#FlashFictionMagic: An English manor

They had just stepped into the kitchen of Bolcaster Manor, when suddenly Lana yelped and dragged Giles backwards into the larder. 

“No!” Giles said in a stage-whisper as the door snapped shut. “Absolutely not! You said if I let you come along, there would be no detecting. None. You promised me!” 

Lana waved him away, placing her eye at the keyhole and peering out. “There’s something dodgy about that maid,” she said softly. “I haven’t liked the look of her all day.”

Giles gave his forehead several rapid taps with the heel of his hand. “I assure you that Great Aunt Patricia doesn’t hire criminals. The maid’s name is Moira, and I’ve known her longer than I’ve known you.” 

Lana was undeterred. Giles could hear the maid setting the tray for tea, and Lana watched, rapt, seemingly waiting for something, but heaven help Giles if he could guess what. He began to study the shelves of food behind him. Surely Auntie Pat wouldn’t begrudge her heir a biscuit? She’d been so poorly lately, she probably wouldn’t even notice…

Before he could make his selection, Lana flung open the larder door and took off running toward the stairwell leading to the ground floor. Giles hesitated, torn between his hunger and his desire to throttle Lana, but then there was a crash, and the choice was made for him. 

On the stairway, Lana was bent down next to Moira, all apologies as she helped her pick up the tea tray. Giles surveyed the scene for a moment, then felt his blood pressure jump exponentially as Lana slipped something from Moira’s apron pocket into her own handbag. He signaled for her to put it back this instant, but true to form, Lana wouldn’t let him catch her eye. 

“All right then?” Lana asked Moira, as the maid got to her feet and returned to the kitchen to replace the items she’d dropped. “We’ll just carry on then. Come along, Giles.”

Fuming, Giles followed on Lana’s heels as she climbed to the ground floor, opened a door and stepped out onto an ivy-smothered balcony. Once the door latched behind them, he grabbed both her shoulders and said, “The crime solving is bad enough, but picking pockets? What on earth are you playing at?”

Lana rifled for a moment inside her bag, then produced a dull orange bottle of pills. “My mistake,” said Giles. “Not picking pockets. Stealing drugs. This will surely end well.”  

“Read the label,” Lana urged, thrusting the bottle into his hand. 

Giles, who was far-sighted and had not brought his glasses with him today, held the bottle at arm’s length and attempted to make out the words. “Ben.. zo… di…?” he began.

Impatient, Lana ripped the bottle from his fingers and gave it a loud shake. “Benzodiazepine!” she cried out. “Sleeping pills!”

“Can you… get a lot of money for those?” 

Lana smacked Giles, clearly annoyed. “You bloody idiot,” she said. “I’m not trying to sell them. I’m trying to keep your aunt from taking them!” 

“Why would my aunt take the maid’s sleeping pills?” 

“They’re your aunt’s sleeping pills!” 

“Why is the maid taking my aunt’s sleeping pills?” 

“Your aunt is the one taking them!” 

“Then… wait, what’s the problem?” 

Lana sighed. “Your friend Moira opened two of these pills and poured them into your aunt’s tea. That’s why I had to trip her.”

“You tripped the maid?” 

“Focus, Giles. The instructions say to take one at night, not two at midday.” 

“And you always follow the label, do you?” 

“Two of these will sedate your aunt for hours!” Lana said. 

“That sounds good to me right about now. Think she’d share?” 

“Giles Bolcaster!” scolded Lana. “This is serious.” 

“That’s what you said that time you thought my sister overdosed. On prenatal vitamins.” 

“That was one time!” 

“It’s also what you said when the vicious wolf in my Nan’s garden turned out to be a cocker spaniel.” 

“I still maintain it had wolf blood.” 

Giles smiled in spite of himself. Lana was a ridiculous woman, but she was his ridiculous woman. 

“I’m going to call the police,” Lana said resolutely. “Are you coming with me or not?” 

Giles looked out over the manor’s beautiful gardens, noticing right off the single patch of pink flowers that broke the otherwise perfectly alternating pattern of blues and yellows. Lana was like those flowers, he thought. Disruptive. Out of place. A bit odd. Most likely wrong about Moira the maid. 

But, fool that he was for this clever woman who fancied herself a detective, he just couldn’t walk away. “Darling,” he said, smiling gently as he laced his fingers with hers. “I’m right behind you.”