Finders and Keepers by Catrin Collier Page B

It’s a mystery to me why they had to go and put a lot of infectious people in Madame Patti’s castle in the first place. Poor woman would turn in her grave if she could see what they’ve done to her home. It was lovely in her day, and I should know. The late Mr Edwards and me were up there often enough, serving stout and ale at the parties she gave the locals. If we get any more cases of TB in the valley than we had in her time, we’ll know exactly where to lay the blame.’
    â€˜The doctor in charge and his staff take every precaution not to spread the disease outside of the castle, Mrs Edwards.’
    She sniffed loudly. ‘Is the gentlemen’s supper ready?’ she asked Enfys, who had emerged from the kitchen quarters at the back of the inn with a tray of crockery and cutlery.
    Enfys nodded and disappeared into the dining parlour. Harry wondered if she were a mute or simply chose not to speak.
    â€˜Thank you again for arranging the telephone call, Mrs Edwards.’ He picked up his beer and followed Enfys into the parlour, which was furnished with an enormous oak dresser, long table and ten chairs. The walls were papered in a red stripe that wavered over every uneven bump and lump in the plaster.
    Toby Ross joined him a few minutes later, carrying his beer and whisky. He took the chair at the head of the table. ‘Cheers.’ he lifted his mug and sipped it.
    â€˜Cheers.’ Harry lifted his own glass.
    â€˜So, what were you doing at the sanatorium in the company of the Snow Queen?’
    Harry laughed. ‘Who christened Miss Adams that?’
    â€˜My uncle. He finds it preferable to believe she’s incapable of loving any man because her heart has been penetrated by an icicle than to accept her rejection of his advances.’
    â€˜Even after hearing Miss Adams call you both Mr Ross and seeing your uncle sketching, I didn’t realize your uncle was the Frank Ross. Mrs Edwards just told me.’
    â€˜The one and only.’ Toby sat back so Enfys could set a plate of steaming steak and kidney pudding and vegetables smothered in gravy in front of him. ‘At the risk of being thought rude and repeating myself, why were you at Craig-y-Nos?’
    â€˜My grandfather will be a patient there from tomorrow.’
    â€˜Tuberculosis?’ Toby sprinkled his plate with salt.
    â€˜And pneumoconiosis.’
    â€˜Then there’s no hope.’
    â€˜None.’ Harry almost choked on the word.
    â€˜There isn’t for my uncle. Not that I think of Frank as my uncle. He is, but he’s only eight years older than me, so we’ve been more like brothers than uncle and nephew. Especially since he became my guardian after my parents drowned when the Lusitania went down eleven years ago.’ Toby picked up his knife and fork and cut into the suet pastry.
    â€˜Eight years,’ Harry repeated in surprise. ‘But you can’t be much more than twenty-one.’
    â€˜Twenty-five. Frank is thirty-three but these days he looks more like sixty. I take it from what you’ve said that you’re familiar with his work?’
    â€˜I love it,’ Harry enthused. ‘I read English literature at Oxford but I’ve always wanted to study art. His illustrations for Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and The Shakespeare Folios were magnificent. I spent hours studying them when I should have been reading the text. But that’s not to say his other illustrations aren’t as good. It’s just that those are my favourites.’
    â€˜He’s been commissioned to illustrate Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur. The publisher almost had a fit when Frank was diagnosed. He wanted to commission another artist, but after some argument he agreed that as long as Frank planned out and oversaw the designs, I could do the actual sketching and painting. That’s not to say I have any illusions about my talent. I’m the apprentice to Frank’s