The Stranger House - Reginald Hill 15 стр.

Her laugh was infectious and Madero smiled too, then asked, Children?

One daughter. She was at university when it happened, but it seems like she sided with Gerry.

You call him Gerry, he said. You are good friends?

Not sos youd notice, she said. But what should I call him? Sir, and curtsy when he comes into the bar?

So you are all democrats in Cumbria? Its not quite the same in Hampshire.

Oh well, but Hampshire, she replied as if hed said Illyria. Itll be nobs and yobs down there. Dont mistake me, weve got a pecking order. But weve all been to the same school, up till eleven at least, and most families have been around long enough to have seen everyone elses dirty linen. Its not whether youre chapel or Catholic, rich or poor, red or blue that matters. Its what you do when your neighbors heifer gets stuck in Mecklin Moss on a dirty night or his power line comes down on Christmas Day.

You make it sound like an ideal community, he said.

Dont be daft, she said. Were all weak humans like anywhere else. But for better or worse, we stick together. And Gerry Woollass is part of the glue.

He smiled and finished his drink.

I too am a weak human, and I think Id better get some sleep. By the way, I couldnt find a phone point in my room.

Likely because there isnt one, she said. Is that a problem?

Only if I wanted to get online with my laptop. No problem. Ill use my mobile.

Not round here you wont, she said. Had to tell Miss Flood the same. No signal. But feel free to use my phone here whenever you want, no need to ask.

Thank you. And thanks also for the drink and the conversation. I look forward to talking with you again.

He meant it. She was a comfortable companion.

Me too, Mr. Madero, she said, carefully getting it right this time. Sleep well.

Thank you. Goodnight.

She watched him leave the kitchen, noting his careful gait. But despite what she perceived as a slight stiffness in his left leg, he moved very lightly, passing up the stairs with scarcely a telltale creak.

Two interesting guests in one day, she thought. The girl shed be glad to see the back of, but this one was rather intriguing, and sexy too in that mysterious foreign way. Talking to him would make a change from the usual barroom fare of local gossip and tales shed heard a hundred times already.

She wondered if the monks had felt like this about the strangers who sought shelter here, eating their simple food perhaps at this very same table. Or had they blocked their ears to news from the great world outside, doubting it could be anything but bad? In the long run, theyd been right. Fat Henrys men from London had come riding up the valley and made them listen and told them their way of life was all over. Nowadays they didnt come on horseback. In fact usually they didnt come at all, just sent directives and regulations and development plans. But the message was still the same.

She poured herself another glass of brandy and pulled her chair closer to the fire. The heat had almost died away, only a hollow dome of coal remained, at the heart of which a thin blue flame fluttered one of those membranes of ash which in the old stories always presaged the arrival of a stranger.

Bit bloody late, as usual, said Edie Appledore, sipping her drink. Bit bloody late.

PART THREE. THE DEATH OF BALDER

If you want to be clever learn how to ask questions how to answer them also.

The Sayings of the High One Poetic Edda

1. The last prime number

Next morning Sam woke to sunlight, the first shed seen since dropping through the clouds over Heathrow four days earlier.

She opened her window wide. What she could see of Illthwaite looked a lot more attractive in the sunshine. In front of her across the Skad the ground rose unrelentingly to a range of hills which looked so close in the clear air that she felt she could trot up there before breakfast. But a glance at her map told her they were four miles away.

She found Winanders house, the Forge, marked on the map. It was on a narrow road, presumably Stanebank, snaking uphill from the humpback bridge almost opposite the pub. Half a mile further on Illthwaite Hall was marked. She raised her eyes again and finally managed to spot an outcrop of chimneys. Their size gave her a proper sense of scale and put paid to any residual notion she might have of a quick walk up to the ridge.

Of the Forge she could see nothing, but a column of smoke rising into the morning air seemed likely to mark its presence.

In the bright light of morning, her discovery of the churchyard inscription felt far less sinister and significant. There was probably a simple explanation and all she had to do was ask. Shed start with Winander. Did his invitation have a more than commercial motive? Then there was the impish little Mr. Melton whod hinted he might be able to assist her with her inquiries. Finally there was Rev. Pete whod looked ripe to have any hidden info shaken out of him.

