The Ullswater Undertaking Rebecca Tope (good books to read for young adults .TXT) 📖

else? Or just go to sleep. I think Fabian’s just a silly little man who’s made a complete mess of his life, hoping to blackmail a good-natured acquaintance into sorting things out for him.’

‘Meaning me? Good-natured, am I?’

‘Aren’t you?’

‘Not always. Right now, I want to call his bluff and text him Richmond’s address, phone number and email – if Ben managed to find all that. Then I don’t want to see him ever again. It was stupid of me to waste time today listening to him, when I should be thinking about Josephine and how in the world we’ll ever manage without her.’

‘Yes,’ said Simmy. ‘I feel exactly the same. Now let’s drop it.’ She patted her pillow and pulled the duvet over her shoulder. Then she said, ‘Did you say happy birthday to Robin today? He’s three weeks old now, you know.’

‘Happy birthday, Robin,’ said Christopher obediently. ‘And please don’t keep us up all night.’

Chapter Nine

Wednesday morning started at four-fifteen, courtesy of baby Robin. ‘Are we back to the old routine, then?’ Simmy asked him in a whisper. Christopher hadn’t woken as she slipped out of bed, gathered the baby and went to her favourite spot beside the window. It was going to be a bright day, she noted from the clear sky. There were moon shadows on the fells, everything utterly still. Before long the birds would anticipate the sunrise with their reassuring chorus.

The peaceful rhythm of the suckling baby sent Simmy’s thoughts wandering freely. She felt almost culpably contented, largely, she realised, thanks to Christopher. They were going to get quietly married and try for a second baby. He was taking on the disaster of Josephine’s death with a much better attitude than on previous occasions. She was almost tempted to use the word ‘maturity’ about him, except that it felt patronising to do so. The willingness to talk at such length about all the theories and details and implications was different from earlier responses, and very much to be welcomed. Where once her ‘team’ had comprised herself, Ben and Bonnie, now she felt as if she and Christopher were the pivotal pair, working in a harmony that exceeded all her hopes.

All the same, he was definitely shouldering a degree of responsibility towards Fabian, which Simmy found unnerving. Perhaps, she thought suddenly, it was fatherhood that had changed him. Didn’t men generally feel an obligation to set a good example to their sons? Did Christopher feel he should do the right thing because anything else would make him vulnerable to critical judgement from Robin, as he grew up? If seemed fanciful, looking at the helpless, trusting infant at her breast, but the idea persisted for all that.

Which inevitably took her to consideration of the murder itself. There was still no indication that it was linked to Fabian Crick and his family, and yet it seemed impossible that it was not. The central connecting figure was Christopher Henderson, employer of the victim. On one of Ben Harkness’s flowcharts, all the lines would radiate out from Christopher. Logic, she adjured herself. Where was the logic? It could quite easily be a coincidence, with no earthly sense in casting suspicion on Fabian or his relations. Josephine had probably been killed by someone after her antiques. The little Limoges boxes could have a value, after all. The old chestnut of ‘A burglary gone wrong’ could well apply here. On the other hand, Josephine just might have discovered that Aunt Hilda had a terrible secret and suffered the ultimate fate as a direct result at the hands of one of her relatives.

She crept back to bed at five, to the sound of soaring birdsong just outside. The sun was risen, and another day had begun, but she hoped she could postpone it for another hour or so. Robin had obligingly gone back to sleep, and within moments his mother did the same.

She woke again at seven, to find Christopher standing by the bed with a welcome mug of tea. ‘Gosh, thanks,’ she smiled. It was still a novelty to be waited on. Her first husband had never acquired any such habit, always the last to get out of bed. Even when Simmy had been annihilated by the death of their baby, Tony had been equally useless, so that neither of them made tea or did anything to show care or concern for the other. ‘I had a dream about Josephine and Aunt Hilda,’ he said. ‘They were both shouting at me – really angry they were.’

‘Oh dear. Guilty conscience,’ said Simmy thoughtlessly.

‘Maybe,’ he acknowledged with a wince. ‘But I thought I’d got past that. And shouldn’t it be Fabian shouting at me? How did I annoy Josephine?’

‘Dreams aren’t always logical. Don’t let it worry you.’

‘I’ll try not to.’ He leant down to kiss her. ‘Not long till we make it official,’ he said.

For a moment she couldn’t think what he meant. ‘Oh – getting married, you mean. Right. Is that how it seems to you – official?’

‘Sounds horribly conventional, doesn’t it? I’m thinking of Robin, mainly. It’s supposed to be better for a kid if its parents are married, apparently.’

She had no answer to that; certainly she didn’t want to argue. But it left a small niggling question in her mind about the real meaning of marriage in modern times. Commitment was the aspect she most favoured, ‘forsaking all others’ was the part of the wording she valued, like any jealous female since the dawn of time. She had heard enough women of all ages voice the unhappy truth that men were not naturally faithful. You had to make them promise and threaten them with an array of painful penalties if they defaulted. Even good-natured men like Christopher.

‘Right?’ he prompted her, after several silent seconds.

‘Absolutely.’ After all, he was the one eager to sign the contract, make the vows, label himself as a husband. ‘Aren’t I lucky!’ she sighed. It was not difficult to banish the wicked little notion that