Mr Vanringham, not to discuss the matter.'
There had come over her classically modelled face an almost visible glaze of ice, and so intimidating was this that Joe decided to humour her wishes. Already his lower slopes were beginning to freeze.
'All right,' he said resignedly. 'Well, what's the tariff?'
'Thirty pounds a week.'
'Including use of bath?'
'There is a bathroom attached to the room which you would occupy.'
'What, in an English country house?'
'Walsingford Hall was thoroughly modernized by Sir Buckstone's predecessah. I can assure you that you would be quite comfortable.'
'But are bathrooms everything?'
'Sir Buckstone has an excellent chef
'Is food everything, Miss Whittaker?'
'If you are thinking of your fellow guests—'
'Frankly, I am. I saw a film the other day, the action of which took place on Devil's Island, and the society there struck me as being very mixed. Nothing of that sort here, I trust?'
'Sir Buckstone's guests are all socially impeccable.'
'Are what?'
'Socially impeccable.'
'I'll bet you can't say that ten times, quick.'
Prudence Whittaker maintained a proud silence.
'And now,' said Joe, 'the most important thing of all. What about the treatment of the inmates? I will be quite frank with you, Miss Whittaker. I have just come from the village, and there are ugly stories going about down there. People are talking. They say that as the ploughman homeward plods his weary way of an evening, he sometimes hears screams coming from Walsingford Hall.'
A shapely foot began to tap the terraced turf.
'Of course,' said Joe, 'I quite realize that in an institution like this you must have discipline. Please don't think me a foolish sentimentalist. If the order has gone out that the gang is to play croquet, and Number 6408, let us say, wants to play hopscotch, naturally, you have to be firm. I understand that. It is as if somebody on a Continental tour tried to sneak off to Beautiful Naples when Mr Cook had said they were to go to Lovely Lucerne. But discipline is one thing, harshness another. There is a difference between firmness and brutality.'
'Mr Vanringham—'
'I am told that when one of the paying guests tried to escape last week he was chased across the ice with bloodhounds. Was that right, Miss Whittaker? Was that humane? There are limits, surely?'
'Mr Vanringham, do you desi-ah a room, or do you not? I am a little busy this morning.'
'You aren't in the least busy this morning. When I came up, all you were doing was just standing there with blinding tears of wild regret in your eyes, thinking of Tubby.'
'Mr Vanringham!'
'Miss Whittaker?'
'Do you or do you not—'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'Very good. I will go and see to it.'
She walked away, a dignified, disdainful figure. And Joe, though there were a number of things he would have liked to ask her – whether, for example, the American honour system was in operation at Walsingford Hall and what she thought of his chances of becoming a trusty – did not seek to detain her.
He had other work to do. That thrumming hunting crop of Sir Buckstone's had given him the inspiration which he had been seeking ever since Tubby had failed him, and it was his desire at the earliest possible moment to establish connection with Adrian Peake.
He crossed the terrace and started off down the steep dusty road that led to the Goose and Gander.
Adrian Peake had finished his breakfast and was smoking a cigarette on the rustic bench outside the inn's parlour. He was gazing up at Walsingford Hall.
Much had happened to disturb Adrian Peake this morning. He had not liked meeting Joe. The ham had been as bad as yesterday's, and the coffee worse. And he had started the day badly by having a broken night, due partly to the eerie lapping of the water against the side of the boat, partly to the scratching noise which had brought back to his mind Jane's unfortunate
remark about the water rats' club, and partly to the unknown bird, which, rising at five sharp, had
There had come over her classically modelled face an almost visible glaze of ice, and so intimidating was this that Joe decided to humour her wishes. Already his lower slopes were beginning to freeze.
'All right,' he said resignedly. 'Well, what's the tariff?'
'Thirty pounds a week.'
'Including use of bath?'
'There is a bathroom attached to the room which you would occupy.'
'What, in an English country house?'
'Walsingford Hall was thoroughly modernized by Sir Buckstone's predecessah. I can assure you that you would be quite comfortable.'
'But are bathrooms everything?'
'Sir Buckstone has an excellent chef
'Is food everything, Miss Whittaker?'
'If you are thinking of your fellow guests—'
'Frankly, I am. I saw a film the other day, the action of which took place on Devil's Island, and the society there struck me as being very mixed. Nothing of that sort here, I trust?'
'Sir Buckstone's guests are all socially impeccable.'
'Are what?'
'Socially impeccable.'
'I'll bet you can't say that ten times, quick.'
Prudence Whittaker maintained a proud silence.
'And now,' said Joe, 'the most important thing of all. What about the treatment of the inmates? I will be quite frank with you, Miss Whittaker. I have just come from the village, and there are ugly stories going about down there. People are talking. They say that as the ploughman homeward plods his weary way of an evening, he sometimes hears screams coming from Walsingford Hall.'
A shapely foot began to tap the terraced turf.
'Of course,' said Joe, 'I quite realize that in an institution like this you must have discipline. Please don't think me a foolish sentimentalist. If the order has gone out that the gang is to play croquet, and Number 6408, let us say, wants to play hopscotch, naturally, you have to be firm. I understand that. It is as if somebody on a Continental tour tried to sneak off to Beautiful Naples when Mr Cook had said they were to go to Lovely Lucerne. But discipline is one thing, harshness another. There is a difference between firmness and brutality.'
'Mr Vanringham—'
'I am told that when one of the paying guests tried to escape last week he was chased across the ice with bloodhounds. Was that right, Miss Whittaker? Was that humane? There are limits, surely?'
'Mr Vanringham, do you desi-ah a room, or do you not? I am a little busy this morning.'
'You aren't in the least busy this morning. When I came up, all you were doing was just standing there with blinding tears of wild regret in your eyes, thinking of Tubby.'
'Mr Vanringham!'
'Miss Whittaker?'
'Do you or do you not—'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'Very good. I will go and see to it.'
She walked away, a dignified, disdainful figure. And Joe, though there were a number of things he would have liked to ask her – whether, for example, the American honour system was in operation at Walsingford Hall and what she thought of his chances of becoming a trusty – did not seek to detain her.
He had other work to do. That thrumming hunting crop of Sir Buckstone's had given him the inspiration which he had been seeking ever since Tubby had failed him, and it was his desire at the earliest possible moment to establish connection with Adrian Peake.
He crossed the terrace and started off down the steep dusty road that led to the Goose and Gander.
Adrian Peake had finished his breakfast and was smoking a cigarette on the rustic bench outside the inn's parlour. He was gazing up at Walsingford Hall.
Much had happened to disturb Adrian Peake this morning. He had not liked meeting Joe. The ham had been as bad as yesterday's, and the coffee worse. And he had started the day badly by having a broken night, due partly to the eerie lapping of the water against the side of the boat, partly to the scratching noise which had brought back to his mind Jane's unfortunate
remark about the water rats' club, and partly to the unknown bird, which, rising at five sharp, had
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