Mrs Lillywhite Investigates Box Set

by Emily Queen

  “I’m up for a promotion,” he said.

  “Why, that’s wonderful news.” One would think such an honor would put a smile on a man’s face.

  Max went on to explain. “The promotion would mean a transfer to another unit. One a good distance outside of London.”

  Now it was Rosemary’s turn to feel a pang of worry. “Oh, I see.”

  “My superiors want me to take the position, and I might, eventually, be able to return to the city. However, the opportunity is poorly timed. You see, my mother is ailing, and since my father died, she’s been caring for the house and gardens all alone.”

  When Rosemary merely blinked, Max pinched the bridge of his nose and asked, “Did I never tell you about my misspent youth?”

  “Knowing you as I do now,” Rosemary smiled, “I can hardly picture you as a young rogue bent on terrorizing the countryside.”

  Max gave a low chuckle and capitulated. “An exaggeration on my part. I was born here in London, but my parents relocated while I was still in my pram. Father purchased a house in the country along with an aging nursery, and with my mother’s assistance, restored its fortunes. Both my parents were passionate gardeners. Sadly, their talent with growing things did not pass along to me, nor the interest in taking over the family business.”

  Fascinated, Rosemary listened intently.

  “I still enjoy visiting, but I prefer the pace of city life. Perhaps if I ever have a wife and children, we’ll buy a summer home someplace where there are more trees than buildings.” Max’s eyes took on a dreamy look, and he had to shake his head to dislodge an image that he would never be able to share with Rose. It featured her in a field of rolling hills, a paintbrush in her hand, and a passel of children at her skirts.

  “The house and gardens are far too much for Mother to handle these days. Furthermore, she’s gone through every available gardener in the area. Mother has her own way of doing things, and she doesn’t appreciate opposing opinions.”

  In a dry tone, Rosemary pointed out, “It seems you and your mother have many things in common even if horticulture isn’t one of them.”

  Max let the subtle criticism slide by without comment. “She has a generous offer for the property, so there is no reason for her to stay on in the house alone. Except, of course, that she doesn’t want to leave and has determined not to like the flat I picked out for her. Admittedly, it’s a bit of a fixer-upper, and it definitely needs a woman’s touch. I thought perhaps, that if she was able to decorate it herself, she might find a way to make it feel more like home, but she appears to have no interest in the task. She refuses to put so much as a toe over the threshold.”

  Rosemary thought about her parents and their house out in Pardington. Evelyn Woolridge wouldn’t deign to tend her own gardens, of course—she had staff for that—but Rose could only imagine what sort of fit her mother would throw if it were suggested she ought to move to the city. Then she thought about Max moving out of the city, and that plan didn’t appeal to her either. She liked knowing he was nearby, even if she hadn’t reached out as often as she—as often as either of them—would have liked.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “I was wondering if you might like to look at the flat and give me a woman’s perspective on how to make it more appealing.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right person. You remember what this place looked like when we moved in.” Rosemary gestured towards her townhouse. “It was practically in shambles and had the ugliest decor imaginable. It appears I’ve got an extra day or so. I’d be happy to come for a visit and give you my thoughts,” she offered.

  Max let out an enormous sigh, and Rose thought she noticed a shadow of a smile lift the corners of his mouth. “I would appreciate that, Rose, but only if you’re sure you have the time,” he said, thinking how lovely it would be to spend some time alone with her.

  “It’s the least I can do. After all, you did save my life, Max.” Rosemary smiled, and his heart skipped another beat. “When you’re done here, come back for me. I’m sure my brother and Vera can find some way to entertain themselves and Desmond for a few hours.”

  ***

  Once the coroner had done his job, and Max had adequately questioned everybody present at the time of death, the dentist was finally allowed to return to the home above his office. If he had been annoyed at the sight of guests at the dining room table, he hadn’t let it show.

