lady Blenkinsop. “I shall apologize.”
    “No, you will not say anything of this matter and you will not go near the policeman again. We have eyes and ears everywhere and if you tell anyone about this, I shall find out.”

    Sally collected the children from school herself. She could hardly bear to speak to either Rose or Daisy. She drove the children to Plomley Station in the pony and trap. They all held hands as they saw the train rounding the curve. Sally stood holding baby Frankie in her arms. We’ll get through this together, she thought.
    She stared in amazement as Bert descended from the train with a bunch of roses in one hand. His smile was so wide it seemed to split his face in half.
    She ran to meet him and Frankie set up a wail at being jogged about on her hip.
    Bert bowed and handed her the roses. “I’ve got a raise,” he said. He fished in his pocket and brought out a paper bag of aniseed balls and handed them round. “We’ll even be able to go to Scarborough this year for a holiday.”
    Sally began to cry with relief. When she could speak, she asked, “What about Lady Blenkinsop?”
    “The lord lieutenant’s dealing with her. This is Rose’s doing. I know it is. She didn’t use the phone, did she?”
    “No, but Dr. Linley said that he saw them on Farmer Jones’s cart heading towards Plomley today and then they came back in a hired carriage.”

    Rose was sewing at the machine in the parlour when they came in and she smiled with relief when she saw all the happy faces.
    “Everything all right?” she asked.
    Sally rushed forward and hugged her. “I don’t know how you did it, but Bert’s got a raise and Lady Blenkinsop won’t be troubling us. I’ll get tea on.”

    The children were so excited about their new frocks and