Wakenhyrst

Dr Grayson was so close that she could hear him breathing through his whiskers. ‘Mrs Stearne needs rest,’ he said in an undertone. ‘Rest, that’s the ticket. So perhaps – not every night? Eh?’
‘Whatever can you mean,’ Father said coldly.

window at the end of the passage she saw her father heading down the front steps with an ice-pick and a hammer.
She shouted at the boot-boy: ‘Fetch help! The Master’s gone mad!’ Then she raced to the orchard. Too late. Edmund was already kneeling over a corpse.
The coroner said the first blow was lethal, the ice-pick piercing the eyeball and brain. Let’s hope so, because Edmund chiselled back the scalp, hacked out a chunk of skull and dug around in the