Of course not. What Im trying to do
Save your breath. I opened my familys records to you, Madero. I had doubts from the start, and I was right. Please collect your things from the study and leave. My daughter will accompany you to make sure you remove only what you arrived with.
Father! protested Frek.
Just do it, commanded Woollass.
He turned on his heel and strode out of the kitchen.
Madero looked at the woman and waited for her to speak.
She said, I suppose technically you ought to take the trifle.
I can explain
Im sure you can. But never complain, never explain is a wise saying. Come.
She rose and made for the door. Together they went up the stairs and into the study. Here he carefully sorted out his notes, laying them to one side of the desk with the journals and household records. On the other side he set his laptop and briefcase.
Perhaps you would like to check, he said.
Dont be silly, she said.
I doubt if your father would think it silly, he said. Besides, if I may, I should like to use your bathroom before I go.
Of course. Corridor on the left, the second door on the right.
He went out. Would she check that he wasnt taking anything he shouldnt? Her decision, and at least he had given her the chance.
The left turn took him into a short corridor with two doors on either side.
Just as he made the turn he froze in mid-stride as the second door on the right opened and a figure draped in cardinal red came out. He recognized Dunstan Woollasss dressing gown but it wasnt the old man wearing it.
Just as he made the turn he froze in mid-stride as the second door on the right opened and a figure draped in cardinal red came out. He recognized Dunstan Woollasss dressing gown but it wasnt the old man wearing it.
It was Mrs. Collipepper.
She turned down the corridor without glancing in his direction. He watched her move away, registering the oil-pump shift of her heavy buttocks beneath the scarlet silk.
His mind was trying to sort out unvenereal reasons why she should be wearing the garment as she pushed open a door at the end of the corridor and slipped out of sight.
The door clicked shut and he resumed his advance to the bathroom. But hed only taken a couple of steps when he saw the tail of red silk caught in the bedroom door. The dressing gown, made for a much taller figure than the womans, had become trapped. Even as he looked, the door opened again, releasing a blast of warm air. Mrs. Collipepper, stark naked now, stooped to pull the rest of the gown inside. Over her shoulders, Madero glimpsed a four-poster bed with a venerable white-haired head resting on the pillow. The source of the heat was a deep fireplace in which a dome of coals and logs glowed red.
As the housekeeper straightened up, her gaze rose to meet his own. Her face showed no reaction. He lowered his eyes in confusion. She had breasts to match her buttocks with dark nipple-aureoles the size of saucers. He raised his eyes again and mouthed, Sorry. Gently she closed the door.
In the bathroom he found his penis slightly engorged and had to wait a moment before he could pee.
As he stood there, a line flashed into his mind from Shakespeare whose works his mother had insisted he should read to balance Cervantes and Calderón.
Whod have thought the old man to have so much blood in him?
Frek was waiting on the landing. Silently she handed him his briefcase. As they went downstairs, he wondered if she knew about her grandfather and the housekeeper. Of course she must know! Indeed, probably the whole village knew. It was well said that in the countryside a secret is something everyone knows but no one talks about.
Was it an active relationship? he wondered. Or was Mrs. Collipepper merely an Abishag to old King David?
Mig put the prurient speculation out of his mind as Frek opened the front door.
He stood there a moment, taking in the view. The sky was cloudless, the sun warm, the air so clear that he could pick out detail of rock and stream on the hills rising on the far side of the valley. The range of color was tremendous vegetation all shades of green shot with patches of umber verging on orange where some plant was dying off; rocks black, gray and ochrous; water white falling, dark blue standing; and the land itself, pieced and plotted in the valley, rising to the horizon in pleats and folds like some rich material painted by one of the Old Masters.
The world lay all before them, where to choose their dwelling place, and Providence their guide, he said.
His mothers poetic patriotism had even overcome her religious prejudices.
Thats more or less what the Norsemen thought when they set out. Many of them chose Cumbria, said Frek. Where will Providence guide you now, Mr. Madero?
Only as far as the Stranger House initially, he said.
He stepped across the threshold and turned to face her. His left leg took this opportunity to remind him it wasnt yet ready for complex maneuvers. He staggered a little and winced as he forced himself to put his full weight on it.
She didnt seem to notice, but miraculously she said, Tell you what, I have to go to the village and I promised to show you the Wolf-Head Cross. Let me give you a lift.
