Her face clouded again.
‘Mr Patrick. He called it Delicious Death. My cake! I will not have my cake called that!’
‘It was a compliment really,’ said Miss Blacklock. ‘He meant it was worth dying to eat such a cake.’
Mitzi looked at her doubtfully.
‘Well, I do not like that word—death. They are not dying because they eat my cake, no, they feel much, much better…’
‘I’m sure we all shall.’
Miss Blacklock turned away and left the kitchen with a sigh of relief at the successful ending of the interview. With Mitzi one never knew.
She ran into Dora Bunner outside.
‘Oh, Letty, shall I run in and tell Mitzi just how to cut the sandwiches?’
‘No,’ said Miss Blacklock, steering her friend firmly into the hall. ‘She’s in a good mood now and I don’t want her disturbed.’
‘But I could just show her—’
‘Please don’t show her anything, Dora. These central Europeans don’t like being shown. They hate it.’
Dora looked at her doubtfully. Then she suddenly broke into smiles.
‘Edmund Swettenham just rang up. He wished me many happy returns of the day and said he was bringing me a pot of honey as a present this afternoon. Isn’t it kind? I can’t imagine how he knew it was my birthday.’
‘Everybody seems to know. You must have been talking about it, Dora.’
‘Well, I did just happen to mention that today I should be fifty-nine.’
‘You’re sixty-four,’ said Miss Blacklock with a twinkle.
‘And Miss Hinchcliffe said, “You don’t look it. What age do you think I am?” Which was rather awkward because Miss Hinchcliffe always looks so peculiar that she might be any age. She said she was bringing me some eggs, by the way. I said our hens hadn’t been laying very well, lately.’
‘We’re not doing so badly out of your birthday,’ said Miss Blacklock. ‘Honey, eggs—a magnificent box of chocolates from Julia—’
‘I don’t know where she gets such things.’
‘Better not ask. Her methods are probably strictly illegal.’
‘And your lovely brooch.’ Miss Bunner looked down proudly at her bosom on which was pinned a small diamond leaf.
‘Do you like it? I’m glad. I never cared for jewellery.’
‘I love it.’
‘Good. Let’s go and feed the ducks.’
II
‘Ha,’ cried Patrick dramatically, as the party took their places round the dining-room table. ‘What do I see before me? Delicious Death.’
‘Hush,’ said Miss Blacklock. ‘Don’t let Mitzi hear you. She objects to your name for her cake very much.’
‘Nevertheless, Delicious Death it is! Is it Bunny’s birthday cake?’
‘Yes, it is,’ said Miss Bunner. ‘I really am having the most wonderful birthday.’
Her cheeks were flushed with excitement and had been ever since Colonel Easterbrook had handed her a small box of sweets and declaimed with a bow, ‘Sweets to the Sweet!’
Julia had turned her head away hurriedly, and had been frowned at by Miss Blacklock.
Full justice was done to the good things on the tea table and they rose from their seats after a round of crackers.
‘I feel slightly sick,’ said Julia. ‘It’s that cake. I remember I felt just the same last time.’
‘It’s worth it,’ said Patrick.
‘These foreigners certainly understand confectionery,’ said Miss Hinchcliffe. ‘What they can’t make is a plain boiled pudding.’
Everybody was respectfully silent, though it seemed to be hovering on Patrick’s lips to ask if anyone really wanted a plain boiled pudding.
‘Got a new gardener?’ asked Miss Hinchcliffe of Miss Blacklock as they returned to the drawing-room.
‘No, why?’
‘Saw a man snooping round the henhouse. Quite a decent-looking Army type.’
‘Oh, that,’ said Julia. ‘That’s our detective.’
Mrs Easterbrook dropped her handbag.
‘Detective?’ she exclaimed. ‘But—but—why?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Julia. ‘He prowls about and keeps an eye on the house. He’s protecting Aunt Letty, I suppose.’
‘Absolute nonsense,’ said Miss Blacklock. ‘I can protect myself, thank you.’
‘But surely it’s all over now,’ cried Mrs Easterbrook. ‘Though I meant to ask you, why did they adjourn the inquest?’
‘Police aren’t satisfied,’ said her husband. ‘That’s what that means.’
‘But aren’t satisfied of what?’
Colonel Easterbrook shook his head with the air of a man who could say a good deal more if he chose. Edmund Swettenham, who disliked the Colonel, said, ‘The truth of it is, we’re all under suspicion.’