Tea with Milk and Murder (Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 2) (19 page)

When I awoke again, there was only one person in the cubicle with me and my heart skipped a beat as I realised that it was Devlin. He was sitting in the chair next to my bed, watching me, and I blushed as I wondered suddenly how I looked. Had I been drooling in my sleep? Was my hair a mess? Oh God, why did I have to be wearing this awful hospital gown?

“Hey…” he smiled at me. “Glad to have you back.”

“What time is it?” I asked, struggling to sit up. The ward seemed very quiet around us.

“About eleven,” said Devlin. He looked tired and I thought he must have been working nonstop since leaving me earlier that day.

“How did it go? Did you…?”

“Mrs Waltham has been arrested,” he said with a smile. “She’ll be charged with the murder of Sarah Waltham, as well as the attempted murder of yourself. And I doubt there will be a problem convicting her of the crimes.”

I let out a sigh of satisfaction. “That’s great news! Almost worth being tied up and terrorised in a shed for,” I said teasingly.

Devlin made a sound of irritation. “I blame myself, Gemma—I had my suspicions about Mrs Waltham but I didn’t act quickly enough.”

“How did you suspect her? It never crossed my mind,” I said.

“It was your question asking about Sarah’s life insurance, actually, that got me thinking.”

“But she didn’t have life insurance! I remember you said that if people wanted her father’s money, they would have done better to marry Sarah since she stood to inherit most of his estate.”

“Exactly.” Devlin snapped his fingers. “That got me wondering what would happen to the money if Sarah died—who got it instead? Unfortunately, Sexton, Lovell & Billingsley were a bit difficult about letting me have access to the particulars of Mr Waltham’s will. Duty of confidentiality and all that. I had to provide good reason for insisting on disclosure and I just didn’t have enough evidence on Mrs Waltham…”

“You should have asked the Old Biddies,” I said dryly. “They could probably have told you everything in Mr Waltham’s will—and what he had for breakfast last week as well—in less than five minutes.”

Devlin gave an exasperated laugh. “I just don’t know how they ferret out their information. I’m almost beginning to think we should give them an honorary position in Oxfordshire CID!”

“I still find it really hard to believe that quiet, mousy woman turned out to be a murderer,” I said, shaking my head. “I mean, I know people get a bit desperate sometimes and do stupid things… but the way she was talking to me in the shed, she didn’t sound scared and desperate! She seemed so smug and self-satisfied.”

“I don’t think this was an act of desperation,” said Devlin. “I’m going to get permission to exhume the body of David Waltham’s first wife.”

I stared at him. “You think…?”

He shrugged. “I think it’s worth checking. Psychopaths aren’t born overnight. I wouldn’t be surprised if this wasn’t the first time Mrs Waltham used poison to get rid of somebody. She certainly did very well out of the first Mrs Waltham’s death.” He stood up. “Anyway, it’s very late and I should probably let you rest.”

I wanted him to stay but didn’t know how to say it. As he was about to slip through the curtains, he paused and turned back to me.

“I’m sorry our date got cancelled the other night, Gemma.” He paused, then continued, “Things are going to be hectic for a few days now, with this arrest, and I imagine that you’ll need a few days to recover but… maybe next week we could try again? I heard that the Moscow City Ballet is coming to the Oxford Playhouse—fancy going to see that?”

I could feel the smile spreading across my face. I was about to answer when my phone rang. Giving Devlin an apologetic look, I answered the phone and winced slightly when I heard the voice on the other end. It was the last person I wanted to call when Devlin was with me. It was Lincoln.

“Hullo Gemma, I hope I didn’t wake you up,” he said.

“No, no… I was awake,” I said, darting a look at Devlin and hoping he couldn’t tell who I was speaking to.

“I just wanted to see how you were feeling. I popped in to see you earlier but you were sleeping and I had to leave at ten because I’d promised to drive my mother back from her bridge party. Her car’s being serviced at the moment.”

“Oh, I’m feeling fine. The headache seems to be gone.” I darted another glance at Devlin. From the way his brows were drawing together, I had the impression that he knew who I was speaking to.

