The Shadow at Greystone Chase (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 10) by Clara Benson

to Denborough, where she was brought up, so I thought to myself, why not? She’d been away long enough. They’re all dead now, and this used to be her home, after all. She’s being well cared for where she is, and I visit her, and take her out, and she’s as happy as she can be.’
    Here the patient shifted and coughed at something, and they looked up to see a rather striking-looking woman passing, a little dog sniffing at her heels. She was perhaps a little older than Angela, and dressed soberly in the English manner, but there was a smartness about her, and something slightly exotic that did not quite fit the place. She smiled pleasantly at the little group as she passed. Jemmy made a sound, and her sister said:
    ‘Very well, then, we’ll go that way. Not too far, mind, or I’ll have to push you a long way uphill on the way back.’
    She turned the chair with some difficulty and, with a friendly salute to Angela, continued on her way along the cliff path. Angela watched her go, then descended the steps onto the beach. Down below the cliffs gave some shelter from the wind, and Angela felt warm enough to remove her scarf. She had no idea at what time the colonel walked his dog, but he had the weather-beaten appearance of a man who spent much of his time in the open air, and so she expected he would be found frequently out and about. From her brief encounter with him the day before she judged him to be the sort who liked the company of ladies, and she hoped he would be amenable to making the acquaintance of another. She wanted to talk to him and learn more about the de Lisles. In particular she wanted to know why, if the family had not cared whether their younger son were found guilty of murder or not, Evelyn de Lisle should have died of a broken heart shortly afterwards. The two facts did not seem to fit.
    Angela walked along the beach a little way, but could not see the colonel anywhere. After a few hundred yards she spied a little cottage that was not quite on the beach, which she thought might belong to him, and stopped outside it. It was neat and trim, with a yellow-painted door, and under the doorbell was a plate that said ‘Dempster.’ Angela pressed the bell, but no-one answered—rather to her relief, since she had realized somewhat belatedly that she could think of no excuse for calling. She returned along the beach and ascended the steps. At the top she saw Mrs. Hudd, who had evidently just left the hotel, walking towards her without her acolyte Miss Atkinson. Mrs. Hudd greeted her graciously.
    ‘Good morning,’ said Angela. ‘Where is your friend today?’
    ‘Miss Atkinson unfortunately has a blister,’ replied Mrs. Hudd. ‘She walked too far the other day and practically tore the skin off her right foot, but did not help herself by continuing to walk on it yesterday when she ought to have rested it. We fear it may have gone septic, and so she is staying indoors today and keeping her foot up on my advice. She would have bandaged it up and come out if I had allowed her to.’ She lowered her voice. ‘To be perfectly truthful, Mrs. Wells, I sometimes have my doubts about her common sense, and wonder how she spent so many years in the teaching profession. But then she does play the piano rather sweetly, so I suppose that must count for something.’
    ‘I suppose it must,’ said Angela politely. ‘Then you are alone today.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Hudd. ‘Perhaps you would like to take a walk with me?’
    ‘I should be glad to,’ said Angela. Mrs. Hudd was not precisely the person she wanted to speak to, but she was obviously a gossip and so Angela hoped she might find out something useful.
    They walked along the cliff top in the opposite direction to the one Angela had taken in her walk along the beach.
    ‘You have been coming here for years, I gather,’ said Angela.
    ‘Oh, yes,’ said Mrs. Hudd. ‘The late Mr. Hudd and I came here when we first married and the place has associations for me