had worn to the Ritz, had a faintly antiquated look about them. 'More of your mother's Mainbocher?'
'Oh, these.' Tally looked down. 'No, Daddy's. They're his old school trousers. I found them when I was looking for something to wear in bed the other day. They're very warm. A bit worn out on the bottom, but I expect it was all that caning.' She flashed Jane a strained grin. Her fine, mouse hair was scraped haphazardly back in a rubber band, and there was a more anxious expression than usual in her clear, almost lashless grey eyes. Tally's pale cheeks with their dusting of patrician high colour seemed thinner, which made her snub nose with its red-tinged tip look odder than ever.
Mrs Ormondroyd had stomped off a while ago, but Jane suddenly realised they were not alone in the kitchen. A large, silent figure was standing at the back, making almost imperceptible sounds and movements at the large stone sink. Jane started in shock. It wasn't any old large, silent figure standing there. It was a Red Indian in the finest spaghetti Western tradition.
'Jane, this is Big Horn,' said Tally, following th<
90
direction of her astonished gaze. 'He's cooking lunch,' she added hastily, as if this somehow explained his appearance. Big Horn turned from his labours and walked slowly towards them, his large, bare feet moving soundlessly over the worn flagstones.
About seven feet tall, and naked from the waist up, he was impressively muscular, with a tan the same strong terracotta colour as Mrs Ormondroyd's tights. Above his deep-set, brilliant dark eyes, his centre-parted hair was thick, black and long, tightly plaited and wound with brightly-coloured thread. Across his torso he sported an impressive array of complex tattoos as well as several necklaces of shells and beads. From the waist down, what looked like a fringed apron of embroidered chamois leather seemed to be all that protected his modesty. Yet he was silently impressive, ready to take on General Custer at a moment's notice, despite being armed with nothing more than a slotted spoon.
'How do you do,' Jane said, smiling.
Big Horn inclined his large-featured head slightly. A faint smile thawed his thick, beautifully-cut lips and he raised one eyebrow a fraction of a centimetre.
'Big Horn and Mummy are on the Ayurvedic diet,' Tally explained, shepherding Jane out of the kitchen. 'They eat to suit their personality. By that reckoning,' she whispered, once they had reached the kitchen passage, 'Mummy's is all mung beans and Chinese worm tea. At least that's what Big Horn's been making all week.'
'How very unflattering,' said Jane. Tf someone was cooking to suit my personality I'd expect lobster and foie gras at the very least.'
'Well, Mrs Ormondroyd tried to cook a chicken,' said Tally, 'but as soon as Mummy saw it, she picked it up and
91
started waving it about over everyone's heads. According to her, raw poultry absorbs negative energy.'
Jane giggled. 'And what about negative smells? All those beans must have had an effect.'
'Yes,' confessed Tally. 'I suppose there have been some rather ripe odours about.' She screwed up her snub nose.
'I suppose you could call it,' chortled Jane, 'the Blast of the Mohicans.'
Tally giggled, just as the housekeeper came back down the passage and swept past them, her face as stony as the floor. The sound of her thighs swishing together in their tea-coloured tights faded into the kitchen. 'And Mrs Ormondroyd's been driven to distraction,' whispered Tally.
'I imagine she finds that mini-apron thing of his very distracting,' grinned Jane. 'I bet Big Horn's the most exciting thing to hit the Mullions kitchens since the days they had naked boys turning the spits.'
'I think you're probably right.' Tally pushed back the tattered green baize door at the end of the kitchen passage and stepped out into the Marble Hall, the freezing, lofty space at the heart of the house. The black and white chequer board Carrara which gave the hall its name
'Oh, these.' Tally looked down. 'No, Daddy's. They're his old school trousers. I found them when I was looking for something to wear in bed the other day. They're very warm. A bit worn out on the bottom, but I expect it was all that caning.' She flashed Jane a strained grin. Her fine, mouse hair was scraped haphazardly back in a rubber band, and there was a more anxious expression than usual in her clear, almost lashless grey eyes. Tally's pale cheeks with their dusting of patrician high colour seemed thinner, which made her snub nose with its red-tinged tip look odder than ever.
Mrs Ormondroyd had stomped off a while ago, but Jane suddenly realised they were not alone in the kitchen. A large, silent figure was standing at the back, making almost imperceptible sounds and movements at the large stone sink. Jane started in shock. It wasn't any old large, silent figure standing there. It was a Red Indian in the finest spaghetti Western tradition.
'Jane, this is Big Horn,' said Tally, following th<
90
direction of her astonished gaze. 'He's cooking lunch,' she added hastily, as if this somehow explained his appearance. Big Horn turned from his labours and walked slowly towards them, his large, bare feet moving soundlessly over the worn flagstones.
About seven feet tall, and naked from the waist up, he was impressively muscular, with a tan the same strong terracotta colour as Mrs Ormondroyd's tights. Above his deep-set, brilliant dark eyes, his centre-parted hair was thick, black and long, tightly plaited and wound with brightly-coloured thread. Across his torso he sported an impressive array of complex tattoos as well as several necklaces of shells and beads. From the waist down, what looked like a fringed apron of embroidered chamois leather seemed to be all that protected his modesty. Yet he was silently impressive, ready to take on General Custer at a moment's notice, despite being armed with nothing more than a slotted spoon.
'How do you do,' Jane said, smiling.
Big Horn inclined his large-featured head slightly. A faint smile thawed his thick, beautifully-cut lips and he raised one eyebrow a fraction of a centimetre.
'Big Horn and Mummy are on the Ayurvedic diet,' Tally explained, shepherding Jane out of the kitchen. 'They eat to suit their personality. By that reckoning,' she whispered, once they had reached the kitchen passage, 'Mummy's is all mung beans and Chinese worm tea. At least that's what Big Horn's been making all week.'
'How very unflattering,' said Jane. Tf someone was cooking to suit my personality I'd expect lobster and foie gras at the very least.'
'Well, Mrs Ormondroyd tried to cook a chicken,' said Tally, 'but as soon as Mummy saw it, she picked it up and
91
started waving it about over everyone's heads. According to her, raw poultry absorbs negative energy.'
Jane giggled. 'And what about negative smells? All those beans must have had an effect.'
'Yes,' confessed Tally. 'I suppose there have been some rather ripe odours about.' She screwed up her snub nose.
'I suppose you could call it,' chortled Jane, 'the Blast of the Mohicans.'
Tally giggled, just as the housekeeper came back down the passage and swept past them, her face as stony as the floor. The sound of her thighs swishing together in their tea-coloured tights faded into the kitchen. 'And Mrs Ormondroyd's been driven to distraction,' whispered Tally.
'I imagine she finds that mini-apron thing of his very distracting,' grinned Jane. 'I bet Big Horn's the most exciting thing to hit the Mullions kitchens since the days they had naked boys turning the spits.'
'I think you're probably right.' Tally pushed back the tattered green baize door at the end of the kitchen passage and stepped out into the Marble Hall, the freezing, lofty space at the heart of the house. The black and white chequer board Carrara which gave the hall its name
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