“That’s great! Well, I’ll come see you in the morning before you’re discharged. Oh, by the way, I heard from my mother tonight that the Moscow City Ballet is coming to Oxford. I was wondering… would you like to go with me next week?”

“Um…”

This can’t be happening to me.
It was as if Fate was having a joke at my expense. Or maybe forcing me to choose…

“Thank you, Lincoln, that’s really sweet of you to ask…” I hesitated and glanced at Devlin. His blue eyes looked steadily into mine. I made my choice. “But… but I’ve actually already made plans to go with someone else.”

“Oh.” Lincoln’s disappointment was tangible. Then he said cheerfully, “Well, some other time then. I’ll let you go now. Good night, Gemma—sleep well.”

“Good night.”

I put the phone down and fumbled with it. Suddenly, for some reason, I felt incredibly shy and couldn’t meet Devlin’s eyes.

“I’m honoured to be chosen over the distinguished doctor,” he said.

I looked up quickly and saw that his eyes were twinkling.

“Don’t get any ideas,” I said quickly. “You just happened to ask first and it was only polite…”

He raised a sardonic eyebrow, then he leaned towards me. I caught my breath—was he going to kiss me?

“You know what, Gemma?” he said softly, his lips inches from mine.

“What?” I whispered.

“You’re a very bad liar.” He smiled, brushed his lips across my forehead, then turned and was gone through the curtains.

I picked up my mug of tea from the kitchen counter, scooped up a couple of Jaffa Cakes from the jar by the toaster, and went to join my parents in the living room. From the sound of the TV, my father was probably watching one of his interminable cricket test matches again. Still, I felt a bit guilty that I hadn’t spent much “quality time” with my parents recently and I was determined to catch up a bit this weekend. I wasn’t supposed to do too much anyway. They had reminded me, when they discharged me from the hospital yesterday morning, that I should take things easy for a couple of days.

I walked into the living room and stopped short at the sight that greeted me. My father, normally happily ensconced in his own special armchair, was perched uncomfortably on one end of the sofa, looking slightly baffled, whilst my mother sat on the ottoman by the coffee table, stirring her tea.

“Dad… is something the matter?” I said, frowning. “Why aren’t you sitting in your chair…?”

I trailed off as I came farther into the room and saw who was sitting in the pride of place on my father’s armchair: one little grey tabby cat who looked very pleased with herself.

“Muesli! Get off Dad’s chair,” I said.

“Oh no, leave her,” my mother said quickly. “She looks so sweet and comfortable there.”

“But—”

“It’s all right, darling, your mother’s right,” said my father. “I don’t mind sitting here for a bit, if Muesli likes my chair.”

I rolled my eyes.
I don’t believe it. She hasn’t been let loose for two days, and already Muesli is ruling the entire household!
I sighed and made my way across the room, sitting down on the other side of the sofa.

“Oh, wait—don’t sit there!” my mother said.

I froze, my bum hovering over the sofa seat. “Why not?”

“Well, sometimes Muesli likes to lie there instead of the armchair. That’s her second favourite spot. In case she fancies moving over in a minute.”

You’re kidding me.

Somehow I found myself sitting awkwardly on a stiff-backed chair while my cat lolled on a plush armchair next to me.

“Don’t think you’re going to get away with this,” I hissed at her under my breath.

Muesli yawned very wide, showing her little white teeth, then looked at me. I know animals don’t really smile, but I swear there was a little smile on her whiskered face.

“
Meorrw!
” she said.

FINIS

Catch Gemma’s (and Muesli’s) next adventure in

Book 3 of the
Oxford Tearoom Mysteries

COMING MAR 2016

Sign up to my mailing list to be notified when it is released and for the chance to get FREE review copies:
http://www.hyhanna.com/newsletter

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* “in / to hospital”
– in British English, this phrase is used without the article, for example, “take him to hospital” or “my sister is in hospital”

999
– the number to dial for emergencies in the U.K.

“a shambles”
– a mess, a chaotic situation

Barmy –
crazy

Bickkies –
short for “biscuits”: small, hard, baked product, either savoury or sweet
(American: cookies. What is called a “biscuit” in the U.S. is more similar to the English scone)

Bloody –
very common adjective used as an intensifier for both positive and negative qualities (e.g. “bloody awful” and “bloody wonderful”), often used to express shock or disbelief (“Bloody Hell!”)

