swelled at the beauty of the place. Ivy cascaded down the stone wall at the front and onto the footpath. It was probably all that was holding the stones together.
The gate she would have to pass was in such contrast to the old walls. The intricacies of the scrolls and angles of the black metalwork took her breath away. The garden would look lovely in spring with daffodils and crocuses blooming.
The latticed windows made her feel like Gretel wanting to take a peek inside the Gingerbread House. The thatched roof had eaves that hung down above the front door. Thatch always made her think of spiders. She’d hated spiders since she was small. One had fallen on her face and she remembered her screams as she tried to get rid of it.
The knocker on the solid wooden door was a collection of bent metal that might have resembled something once. With one hand holding the book to her chest, she reached out and almost touched the metal. An odd feeling stopped her, as if opening this door was going to reveal much more than the interior of the house. Common sense needed to kick in soon, or the cops would be called for a suspected burglar.
Taking a deep breath, she placed the book on the step and turned away. This was silly. She was acting like a love-struck schoolgirl. Her hand went to her bag. She fingered the stag necklace. Turning away, she heard the front door opening.
“Hello. Can I help you? Oh, I think you’ve dropped something.”
A petite gray-haired lady stood smiling in the doorway. Cara bit her bottom lip. She cringed as if she had been caught with her fingers in the cookie jar.
“I’m Cara. I brought it for Mr. Scanlon.” The woman raised her eyebrows. “He wanted it from the bookshop. He had a special order in and I got it. I wanted him to have it so he could cancel his order.”
Get it, got it, good, no, never mind . Message to self, Never get interrogated by the police, they’ll need a translator. Cara thought.
“Do come in then. Seth will be glad he didn’t miss you.”
The woman turned towards the interior of the house. She clutched the package in her arms. Cara glanced at her van. She could pretend she hadn’t heard anything. Then the smell of baking assailed her. What was cooking inside? Something created a wonderful aroma. She had to find out what the woman was making. It was sweet, yet there was something spicy about it.
The woman from the front door was asking her to sit down in a beautiful cottage kitchen. There was an Aga cooker, and knick-knacks everywhere. The windowsill had potted plants on it. The dresser shelves were covered with everything from plates, thimbles, and candleholders to little statues. A beautiful embroidered cloth covered the table. Cara ran her fingers over the delicate stitching that depicted alternating red and pink roses. It reminded her of what Nanna used to make.
“Did that one years ago. We need a new one really. Hate to throw things out though. Where are my manners? I didn’t introduce myself, Janet Markham, Seth’s housekeeper; then again I suppose he told you that.” Janet placed the cups and saucers plus a large mug down on the table. A tin was taken off a shelf and cookies arranged on a plate. “Freshly made this morning. Seth doesn’t like shop bought as you would know.”
“I only met Mr. Scanlon briefly.” That was an understatement. Janet was talking as if they were old friends.
“It’s nice to have visitors. I keep telling him he spends too much time out in his forge, or on those statues. Men like to have their hobbies though, don’t they?”
Cara suspected this wasn’t a question Janet expected to have answered and just smiled in reply. She reckoned Janet to be in her sixties. She wore dark blue dungarees with brown marks on the knees from gardening. The brown jumper underneath looked as if it had been badly hand-knitted. Her long graying hair was done up in a French bun and she had gold jewelry draped around her neck. She gave the appearance
The gate she would have to pass was in such contrast to the old walls. The intricacies of the scrolls and angles of the black metalwork took her breath away. The garden would look lovely in spring with daffodils and crocuses blooming.
The latticed windows made her feel like Gretel wanting to take a peek inside the Gingerbread House. The thatched roof had eaves that hung down above the front door. Thatch always made her think of spiders. She’d hated spiders since she was small. One had fallen on her face and she remembered her screams as she tried to get rid of it.
The knocker on the solid wooden door was a collection of bent metal that might have resembled something once. With one hand holding the book to her chest, she reached out and almost touched the metal. An odd feeling stopped her, as if opening this door was going to reveal much more than the interior of the house. Common sense needed to kick in soon, or the cops would be called for a suspected burglar.
Taking a deep breath, she placed the book on the step and turned away. This was silly. She was acting like a love-struck schoolgirl. Her hand went to her bag. She fingered the stag necklace. Turning away, she heard the front door opening.
“Hello. Can I help you? Oh, I think you’ve dropped something.”
A petite gray-haired lady stood smiling in the doorway. Cara bit her bottom lip. She cringed as if she had been caught with her fingers in the cookie jar.
“I’m Cara. I brought it for Mr. Scanlon.” The woman raised her eyebrows. “He wanted it from the bookshop. He had a special order in and I got it. I wanted him to have it so he could cancel his order.”
Get it, got it, good, no, never mind . Message to self, Never get interrogated by the police, they’ll need a translator. Cara thought.
“Do come in then. Seth will be glad he didn’t miss you.”
The woman turned towards the interior of the house. She clutched the package in her arms. Cara glanced at her van. She could pretend she hadn’t heard anything. Then the smell of baking assailed her. What was cooking inside? Something created a wonderful aroma. She had to find out what the woman was making. It was sweet, yet there was something spicy about it.
The woman from the front door was asking her to sit down in a beautiful cottage kitchen. There was an Aga cooker, and knick-knacks everywhere. The windowsill had potted plants on it. The dresser shelves were covered with everything from plates, thimbles, and candleholders to little statues. A beautiful embroidered cloth covered the table. Cara ran her fingers over the delicate stitching that depicted alternating red and pink roses. It reminded her of what Nanna used to make.
“Did that one years ago. We need a new one really. Hate to throw things out though. Where are my manners? I didn’t introduce myself, Janet Markham, Seth’s housekeeper; then again I suppose he told you that.” Janet placed the cups and saucers plus a large mug down on the table. A tin was taken off a shelf and cookies arranged on a plate. “Freshly made this morning. Seth doesn’t like shop bought as you would know.”
“I only met Mr. Scanlon briefly.” That was an understatement. Janet was talking as if they were old friends.
“It’s nice to have visitors. I keep telling him he spends too much time out in his forge, or on those statues. Men like to have their hobbies though, don’t they?”
Cara suspected this wasn’t a question Janet expected to have answered and just smiled in reply. She reckoned Janet to be in her sixties. She wore dark blue dungarees with brown marks on the knees from gardening. The brown jumper underneath looked as if it had been badly hand-knitted. Her long graying hair was done up in a French bun and she had gold jewelry draped around her neck. She gave the appearance
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