  Abigail had insisted upon inviting Rosemary and her friends in for tea, and though she’d appeared to have been acting neighborly, Rosemary shrewdly suspected there was more to it than that. The woman needed support, and that’s exactly what she would get. It didn’t matter to Rose that they hadn’t been the closest of friends up until now. There was something she liked about Abigail, and she found she wanted to help her if it was within her power to do so.

  “Thank you for staying with my wife,” Martin said to the group. “This was no time for her to be left alone, but I do hope we haven’t kept you from anything.”

  “Nothing of import,” Rosemary replied easily, her friends nodding in agreement. “We’re sorry for what happened, Martin. I know the death was an accident, but I’m sure it weighs heavily on you.” She could tell that it was; his eyes were rimmed with red, and his shoulders slumped.

  “Yes, it certainly is. I pride myself in ensuring my patient’s safety, and today, I failed in that effort. At the cost of a man’s life.” He sat down at one of the chairs and rested his elbows on the table. Abigail went to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m sure I shut off the gas when I left the examination room. I’m sure of it.” Martin kept repeating as if saying it over and over might make it true. “Poor old Mrs. Linley. I do hope the ordeal didn’t traumatize her overmuch.”

  “I’m sure Mrs. Linley is just fine, Martin,” Abigail assured him. “When you’re going on eighty years of age, chances are you’ve seen a dead body or two.” She grimaced and sat back in her chair with a sigh.

  Feeling as though their welcome was wearing thin, Rosemary stood and indicated that she and her friends would be on their way. “I’m sure the two of you have much to discuss.”

  “If you need anything at all, we shall be right next door,” Vera contributed, casting a sympathetic look in Abigail’s direction. Desmond and Frederick, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, shook Martin’s hand. The dentist appeared dazed but accepted the gesture with an appreciative grimace.

  “Thank you all,” Martin said simply and allowed the group to file out the dining room door.

  Chapter 9

  “What did I tell you, Des? Spend some time with Rosie here, and undoubtedly, a dead body will turn up,” Frederick joked while he passed around cocktails to take the edge off the day. How he could have recovered so quickly from his hangover was beyond Rosemary’s comprehension, but she did believe a little hair of the dog might be just what the doctor ordered.

  With a narrow-eyed glare at her brother, she qualified, “It’s only the second time this has happened, Frederick, and you know it. Besides, in this instance, the death was an accident.”

  “You don’t honestly believe that, do you?” Freddie asked with a smirk, to which Rose simply raised an eyebrow.

  Vera answered instead. “We don’t know anything yet, but there is definitely something off about the good Dr. Redberry. Did anyone else notice how his mood swung back and forth like a pendulum all last night? Poor Abigail, having to deal with that type of temperament all the time. That, my friends, is why I think I’ve decided marriage might not be for me.”

  Frederick snorted. “Has it ever been?”

  “There was a time when I thought, perhaps, if the right man came along,” Vera mused. “It’s become increasingly obvious that he simply doesn’t exist. I’d kill myself if I ever ended up in a marriage like Abigail’s and Martin’s.”

  Under his breath, Frederick muttered something about Vera being unable to find anyone willing to deal with he
r for the rest of his life.

  “You know she could cover all ten fingers and toes with the engagement rings she’s been offered, brother dear,” Rosemary admonished him.

  “Fools and saps, fools and saps.”

  Vera merely raked Freddie up and down with an icy look that implied he wasn’t man enough to handle her anyway. In return, Freddie tossed her an insouciant grin while Rosemary and Desmond shared a look of amusement.

  “You know,” Desmond said, throwing fuel on the fire, “I’ve often wondered if these childish exchanges are merely a cover for some raging attraction you two refuse to acknowledge.” Raising his glass, he gave a silent toast to Vera and Freddie. “Seems to me you ought to indulge in a good bout of snogging and get it over with one way or the other.”

  Rosemary let out an unladylike snort. She’d long harbored similar thoughts, but out of love for her own skin had kept them to herself. Still, she warned Desmond. “Be careful, Des. Vera has plenty of bite to go with her bark.”

