Stately Homicide by S. T. Haymon

with melancholy or fatigue. At his friend’s approach he pressed down on the sticks and stood up, swaying. There followed some kind of argument.
    Jane exclaimed: ‘I bet he’s insisting on not going without taking formal leave. These Continentals are such ones for doing the correct thing! I’d better go and let him kiss my hand or he’ll be here all night.’
    She hurried away. After a moment of silence, Steve Appleyard said: ‘We ought to be getting along too.’
    Jurnet said: ‘Nice to have met you. And you, Miss –’
    â€˜Oh – Chalgrove. Jessica. Everybody calls me Jessica.’ Suddenly the girl looked apprehensive. Jurnet knew without asking that she was dreading the imminent encounter with Elena Appleyard.
    Yet, when the two went over to her, the older woman could not have been more gracious, kissing first the boy and then the girl; a mere touch on the forehead, but performed with apparent tenderness.
    â€˜How are you, my dears? Though I’m not speaking to Steve, miserable boy! Now that he’s moved away, he never comes to see me.’
    The boy at least was perfectly at ease, the bright blue eyes slightly aslant in the tanned face. The Magyar inheritance, Jurnet supposed.
    â€˜You make it sound as if I’d gone to the moon,’ the boy objected, ‘instead of only across to the stables.’
    â€˜Since you never come to see me, it could just as well be the moon.’ Elena Appleyard turned to the girl. ‘If he won’t come, then you must.’
    â€˜I – I’d love to –’ the girl managed.
    Steve Appleyard said: ‘I’ve got to run Jessica home, Aunt Elena.’
    â€˜Goodbye, then, you thoughtless boy.’ The woman leaned forward and kissed the girl again. ‘Don’t forget your promise, now. And please remember me to your father. He never comes to see me either.’
    â€˜Yes, I will.’ The girl spoke happily, the ordeal over. The two young people went towards the door, holding hands tightly.
    When Jane Coryton came back, Jurnet said: ‘Time I was pushing off, too. Thank you for having me.’
    â€˜Thank you for coming. But don’t go just yet, do you mind? It’s even possible you may be needed in your professional capacity. Francis and Mr Shelden are having a little difference of opinion, and it sounds as if it could be physical.’
    Francis Coryton, however, was looking more bemused than aggressive.
    â€˜I don’t understand!’ he was saying, as his wife and the detective came up. He gave the impression they were words which he had repeated several times already. ‘It isn’t as if there’s any copyright in them.’
    â€˜That’s true!’ The new curator turned his most engaging smile on the new arrivals. ‘Francis and I were chatting about those marvellous letters.’
    Coryton’s glasses were off. He said to his wife: ‘You speak to him, Jane. I can’t seem to get through.’
    â€˜Speak to him about what?’
    â€˜You know I handed over the key ring this afternoon? Well – the key to the study drawer was there with all the others. All I have to do is ask for it when I want it, I thought. Well, silly me! I thought wrong.’ Coryton swung back to Shelden. Anger had firmed the flaccid contours of cheeks and jaw, giving them definition. ‘If I’d taken copies, there’s not a damn thing you could have done about it.’
    â€˜You’re absolutely right!’ Shelden made the words sound like praise. ‘I don’t mind saying, I’m amazed you didn’t. In your place, it’s the first thing I’d have done.’
    â€˜In my place,’ Francis Coryton said with a bitter deliberation, ‘you’d have known what a twister you had to deal with. As it was, I was waiting for Harbury in the Records Room at Angleby to get back from his holiday. The letters are so fragile I wanted