A Roll in the Hay, стр. 18
“I know. Now this is way more interesting than Miss Marple antics,” Margo said, not quite looking up. “The Karlsons are airing their dirty laundry in public, and honestly I never thought I’d see the day. I mean, there have been rumours around here for years about that marriage…”
“As long as you’re feeling okay and the baby is okay,” Tess continued before her brain caught up with her mouth. “Wait, the Karlsons? As in—”
“Our local upper classes?” Margo smirked as she pushed a folded newspaper over to Tess. “You’ll want to start with that story as it seems to have kicked off some drama yesterday.”
“Why is everything since I moved here about this Karlson woman?” Tess looked at the picture before reading the article. It was from some kind of county show with horses and rosettes and an unfortunate-looking vicar trying to play master of ceremonies. It must have been a few years back, because Susannah looked younger. Her hair was shorter, one of those bobs with bouncy curls that was fashionable for a while. More make-up than the other times Tess had seen her, dressed for the occasion instead of her usual rotation of riding clothes and business suits. Not that she was keeping a mental portfolio or anything. She just noticed things, that was all.
“Lady Karlson, and don’t you forget it. That’s how she signed her press release, apparently, even though she’s always made a show of not using her title. It’s always ‘Call me Susannah.’ like it makes her one of the common people.”
“She doesn’t sound very common to me. Does anyone really fall for that?”
“Most of the people round here are just flattered when the rich lady pays them some attention, in case there’s a job or something else they might get out of it. And it’s not like she’s new money, either. It didn’t all come from the husband.”
“I thought she married into it,” Tess said as she started to dig into the article. It was just a local rag, the same one that had covered the area since she did her paper round in a village not so different to this one twenty years ago. If she concentrated, Tess could still feel the stretch in her calves from all the hills she gleefully biked her way up and down to drop off a few sheets of easily smeared ink on cheap paper. “But I guess it doesn’t matter how you get it, as long as you have it. I wouldn’t go around calling myself by some title, though, but then I’d never marry posh, would I?”
“It’s different for lesbians anyway.” Margo shifted in her seat as though she was about to deliver one of her very special moments. They were old, dear friends, but Margo really should have been a teacher of some sorts with the way she loved to explain things to an audience, willing or not.
“How so?”
“Well, when a man is knighted—made a sir and all that jazz—then his wife gets to use the title of Lady His-Surname. There’s no equivalent for a same-sex couple. If your future wife is made a Dame, your wife doesn’t get to use Lady. Then it’s different again if it’s inherited. Baronesses, marquesses… Didn’t you learn all this in school?”
“No, we learned about all the times Scotland went to war with England, not how to become a duke. Who knew the ancient institutions were so behind the times, eh?” Tess asked, but her attention was already being pulled back to the article. There was a lot of speculation and innuendo. Some of it must have been treading a thin line on slander unless there was actual proof somewhere to go with it. “I’ve never been that impressed by royal families and titles. Give me democracy any day.”
“Have you got to the bit about her ‘salacious past with women’?” Margo chimed in next. “Did she, y’know, ping on your gaydar?”
“Can’t say I was even considering it.” Although in truth, she did usually know when someone interested or available was taking her measure. “Anyway, I don’t think Susannah Karlson is the type to let anyone know her business. This must have pissed her off in a hundred different ways.”
“Not as much as that very vague hint of an implication that maybe Lord James didn’t pass from entirely natural causes. It’s just enough to be deniable, but most people will just read their first impression. Now, say what you will about the Karlsons, but I never got the vibe they didn’t care about each other. Seemed quite happy, whatever the rumours said.”
Tess closed the paper and put it to one side, feeling a little queasy. She’d never cared for gossip, especially the hurtful kind. She had experienced way too much of it on the receiving end, first as the daughter of a single mother in a small town and then as a young gay woman in a place that had no template to fit her. “What’s the other paper saying? More of the same?” Tess resolved not to read it if so.
“No, Karlson’s defending herself. Talking about moving forward, the future of Midsummer Estates and how the only person who’ll steer that is her. I almost like her for it. She’s stuck two fingers up at that sister-in-law of hers, anyway.”
“Robin is Karlson’s late husband’s sister?”
“Yeah. She brought one of her West Highland terriers in to us one time, not long after we opened the practice. She fed the poor thing a diet that would have killed off Henry VIII. When we suggested she avoid rich food and spoiling him, she picked up the dog and marched right out. We sent an invoice for the