charlie_cochrane (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
charlie_cochrane) wrote2018-11-27 07:50 pm
charlie_cochrane) wrote2018-11-27 07:50 pm
The return of Mr (and Mrs) Stewart
Did you know the latest Cambridge Fellows novella is set in 1911 and so features a cameo from Jonty's parents?
Mr. Stewart hadn’t been at home when Jonty first was put through on the telephone, although not because he was indulging in winter sports. According to Hopkins the butler, he was helping Mrs. Stewart to deliver hot soup as part of one of her charitable projects. That fact was supposed to remain a secret.
“Hiding their lights under a bushel again?” Jonty had asked. “Or trying not to offend the neighbours?”
Hopkins had replied that he couldn’t possibly say and promised to get his master to ring back as soon as was convenient. The call came not an hour later, when the snow was at its worst.
“What’s the weather like with you?” Jonty asked his father. “The flakes are the size of half crowns here.”
“We’ve yet to get the worst of it,” Mr. Stewart replied. “Although I hear we’re due for a thaw the next few days. Now, am I being presumptuous in asking if you’re ringing to ask us to help in a case?”
Jonty’s father took great delight in being allowed to play at sleuthing. He’d proved his worth on many an occasion, as had Mrs. Stewart, who had cowed—albeit with great charm but it was browbeating nonetheless—many a witness into giving away more than they’d intended to.
“More a mystery than a case proper, but we would like to pick your brains concerning it. Mama will have to stand down at present as her skills are not yet required.”
Mr. Stewart chuckled. “She has plenty to occupy her, anyway. Weather permitting she’ll be off to one of her charity meetings, castigating all the so-called Lady Bountifuls for only helping others when it suits them. So, what’s this mystery? May I have a full and frank briefing?”
“Well, while I can promise frank the full is a bit of a problem, seeing as we’re casting about in the dark ourselves.”
Mr. Stewart hadn’t been at home when Jonty first was put through on the telephone, although not because he was indulging in winter sports. According to Hopkins the butler, he was helping Mrs. Stewart to deliver hot soup as part of one of her charitable projects. That fact was supposed to remain a secret.
“Hiding their lights under a bushel again?” Jonty had asked. “Or trying not to offend the neighbours?”
Hopkins had replied that he couldn’t possibly say and promised to get his master to ring back as soon as was convenient. The call came not an hour later, when the snow was at its worst.
“What’s the weather like with you?” Jonty asked his father. “The flakes are the size of half crowns here.”
“We’ve yet to get the worst of it,” Mr. Stewart replied. “Although I hear we’re due for a thaw the next few days. Now, am I being presumptuous in asking if you’re ringing to ask us to help in a case?”
Jonty’s father took great delight in being allowed to play at sleuthing. He’d proved his worth on many an occasion, as had Mrs. Stewart, who had cowed—albeit with great charm but it was browbeating nonetheless—many a witness into giving away more than they’d intended to.
“More a mystery than a case proper, but we would like to pick your brains concerning it. Mama will have to stand down at present as her skills are not yet required.”
Mr. Stewart chuckled. “She has plenty to occupy her, anyway. Weather permitting she’ll be off to one of her charity meetings, castigating all the so-called Lady Bountifuls for only helping others when it suits them. So, what’s this mystery? May I have a full and frank briefing?”
“Well, while I can promise frank the full is a bit of a problem, seeing as we’re casting about in the dark ourselves.”