Bugger! –
an exclamation of annoyance

Bum
– the behind
(American: butt)

Cake slice
– a utensil with a flat, triangular shaped head used for cutting and serving slices of cake

Carpark
– a place to park vehicles
(American: parking lot)

Chum
– close friend
(American: buddy)

Chuck –
throw

Ciggie –
short for cigarette

Cuppa –
slang term for “a cup of tea”

Elevenses
– a break for a snack taken mid-morning, usually around 10:30a.m. to 11a.m., also known as “morning tea”

Fib
– to tell a lie (usually small, white lies), also used as a noun

Hot toddy –
an old-fashioned drink made of liquor mixed with water and honey or sugar, and sometimes herbs and spices

Jaffa Cake
– a quintessential round British biscuit (cookie) named after Jaffa oranges. It consists of a Genoise sponge biscuit base, covered with a layer of orange-flavoured jelly, which is then covered with a coating of chocolate. They are absolutely delicious, especially with a cup of English tea!

Jumper –
a warm, often woolly garment, which is worn by being pulled over the head, similar to a sweater. Contrast this with a cardigan, which has buttons down the front.
(NOTE: this word has a different meaning in the United States, where it refers to a type of girl’s dress, a bit similar to a pinafore)

Interval
– a break between acts of a performance
(American: intermission)

Loo
– toilet

Natter
– to gossip, have a friendly chat

Plonker
– an annoying idiot

Poncy
– pretentious, affected

Prat
– idiot, often a superior, condescending one

Pub grub
– food served in a pub

Pudding
– in the U.K., this refers to both “dessert” in general or a specific type of soft, jelly-like dessert, depending on the context.

Row
– an argument

Scupper
– to spoil, often used in the context of plans

Shattered
– very tired, exhausted

Shandy –
beer mixed in equal parts with a soft drink, usually lemonade, ginger beer, apple juice

Sodding –
am adjective used as an intensifier, usually in a negative context

Take a punt
– to take a gamble at something, make a guess, give it a go

Tosser
– a despicable person

Twit
– an idiot, often used in an affectionate context

Works a treat
– works very well, very effectively

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Special terms used in Oxford University:

College -
one of thirty or so institutions that make up the University; all students and academic staff have to be affiliated with a college and most of your life revolves around your own college: studying, dining, socialising. You are, in effect, a member of a College much more than a member of the University. College loyalties can be fierce and there is often friendly rivalry between nearby colleges. The colleges also compete with each other in various University sporting events.

Don / Fellow –
a member of the academic staff / governing body of a college
(equivalent to “faculty member” in the U.S.)
– basically refers to a college’s tutors. “Don” comes from the Latin,
dominus
—meaning lord, master.

Formal Hall –
three-course
formal evening meal in the college dining hall, with a dress code: gowns must be worn, together with jacket and tie for men, smart outfit for women. The meal is preceded by the banging of the gravel and the reading of college grace in Latin. Some colleges have Formal Hall every evening whereas others only have it on certain nights of the week.

Fresher –
a new student who has just started his first term of study; usually referring to First Year undergraduates but can also be used for graduate students.

Gown –
formal black academic robe worn by students and staff, particularly during Formal Hall, Examinations and during Matriculation and Graduation. There are various types of gowns: the simplest is the short, sleeveless Commoner gown which all Freshers start with; if you have shown outstanding achievement in your first year, you then receive a University scholarship and can change to the longer, bat-winged Scholar’s gown.

Matriculation
– the ceremony at the Sheldonian Theatre when a student is officially conferred membership of the University of Oxford. Usually takes place in the student’s first term, at the end of the first week in Michaelmas Term—however there are additional ceremonies at the end of Michaelmas and also Hilary and Trinity Term. You must matriculate within two terms of starting your course, otherwise you will be unable to take a University examination.

Quad –
short for quadrangle: a square or rectangular courtyard inside a college; walking on the grass is usually not allowed.

“Read” a subject –
at Oxford, one “reads” a subject, one doesn’t take it—for example, someone might ask what subject you took and you would say, “I read History at Magdalen.”

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