She leaned out of the window and took a deep breath. The air still retained its night coolness, but there wasnt a cloud in the sky and things would surely warm up as the sun got higher. She backed her judgment by putting on shorts. She thought of topping them with her skimpiest halter but decided maybe Illthwaite wasnt ready for that. Also she didnt want to flaunt her bruised shoulder, so she opted for a green-and-gold T-shirt. Might as well fly the colors!

She picked up the Guide and ran lightly down the narrow stairs which nonetheless squeaked their tuneless tune, reminding her that she hadnt heard a thing when her mysterious neighbor ascended the previous night. Perhaps he was a ghost after all.

If so, he was a ghost with a good appetite. She found him sitting in the bar tucking into the breakfast version of last nights supper.

She gave him a nod but he didnt even look up.

Mrs. Appledore appeared almost instantly with coffee, cornflakes, and a mountain of thick-cut toast alongside half a churnful of butter and a pint of marmalade.

Round here, even foxes get hungry, she said, smiling. Its a grand morning.

Yeah, a real beaut, said Sam.

She glanced again at the stranger, giving him a last chance to join the human race, and surprised a moue of distaste. Something in his breakfast? Or something in the way she spoke, more like. Well, stuff him!

So what are you planning to do? asked the landlady.

Her decision to be more upfront didnt mean she had to lay out her plans, so she answered, Thought Id stroll down to the post office and buy some cards to send home.

And dig for a bit of info as well as stocking up on chocolate supplies.

Youll be lucky. Its shut, said Mrs. Appledore.

All day, you mean?

No. I mean permanent. Since last year. Its happening all over. Government!

She uttered the word with a weary disdain that was more telling than ferocity.

Dont like the government then? said Sam. Shouldnt have thought youd have been much bothered up here.

Once maybe, but not anymore. Now you need to move fast as our Dark Man to keep ahead of them. Difference is, if they catch up, its likely you that dies. Just shout when you want more toast. How are you doing, Mr. Madero?

She was still careful with the pronunciation.

Mathero, thought Sam. More than just a mysterious stranger, a mysterious foreigner, which somehow made his response to her accent even more offensive.

But his voice when he replied was pure English, purer than hers anyway!

Im doing very well, Mrs. Appledore, he said with grave courtesy.

Good lad. Well soon get you fattened up.

She left. Sam glanced at Mr. Madero once more and this time caught his eye. She gave the small sympathetic smile of one who was often herself the object of other peoples fattening-up ambitions. He returned her gaze steadily but not her smile.

Determined not to risk another rebuff, Sam opened the Guide at random and began to read a passage about Illthwaite Hall and the Woollass family. The Reverend Peter K. clearly enjoyed the benefits of their influence and their board and was at pains to stress that, though they were Roman Catholics, this in no wise interfered with the pursuit of their many social and charitable duties as the chief family of the area.

Sam read at her usual rapid pace, her eye devouring the pages as fast as her mouth devoured toast, until her reaching hand encountered emptiness.

She raised her head and became aware of two mysteries. One was that Madero had somehow moved from his table to a stance by her left shoulder without attracting her attention. The second, equally unobserved and therefore far more worrying, was that the mountain of toast had somehow moved from the plate, presumably into her stomach.

Help you? she said.

He said, Mrs. Appledore mentioned the Guide to me and I wondered if I could have a look at it, when youre finished, of course.

Sure, she said. When Im finished.

She stood up and, tucking the book firmly beneath her arm, went through the door. In the hallway she met Mrs. Appledore.

All done, my dear? Sure you dont want something hot? Always start the day with a hot breakfast, my mam used to say. Never know when youll need your strength.

Ill just have to take my chances, I guess, she said. Anyway, your other guest looks like hes eating enough for two.

Mr. Madero? Well, he needs feeding up. I think hes been ill, poor chap. And I doubt if they feed them much solid grub in them foreign seminaries.

Seminaries?

Oh yes. He was training to be a priest or something afore he got ill. Left-footer, like the squire, said Mrs. Appledore confidentially.

Catholic, you mean?

Thats right. Youre not one, are you, dear? I mean no offense.

No Im not. And you can mean all the offense you like, said Sam.

All Im saying is, them drafty cloisters and all that kneeling on cold stones cant do a man much good. At least in the C. of E. they appreciate a bit of comfort. Even old Reverend Paul thats our Rev. Petes dad, who was big on prayer and fasting, and salvation through suffering kept the vicarage larder well stocked and the boilers well stoked. Rev. Pete likes his grub and his coal fire too.