The Antique Dealer’s Daughter. Lorna Gray
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right about one thing at least. He was going to ask something of me.
‘Perhaps you could deliver a message to our driver?’
‘Is it an emergency?’ I don’t quite know what made me ask that. I suppose it was a legacy of the shock of finding Mr Winstone at the end of what had already been a very long day of travelling. I was wary of what fresh demands this place would make of me.
The question certainly puzzled Captain Langton. He said on an odd note, ‘No. It is quite important though, Emily.’
Again the address of the parlour maid or the charwoman. Though probably I deserved it this time. I was after all only here because I hoped to make free with his telephone in order to call my cousin just as soon as he gave me room to do so. Biting my lip, I agreed.
‘Good,’ he said briskly. ‘Could you tell him that he’s to collect my father from the solicitor’s office in Cirencester at eleven o’clock on Thursday? Heavens, that’s tomorrow now. That shows that I’ve spent all week trying to set this up. My father intends to go home for a while to …’ He checked himself. ‘No, those details don’t matter here. What does matter is that he’s met by the car tomorrow. Do you know our driver, Bertie Winstone?’
Oh Lord.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said inadequately. I really hadn’t handled this conversation very well. ‘Mr Winstone has had a bit of an accident. I’m afraid I’ve just left him as he was being whisked off to be patched up by the doctor. I have to tell you that I really don’t think it likely that he’ll be fit to drive your car tomorrow. Or any car, for that matter. I really am very sorry.’
‘You’ll have to speak up. There’s an almighty racket going on here. Did you say Bertie has had an accident?’ The man was hard for me to hear too. A persistent drone in the background was blurring his voice.
I told him what had met me during the course of climbing the hill to answer his call; that is to say, I gave him the bare facts about the whole neighbourhood being deserted all day, about finding Mr Winstone, the lucky timing of Danny Hannis coming home, the likelihood that the attack had taken place at the turbine house and, finally, I don’t know why, that I had met several of my cousin’s friends, including Mrs Abbey. I believe I might even have mentioned something about the loneliness that had inspired my walk up the hill in the first place. Apart from that, it was, I realised, the first time I had willingly given Mr Winstone’s injuries the title they deserved and called this thing an attack and not an accident. It was a peculiar kind of shock and yet somehow it lessened it to be telling this man and the Captain certainly took the information very matter-of-factly. I suppose as a military man such things might seem more commonplace and as a son he was certainly inclined to be more concerned with the news that his father was going to be beset by yet more inconvenience.
He was asking me, ‘Is it still working, though? The turbine, I mean. The house still has electricity?’
‘I’ll have to check.’ I presumed he was wondering if the house was even fit for his father to inhabit. He was very practical, this Captain. Whereas I think his orderly mind flustered mine, or perhaps he just made me conscious of the way the evening’s shocks had shaken me. I finally realised what I’d said and corrected myself in a rush. ‘No, I won’t need to check, sorry. I switched on the light in the kitchen when I came in. So, yes, the house still has electricity. But won’t that be from the batteries anyway?’
I was gabbling, confusing myself, but it didn’t matter anyway because he was saying something else and then I was distracted by the sight of Danny’s dog dashing by on his own business, past the window. He had obviously been left behind after that last ruckus in the car. I saw now that another small village clustered on the opposing hillside. The cottages were distinguishable by the yellow smear of oil light in their windows. To their right, another single streak of colour was shining lonely above the straggling woodland that trailed upstream from the unseen hollow where my cousin’s cottage stood. Apart from these few specks of life, the valley was solemnly left to the trees. Proving the point, an owl hooted from one near by. It made me realise that the Captain was still waiting for me to answer his last question.
‘Yes, sorry,’ I added hastily, then I realised I didn’t actually know what I was supposed to be answering. ‘Pardon?’
‘I was just saying that Bertie was lucky that you happened by. I should have guessed myself that no one would be on hand to answer my call if the housekeeper wasn’t home. The few village men will have been up in the fields, and the women and children too for that matter. They’re starting to gather the barley, I believe, and you should know I say that with all the confidence of one who hasn’t the faintest idea about the timing of these things. It was all still laid to sheep pasture when I last lived at home. Did you say Mrs Abbey was there too?’
My hand was fiddling with a pencil now since I wouldn’t let it toy with the telephone wire. I had to bend beneath the desk to retrieve it when the pencil rattled to the floor. I asked, ‘You know her?’
‘I should do. I’ve written her enough letters over the past few months. She’s one of our many tenants, or at least she is when she pays. We allow her a little grace because of her husband. It must have been a shock, discovering Bertie like that.’
I was busily thinking that Mrs Abbey hadn’t spoken terribly nicely of his father for one who owed him a debt of gratitude. I said, ‘I expect it was, but it hasn’t really sunk in yet. It didn’t really happen to her anyway, if you know what I mean. She only arrived later as a spare part to Mrs Winstone’s return.’
‘Actually,’ remarked the Captain mildly, ‘I believe I was meaning you there.’
It was then that the caller proved that he hadn’t been as insensitive as I’d thought to the strain of my evening. He’d simply been calming about it for my sake, and perhaps because he was practical and limited by being on the other end of a telephone.
‘But anyway,’ the Captain added, then his attention strayed as the noise increased on his end of the line, like when a door is opened and the bustle from outside briefly rushes in. With equal suddenness, his attention returned to me. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. My father’s train is about to be called.’
‘Is that Paddington?’ Abruptly the sounds clarified to be those of a busy station. I ought to have recognised them, having departed from the same London terminus myself that morning.
The Captain was saying rapidly, ‘My father is staying in a hotel tonight and he’ll get a car from there in the morning. He can do anything that needs doing for Bertie tomorrow. Lord knows what my father will do for his lunch, but I suppose that’s minor in the general scheme of things and will simply have to be added to the list of things he’ll address when he gets there.’
‘And what about Mrs Cooke?’
He understood in an instant. ‘If you’re feeling brave, feel free to have a quick look about and raise a hue and cry if you find anything awry. I’ll give you the name of my father’s hotel, just in case.’ He gave it to me and I had to jot it down on the corner of the desk’s large sheet of blotting paper. ‘But,’ the voice in my ear continued, ‘I shouldn’t worry. You said it yourself, the kitchen is bare. She’s probably just gone off to visit friends and hoped we wouldn’t notice. And if she hasn’t, well, my father will be back tomorrow. Either way, try not to worry. I hardly think this is anything you need to worry about.’
‘Nothing to worry about at all,’ I remarked more dryly than I intended. ‘Except what your father would say if someone wasn’t going to the shop to get his lunch.’
He laughed. It came as something of a surprise after an evening of serious tones. Then he thanked me and said, ‘I suppose you could consider it a temporary employment? Will you do that? We can put your fee on account.’
In the background I could hear the noise of that train station again. In a very odd way, I didn’t want him to go. I suppose it was because this man was like a little touch of the familiar and the end of this conversation would leave me alone with my thoughts