  “What does that make me? A harmless puppy?” Freddie retorted.

  Surprisingly, Vera came to his defense. “You are a tiger, my darling. Nothing less.”

  Since none of us could be certain whether the comment was a compliment or an insult, Desmond opted to change the subject back to Abigail and Martin.

  “Abigail seems like a good egg, but I don’t think we ought to pin all their troubles on poor Dr. Redberry. There are always two sides to any story, and the truth usually lies somewhere in between. She’s stronger than she lets on, mark my words.”

  “Maybe so. Today’s tragedy will surely test the mettle of their marriage.”

  “Speaking of testing one’s mettle, Rosie my love, tell me your cook isn’t making her famous game pie.” Freddie’s face went positively green at the thought.

  “What’s wrong with game pie?” Desmond wanted to know. “I quite like a good game pie.”

  “Ah,” Freddie said, wagging a finger. “There’s the rub, you see. Good game pie isn’t as heavy as an iron doorstop.”

  Vera couldn’t resist adding, “With nearly the same flavor.”

  “Whatever cook ends up serving, you will have to eat it or not without me, for I have a dinner engagement with Max. I’ve agreed to have a look around and see if the flat he purchased for his ailing mother can be made more enticing.”

  “Here now, that sounds like a deuced lot of work to do for someone who’s merely an acquaintance.”

  Desmond’s outburst tickled Vera enough to have her smiling behind her hand, but Rosemary took it at face value.

  “Max is a dear friend, you know. I'm happy to lend him my expertise.”

  Leaving the room, Rose missed Desmond's scowl.

  ***

  “Hello, Rosemary. Are you ready?” Max asked upon Wadsworth ushering him into the parlor. He looked around, wondering to what remote corner the rest of her entourage had disappeared—particularly, the good-looking man he’d seen eying Rose earlier in the day. Loathe to pry, he refrained from asking and found himself relieved not to have to contend with anyone else for her attention.

  As Vera, Frederick, and Desmond took themselves off to the dining room, Rosemary had realized that she had never actually been alone with Max in a social capacity. Of course, she had hosted dinners and parties when Andrew was alive, and Max had always been one of the guests she’d gravitated towards, but that was a different environment altogether.

  In fact, being alone with a man who was neither her husband nor her brother was a departure for Rosemary. Her stomach tied itself in knots, and then untied again when she realized that the man in question was merely Max, and therefore, she had no reason to worry.

  “Yes, I’m ready,” she replied, realizing Max was looking at her expectantly since she had yet to answer his question. “Before we go, have you any updates on the case? Poor Abigail, I wouldn’t like to leave her in a time of trouble, but we do have a train to catch two days hence if you’re quite certain the death was accidental.”

  “While I commend you for wanting to stand by a friend, you can put your mind to rest. I have no reason to believe the ruling will be anything other than death by misadventure.”

  He led her to his car, and during the short drive eastward, kept up a running commentary that helped to dissipate the tension Rose had been feeling. He declined to discuss further the unfortunate death that had taken place next door, and for that, she was grateful.

  “The flat has two bedrooms, a parlor, and a sitting room in addition to the kitchen and dining areas. No servant’s quarters, but Mother never was keen on other people living in her house. A housekeeper will come in during the week, but I’m sure that will be all she will allow.”

  As with everything he did, Max drove with great care and competence, his hands sure on the wheel, his eyes scanning the street for possible hazards.

  “Mother tends not to get along with kitchen staff. It all comes down to her scandalous preference for vegetables that have not been cooked to mush. Every so often, Father would insist on trying out a new cook. Not a one of them lasted a week, and so after a day of tending plants, Mother prepared all our meals.” Smiling fondly, he added, “She sang while she worked.”

