The Secret of Hollyfield House, Jude Bayton [books for 20 year olds txt] 📗

come in before you devour them.” A male voice chuckled from one of the armchairs, and as Evergreen led us over to the settle, a tall young man approached with one hand extended.

“Good evening, to you both.” He smiled, and I noticed his obvious resemblance to Evergreen. This was the twin brother she had spoken of. Though not identical, their likeness was uncanny.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he added. “Peregrine LaVelle, Evergreen’s long-suffering brother. Welcome to Hollyfield. We are pleased you could come at such short notice.”

My uncle shook his hand vigorously. “Happy to accept, my boy. Pleasure is all ours.” We took a seat upon a large satin sofa while the siblings sat facing us in two scarlet armchairs. I studied them. Both were blonde, yet Peregrine’s eyes were lighter, unlike his sister’s startling violet-blue. His face was the same pretty heart-shape, yet with harsher angles. They made a striking pair.

A man entered the room, a silver tray in his upturned palm. I almost gasped in surprise, for he looked as though he had stepped out of a page of the Arabian nights. His skin was the colour of strong coffee, with obsidian eyes beneath the deep scarlet of a turban. Garbed in a long white tunic over loose-fitting trousers, with sandals upon his feet, he was an exotic vision—flamboyant among the formal trappings of a stoic English parlour. This must be the ‘easterner’ Mrs Stackpoole had casually mentioned.

“Ah, Marik, there you are.” Peregrine rose. “May I introduce our friend from India, Marik Singh. He is part of the family but insists upon acting thus when we have company—though he needn’t.” The Indian gentleman approached each person with the offer of a glass from the tray. He kept his handsome face expressionless, his back rigid. I could tell at once he was a man of great self-discipline.

“India,” my uncle commented wistfully. “Now there’s a place I’d like to explore.” Uncle Jasper’s face beamed like a young boy. “I’d enjoy a jolly good romp around the jungle. I daresay their flora would be a fascinating study.”

“Not to mention the tigers,” Evergreen added, and we all laughed.

“And cobras,” said Peregrine, taking a glass of sherry from Marik Singh. “Were you ever in British East India, sir?”

My uncle shook his head. “Never was. Closest I got was Cairo, right after the Suez Canal opened. Caught a fever at Port Said and got sent right back to England. Good job too, or I’d probably have been a goner.” His words stirred a vague childhood memory. A telegram to my grandmother, her worry at her brother’s fate.

“India will always hold a special place in my heart,” Peregrine said softly, and his eyes met those of his sister. “But our time here in Ambleside is—” He paused as the door opened to reveal the solemn figure of the woman I had met on my last visit. Marabelle Pike. Tonight, she appeared less formal. Her gown was russet brown, devoid of frills or lace, which did not serve to accentuate her looks, but rather make her seem even more sullen. I admonished myself for thinking such unflattering thoughts. Besides, who was I to criticize, wearing naught but a Sunday best dress, long past its prime.

“Dinner is served, Peregrine,” she announced laconically.

I HAD NOT BEEN BROUGHT UP wealthy, yet I silently thanked the women in my family for teaching me social graces and polite table manners. My grandmother had come from a distinguished background but was cast out when she chose to marry my grandfather, a working fisherman. Her lifestyle had proved hard and difficult, though you would not have known it in her presence. Proper etiquette was second nature to my grandmother, and she took great pride in passing on what she knew to my mother and myself. Thank goodness. At least I knew the correct fork to use first, and could display what I hoped were decent table manners.

After the plain food at my uncle’s table, dinner was simply mouth-watering. There was watercress soup and poached salmon, followed by carved roast beef and vegetables. Stimulating conversation had been ongoing, mainly between my uncle, and Peregrine LaVelle, their mutual interest of the Lake District an easy topic. When the raspberry cream tart was served, both men were engaged in their differing opinion of Darwin’s controversial book, On the Origin of Species.

“But, Professor Alexander,” Peregrine insisted. “How can you possibly believe the human race is descended from apes. It is an absurd notion.”

My uncle was unfazed. “No more preposterous than a celestial being having the power to create life. And for what it is worth, my boy, human beings are not far removed from ‘said apes’.”

Miss Pike’s voice suddenly perforated the atmosphere like a blade “That is easy to believe, Professor, when you consider the atrocities men do to one another. A perfect example is our propensity for violence. What say you of the murder of our blacksmith?” Everyone stopped talking and collectively we all stared at the woman. I felt the start of a blush creep across my face and dreaded what might come next.

“I understand you, Miss Farraday, were the unfortunate person who discovered Flynn’s body?” Her beady dark eyes settled on me as the others turned my way.

“Good grief,” said Peregrine. “Is this true?”

I nodded solemnly, reluctant to be drawn into the conversation.

“My dear Miss Farraday, that is absolutely shocking,” Perry said, astonished. “You must have been terrified.”

“I should hate to see something so abhorrent. Though I have heard an arrest was made,” continued Marabelle. I looked at her and saw a malevolent gleam in her eye. She was enjoying my discomfort.

I lifted my chin. “That is a relief,” I forced my voice to sound confident. “I should hate to think anyone could get away with murder.”

“Marabelle, must you?” Evergreen glared angrily at her cousin who hastily averted her eyes. “I hardly think this appropriate conversation at dinner, in fact at any time. Our guests have come to dine and enjoy our company. It