way.
It was dark so when they stopped outside an impressive set of gates Blake was sure that he must be mistaken.
‘You think I don’t know my own house? I’m not that drunk,’ he said.
Blake would have left him there but the fresh air seemed to make him worse, so he helped him through the gates and up the long drive which had trees at either side, to an impressive and unusual-looking house of great size. In several places the roof came to points with arched windows beneath and there were jutting windows with great stone surrounds. Blake thought it was too big for anyone to live in, bigger even than the Hall where the Harlingtons lived. Blake found the main door and knocked hard but nothing happened and then he saw a bell and pushed that and after a short while the door opened and a girl stood there. She was the prettiest girl that Blake had ever seen, not conventionally beautiful like Annie but sparkling somehow. He put it down to her fine expensive clothes which were stunning on her. She wore cream in varying shades, totally impractical, and she had brown eyes and copper-coloured hair and she wore lipstick.
‘Oh, he hasn’t done it again?’ she said, and turning away slightly she shouted, ‘Daddy, Simon’s drunk.’
‘You pig,’ her brother said steadily, for Blake knew that only a sister would give you away like that and where he came from even sisters didn’t always, but when the biggest man he had ever seen came out of some room further along the hall Blake could see why she had not hesitated. He must have been about six foot four and towered above everyone. He was heavily-built and wore a suit and he had a beard and a lot of thick white hair.
‘You scoundrel, when are you going to learn?’ he admonished Simon and then he turned on Blake a pair of warm smiling brown eyes, like velvet. ‘Well, young man,’ he said, ‘and are you drunk too?’
The girl closed the front door behind Blake.
‘I don’t drink,’ Blake said.
‘Not a drop? Not one of these Methodists, are you?’
‘No. Church of England.’
The big man threw back his head and roared with laughter for some reason.
‘In that case you’d better bring some tea to the sitting-room, Irene.’
Blake protested. Simon staggered off upstairs but Blake was ushered into a big room which was cosy with a fire and after a short while Irene came in with a tea tray herself which Blake had not expected. Didn’t rich people have servants? He had always thought that they would, like Harlingtons and Vanes. On the tray were small sandwiches and a large fruit cake and since he had eaten nothing since early that morning Blake had several sandwiches and two pieces of fruit cake before he remembered his manners.
Having explained hesitantly that he didn’t know their son even before the tea tray arrived, Blake was surprised to be the receiver of such hospitality. Also from the beginning he felt a sympathy for the family because the mother did not appear and Blake assumed from then that there was no mother and he knew all about that.
‘I am Sylvester Richmond,’ the man said, ‘and what is your name?’
‘Blake. David Blake. People don’t call me by my first name.’
‘Don’t they? Why not?’
‘I don’t know. Most of them just don’t.’
‘It seems a perfectly good name. Perhaps you don’t like it?’
Blake had never thought about this.
‘You’re not from here?’ Mr Richmond said.
‘No. I come from a farm in the country. I’m staying with a family in Seaton Town while I look for work.’
‘That could be difficult.’
‘It is.’
After Irene came back with the tea Blake sneaked several looks at her. She really was very pretty but nothing like Annie. Annie would never have sat around pouring tea like that into red and gold cups with saucers but it suited Irene. He thought that she was the first real lady he had ever met and though there were women in the dale who thought they were ladies none of them had Irene’s
It was dark so when they stopped outside an impressive set of gates Blake was sure that he must be mistaken.
‘You think I don’t know my own house? I’m not that drunk,’ he said.
Blake would have left him there but the fresh air seemed to make him worse, so he helped him through the gates and up the long drive which had trees at either side, to an impressive and unusual-looking house of great size. In several places the roof came to points with arched windows beneath and there were jutting windows with great stone surrounds. Blake thought it was too big for anyone to live in, bigger even than the Hall where the Harlingtons lived. Blake found the main door and knocked hard but nothing happened and then he saw a bell and pushed that and after a short while the door opened and a girl stood there. She was the prettiest girl that Blake had ever seen, not conventionally beautiful like Annie but sparkling somehow. He put it down to her fine expensive clothes which were stunning on her. She wore cream in varying shades, totally impractical, and she had brown eyes and copper-coloured hair and she wore lipstick.
‘Oh, he hasn’t done it again?’ she said, and turning away slightly she shouted, ‘Daddy, Simon’s drunk.’
‘You pig,’ her brother said steadily, for Blake knew that only a sister would give you away like that and where he came from even sisters didn’t always, but when the biggest man he had ever seen came out of some room further along the hall Blake could see why she had not hesitated. He must have been about six foot four and towered above everyone. He was heavily-built and wore a suit and he had a beard and a lot of thick white hair.
‘You scoundrel, when are you going to learn?’ he admonished Simon and then he turned on Blake a pair of warm smiling brown eyes, like velvet. ‘Well, young man,’ he said, ‘and are you drunk too?’
The girl closed the front door behind Blake.
‘I don’t drink,’ Blake said.
‘Not a drop? Not one of these Methodists, are you?’
‘No. Church of England.’
The big man threw back his head and roared with laughter for some reason.
‘In that case you’d better bring some tea to the sitting-room, Irene.’
Blake protested. Simon staggered off upstairs but Blake was ushered into a big room which was cosy with a fire and after a short while Irene came in with a tea tray herself which Blake had not expected. Didn’t rich people have servants? He had always thought that they would, like Harlingtons and Vanes. On the tray were small sandwiches and a large fruit cake and since he had eaten nothing since early that morning Blake had several sandwiches and two pieces of fruit cake before he remembered his manners.
Having explained hesitantly that he didn’t know their son even before the tea tray arrived, Blake was surprised to be the receiver of such hospitality. Also from the beginning he felt a sympathy for the family because the mother did not appear and Blake assumed from then that there was no mother and he knew all about that.
‘I am Sylvester Richmond,’ the man said, ‘and what is your name?’
‘Blake. David Blake. People don’t call me by my first name.’
‘Don’t they? Why not?’
‘I don’t know. Most of them just don’t.’
‘It seems a perfectly good name. Perhaps you don’t like it?’
Blake had never thought about this.
‘You’re not from here?’ Mr Richmond said.
‘No. I come from a farm in the country. I’m staying with a family in Seaton Town while I look for work.’
‘That could be difficult.’
‘It is.’
After Irene came back with the tea Blake sneaked several looks at her. She really was very pretty but nothing like Annie. Annie would never have sat around pouring tea like that into red and gold cups with saucers but it suited Irene. He thought that she was the first real lady he had ever met and though there were women in the dale who thought they were ladies none of them had Irene’s
Similar Books
