Dead In The Morning – Margaret Yorke (1)

asked Patrick. “I came to see him, as I’m staying in the neighbourhood.” “You mean he’s all right? He hasn’t got into trouble again?” “As far as the university is concerned, I know of nothing wrong,” Patrick said. “My visit is merely social. I apologise if I startled you. Of course, I’ve heard about the sad event in Winterswick. I’ve met your niece.” “You must think me very silly, Dr Grant,” said Betty, able to speak more calmly now that her immediate panic had been dispelled.

“I felt sure Tim must be in trouble of some sort.” He is, thought Patrick, but his mother need not know about it yet. The apprehensive devotion which Betty Ludlow clearly felt for her worrying child was no new manifestation to Patrick. “We’ve never met when you’ve been visiting Timothy at Mark’s,” he prompted her. “No, we haven’t. Oh, how rude of me, do come into the house, Dr Grant,” Betty said, recollecting herself. “Well, if you’re sure I won’t be interrupting,” Patrick said, with every intention of doing just that.

“Not at all. It will do me good to stop,” said Betty. “I find gardening such a relaxation, don’t you?” This was a contradictory statement, and anything less relaxed than her own late occupation it would be hard to find, Patrick thought. “I’m afraid I don’t do much of it,” he said. “But you must let me show you the Fellows’ Garden when you come to Mark’s next term; we have some very rare autumn-flowering shrubs.” “I’d like that,” Betty said vaguely.

She was not really listening. She led the way into the house, apologising for taking him in by the back door, and paused in the lobby to shed her boots, exchanging them for a pair of shabby pumps. “Would you like a cup of tea?” she offered. Patrick thought she needed one herself, as shock treatment, and making it would help to soothe her, too.

His plan of action for the next half-hour was one his sister would deplore. He grinned to himself, thinking of her reaction. Betty took him into the sitting-room and settled him down with the Daily Mail while she went to put the kettle on. Left alone, Patrick at once got to his feet and inspected the room. It was large and comfortable, with shabby, well-worn chairs and a big, loose-cushioned sofa.

There was no book in sight. Some knitting lay on a table, and there were photographs on the mantelpiece and on a large oak dresser by one wall. Patrick recognised Tim in adolescence, and more recently, before he grew his hair and adopted sideboards. There was another boy, too, a fairer, slimmer young man with a sensitive, anxious face; this one was like his mother.

Dead In The Morning First published in 1970 © Margaret Yorke; House of Stratus 1970-2012 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. The right of Margaret Yorke to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.

This edition published in 2012 by House of Stratus, an imprint of Stratus Books Ltd., Lisandra House, Fore Street, Looe, Cornwall, PL13 1AD, UK. Typeset by House of Stratus. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library and the Library of Congress. EAN ISBN Edition 0755130154 9780755130153 Print 0755134680 9780755134687 Kindle 0755134796 9780755134793 Epub This is a fictional work and all characters are drawn from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance or similarities to persons either living or dead are entirely coincidental. www.houseofstratus.com OceanofPDF.com About the Author Born in Surrey, England, to John and Alison Larminie in 1924, Margaret Yorke (Margaret Beda Nicholson) grew up in Dublin before moving back to England in 1937, where the family settled in Hampshire, although she now lives in a small village in Buckinghamshire.

During World War II she saw service in the Women’s Royal Naval Service as a driver. In 1945, she married, but it was only to last some ten years, although there were two children; a son and daughter. Her childhood interest in literature was re-enforced by five years living close to Stratford-upon-Avon and she also worked variously as a bookseller and as a librarian in two Oxford Colleges, being the first woman ever to work in that of Christ Church.

She is widely travelled and has a particular interest in both Greece and Russia. Margaret Yorke’s first novel was published in 1957, but it was not until 1970 that she turned her hand to crime writing. There followed a series of five novels featuring Dr. Patrick Grant, an Oxford don and amateur sleuth, who shares her own love of Shakespeare.

More crime and mystery was to follow, and she has written some forty three books in all, but the Grant novels were limited to five as, in her own words, ‘authors using a series detective are trapped by their series. It stops some of them from expanding as writers’. She is proud of the fact that many of her novels are essentially about ordinary people who find themselves in extraordinary situations which may threatening, or simply horrific.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

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• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 1,266,837 bytes (1.208 MB)
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• ISBN: 9780755130153, 9780755134687, 9780755134793, 0755130154
• Pages: 189
• Language: English (en)

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