  Rosemary listened to Max’s ramblings with interest. Most of the conversations they’d had in the past centered around police work or more mundane matters such as the weather or the ever-changing post-war political climate. Imagining him as a child, running around in dirty dungarees planting flowers, made her see him in an entirely different light.

  “She sounds lovely. I can’t imagine how she must feel about selling the place and moving to the city.”

  Max’s eyes flashed. “She’s positively broken up about it, and I can’t even blame her. The house and gardens were her life—hers and Father’s, and they both put their hearts and souls into the work. I suppose you can’t halt the ravages of time, but it feels an awful lot like the end of an era.”

  “How do you feel about it?” Rose asked, casting a sideways glance towards the driver’s seat.

  His face went blank for a moment, and then he caught her eye out of the corner of his. “You know, I’ve been so concerned for Mother, I hadn’t thought about myself overmuch. Sad, I suppose.” He sighed and paused for a moment. “More than sad, if I'm honest. I offered to move home and run the nursery.”

  “One can always count on you, Max, to do the right thing, even at great personal cost.”

  Was she paying him a compliment or not? Max couldn’t be certain.

  “Do you think me a martyr?”

  Rosemary took in his profile and determined by the set of his chin that she’d caused offense.

  “Certainly not. Merely conflicted by an impossible choice between a fondly remembered past and the present, which is an absolutely normal reaction. You don’t have to want the rural life to mourn the loss of it. It’s better you realize it now than to discover after six months that you miss the city and don’t want to trim another rose bush as long as you live. From what you’ve said, your mother wouldn’t want you to give up on something you love just to make her happy—unless I’m mistaken.”

  “No. You are correct.” Max smiled. “She isn’t angry with me, and when I told her I would resign from the force, she threatened to hit me with a garden hoe if I ever brought it up again. She informed me there was an offer on the place just to prove her point.”

  “It sounds as though she needed a little time to work her way around to the idea of moving. Maybe she’ll even learn to like it here if it means spending more time with you.”

  Max wondered if Rose’s comment contained a subtle hint about her thoughts on his impending promotion. She had only to ask, to indicate her preference for his continued company, and he’d turn the offer down without a second thought.

  “See this park we’re passing? The flat is just on the other side of the gardens where she’ll have a view of them out her back windows and the Thames on the other side. Now, if only I can transform the in
side to something a bit more to her liking.”

  Rosemary assured him that they would do just that, and suddenly lamented the fact that she would be leaving soon. Helping Max leaped to the top of her priority list, and it disappointed her to know she wouldn’t be as involved as she would have liked to be. Also, she had a hankering to meet the mother of this man who cared enough to give up his own life to make the last portion of hers more comfortable.

  Little did she know that Max was thinking the very same thing. His mother would absolutely adore Rosemary, and that was saying something since Mrs. Whittington was the most discerning of women. Both were quiet until Max pulled up outside a charming, ivy-covered stone building trimmed with rough-hewn boards that looked to have been installed at least a couple of centuries before.

  “It’s like a little cottage, tucked away down this back street. It feels like we’re miles away from the city!” Rosemary exclaimed when she extracted herself from the vehicle and took a good look at Mrs. Whittington’s new home.

  Max grinned from ear to ear. “Let’s hope Mother feels the same way.”

  Instead of entering through the front, Max led the way to a garden gate inside an arbor overgrown and dripping with ivy. “There is a small plot, barely as large as her kitchen garden back home, but I suspect she’ll enjoy a good putter once she’s feeling better.”

  “It’s overgrown, but if I squint, I can see how utterly charming it will look when it’s put to rights. An oasis of calm. You chose well, Max.”

  “Wait until you see inside before you rush to judgment.” With that, Max tugged on a loose piece of trim that pulled away to reveal a hidden key that he used to open the door.

  Inside, it appeared the previous tenant had a penchant for dark woodwork and equally dreary wallpaper. Rosemary felt as though she were walking into a cave when she entered the front parlor, but the wood floors only needed a good sanding and a fresh coat of varnish to bring them back to life.