Marlford by Jacqueline Yallop Page B

Machiavelli?’
    â€˜Not much. Why would I?’
    â€˜Why?’ Oscar seemed astounded by the question. ‘If I may say so, I would have considered a grounding in Machiavelli essential to a proper understanding of political science – indeed, to an understanding of how politics works anywhere, of how the world works anywhere – even here, in Marlford. We have several copies of The Prince in the library collection, one of which I have annotated with some care. I can direct you to the entry in the catalogue, if it is of interest.’
    â€˜Yeah, well… thanks, but I think I’ll give Machiavelli a miss, man.’ Dan smiled tightly. ‘It’s a bit – out of date.’
    Oscar reeled at the slight. ‘I think you’re mistaken. I consider it timeless. I find it unerringly apposite – I refer to it without hesitation.’ His eyes settled on Ellie for a moment, narrowing, as if he was making a calculation.
    When he spoke again, his voice had lost its enthusiasm. ‘May I ask who it is, then, that you read? Perhaps John Stuart Mill?’
    â€˜You want to know?’ Dan sniffed while he considered his answer. ‘Well then, Marx. And Guy Debord – and Lukács, of course.’ He uttered the names carelessly. ‘They’re modern, you know. Modern thinkers, man. Have you heard of them?’
    Oscar did not answer. He had found a loose threadon his sleeve and pulled it out between his thumb and forefinger, twisting it hard before pulling it sharply to sever it from the tweed.
    When the emergency tailoring was complete, he spoke abruptly. ‘I’m not sure this is quite your thing, Ellie. I think perhaps I should deal with this request myself.’
    â€˜I don’t think we can help him at all, can we, Mr Quersley?’ she replied. ‘I’ve never seen any of those names in the catalogues. I would remember.’
    He glared at her, a warning. ‘Perhaps if you could continue your research with these two little boys. They seem to have finished with the volume on automobiles.’
    The children were comparing the length of their middle fingers by measuring them with a wooden ruler, the books pushed to one side of them.
    Dan gestured loosely at the packed shelves. ‘I take it you haven’t got anything, then? No Debord hidden away amongst the knitting patterns or Mrs Beeton, or whatever it is.’
    Ellie collected the books from the boys’ table. ‘It’s a very good library,’ she said, firmly.
    â€˜Yeah, man, I suppose. If you need to read up on etiquette – or the rules of billiards.’ He snorted a quick laugh but did not quite meet her eyes. ‘Looks like the place is falling down, anyway. Perhaps that’s for the best.’
    Ellie was stiff. ‘If you need me, Mr Quersley, I’ll be with the boys.’
    â€˜Yes, yes. That’s quite right.’ Oscar offered her a slight bow and then moved thoughtfully towards Dan, addressing him in a strained undertone, anxious that Ellie should not hear him. ‘Young man… the names you mentioned– there’s nothing quite like that in the collection, I admit, although as regards historical material—’
    â€˜The world moves on, man.’
    â€˜Well, yes, indeed – quite so. And the philosophy of political economy is one that interests me a great deal. Perhaps if we were to talk—’ He felt the buzz of possibility in his head.
    â€˜No, I don’t think so. If there’s nothing to read, I’d probably rather help Ellie with her work.’ Dan shrugged. ‘Thanks, man.’
    â€˜Miss Barton does not work.’ Oscar was suddenly too loud. Everyone looked at him, surprised; even the two boys glanced at him fearfully, in case they were in trouble.
    â€˜No?’ Dan was confused. He frowned at Ellie. ‘I thought you said—’
    She tried to explain. ‘No – I meant… you see,