I doubt if your father would approve.
I got over my Elektra complex several years ago, she said. Come on.
She closed the door behind her and went to the parked Range Rover.
Madero headed round to the passenger door. His knee felt fine. He sent it heartfelt thanks for having done its job of getting him the lift.
What are you smiling at? she asked.
At the thought that its not so bad being ejected from Paradise so long as Eve goes with you.
It was by his standards boldly flirtatious, but it didnt fare much better than his previous attempt.
She said to him rather sadly, I fear you really are going to find that you and I inhabit different myth systems.
And then they were speeding down the hill toward Illthwaite.
7. The tale of Noddy
This used to be the police house, said Noddy Melton. I came here back in 1949 I think it was. It was pretty primitive then, but it was my own. I loved it, ghost and all.
The old man was sitting upright in a tall-backed armchair which dwarfed him. Sam sat in a matching chair on the other side of the fireplace. We must look like a couple of kids whove strayed into a giants house, she thought.
Youve got a ghost of your own? said Sam.
Hasnt everyone? Specially in Illthwaite, said Melton. They took great delight in telling me the tale down at the Stranger when I first came. Long time ago the cottage was occupied by a widow who made a living out of making candles, hence the name. Seems one winter night when it was blowing a blizzard she opened the door to an old woman begging for shelter. She brought the visitor in, set her by the fire, and shared her supper with her. As she did so she got more and more worried by various things such as the size of the old womans feet, her gruff voice, the hair on the back of her hands.
But her worry became terror when, after theyd eaten, lulled by the warmth of the fire, the old woman dozed off with her head tipped back, revealing an unmistakable Adams Apple. It was a man! Worse still, with the blizzard piling snow up against the windows, the candle maker was trapped, her and her young child sleeping in the corner.
So what did she do? said Sam, eager to short-circuit the story.
She was desperate at the thought of what he might have in mind for her and her child when he woke. In the hearth there, by the fire, stood the tub of tallow into which she dipped the wicks to form the candles. The man opened his mouth wide to let out a tremendous snore. And without any more ado, the widow picked up the tub and poured the bubbling tallow down his open maw.
Jesus, said Sam, shocked despite herself. I guess that killed him.
Oh yes. Worse, it was three days before a thaw allowed her to get out of the house and call help. Child in arms, she ran across to the church and got the vicar. It was probably a Swinebank. He came with a couple of other men, and one of these recognized the poor devil sitting here with his belly full of candle wax.
Seems he was a harmless idiot out of Dunnerdale who, since the death of his mother, had taken to traveling around from church to church, dressed in his mothers shawl and gown, and begging alms.
The poor bastard! exclaimed Sam. So what did they do when they realized what had happened?
Thats what I asked when I first heard the story in the bar of the Stranger. There was a long pause, then Joe Appledore, the landlord, said, The way I heard it was, they took him into St. Ylfs, someone put a wick in his mouth, they lit it, and he burned lovely for the best part of a year. Then they all fell about laughing.
You mean it was all a gag? said Sam indignantly.
No. Seems likely its a true story, except for the last bit. Thats just their way of dealing with things. Now I dont believe in ghosts, but I learned two lessons from that tale. One was not to jump to conclusions. The other was, if ever I find myself dozing off in front of this fireplace, I get up and go to bed!
Wise man, she said. So, despite the story, you liked the place so much you asked if you could stay on here after you retired. Thats really nice.
She heard in her voice the reassuring note she used on small children and nervous dogs. She guessed he heard it too for he smiled and said, I didnt spend all my career here. The cottage came on the market just as I was coming up to retirement. Change of policy, village bobbies out, two townies in a Land Rover driving by three times a week in. Progress! So they sold all the old police houses off. I pulled a few strings and got first refusal. Even then it cost more than I made on my place in Penrith.
Penrith? The only Penrith Sam knew was back home in New South Wales.
Where County Police Headquarters is, said Melton.
Careful now, Sam said, So you worked at HQ? That meant promotion?
Oh yes. Gradual. Sergeant Inspector Super Chief Super I ended up as the Countys Head of CID.
He eyed her mischievously as he slowly went through the ranks.
Oh shit, she thought.
Thats great, she enthused. You must have loved it here to want to come back.
He frowned and said, Loved it? Illthwaite?