The Devil in Clevely (Afternoon of an Autocrat) by Norah Lofts Page B
Authors: Norah Lofts
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stood. If he didn't have better sense than you do we'd have run you down. Fancy you, of all people, believing those daft old tales.' He was pleased to find this proof of weakness and human feeling in her.
'Well, maybe it was silly.' She thought for a second. 'Yes, it was silly...but all alone, in the dark...And I had another reason. Squire was found dead just here only a little while back.'
'Squire? Good God! Is that really true?'
'Mrs Hart herself told me. I went up to the house with these...Oh, where are those boots?' She felt about in the darkness while Danny said slowly: 'That's wonderful; the very best thing that could happen.'
'I don't see why.' she said, stooping to gather up the parcel. 'My father'll miss his custom; so will a lot of other people.'
'There'll be a new Squire, silly. Younger and not so set in his ways. Nobody could be so pig-headed as the old man was. Ha ha; now we can all go ahead and get on.'
'That's what I must do now. I was late to start with, and I've still got a long way to go.' She pulled the hood of her cloak into place.
'Where are you now?' Danny asked.
'The same place. Muchanger.'
'Then what are you doing on this road? The Turnpike's shorter and doesn't have ghosts.'
'This is a bit shorter from the Manor end of the village; I told you, I went up with these boots. And I have another reason.'
'Meeting somebody?' He wasn't yet aware that the answer to that question mattered to him; he asked it teasingly.
'No, I wasn't. That's just the sort of thing you would think, Danny Fuller.'
'I only asked,' he said, 'because I thought you might get scared again...alone, in the dark, with all these ghosts about. Lady Alice, dead and buried hundreds of years I I am surprised at you.'
'I'm surprised at myself. But...being frightened was part of it...part of why I was on this road, I mean. And perhaps...Well, I must get along now.'
'I tell you what,' he said. 'You hop up and I'll turn round and drive you to Muchanger.'
'That's very kind of you. Thank you very much, but I'd rather walk.'
'Why?'
She stood silently, trying to put her reason into words that would not sound too offensive. 'You aren't afraid of me, surely.'
'Not afraid,' Damask said. She added, speaking slowly, so that what she said should be precise and unmistakable, 'But somebody might see us. And any girl you ever look at is talked about, you know that. I don't want people saying that I'm one of your jilts.'
'Don't talk so daft,' he said. 'Who's to see us? You can't go lugging that great parcel all the way to Much-anger and getting scared again. If you don't get in the cart I shall turn round and drive slowly alongside; then, if there was anybody to see, you would be talked about. Come on, now, hop up.'
She still hesitated, engaged in one of her inward debates. It was dark; she was late and the parcel was heavy. Also, in her hour of need Danny had arrived; it looked as if God had sent him. Perhaps it would be all right. 'Well, thank you very much.' she said. Danny climbed nimbly into the cart and held out his hand to help her up.
The old horse turned unwillingly and went slowly in the direction which for him was all wrong, leading as it did away from his stable, his well-earned supper. Danny did nothing to hurry him.
The seat of the cart was a plank, stretched from side to side and capable of being removed when the vehicle was needed for farm work; one half of this seat was occupied at the moment by a big linen bag full of snippets of silk and velvet which Danny had that afternoon collected from Miss Jackson, the dressmaker. Mrs Fuller, during the long winter evenings which were her only leisure, occupied herself by making patchwork quilts which were popular in the six parishes as 'bride gifts'. She had a standing arrangement with her cousin the dressmaker by which all 'pieces' were exchanged for a dressed fowl, a dozen eggs, a loin of pork and a pound of butter now and again.
Earlier in the afternoon, seeing Danny off to
'Well, maybe it was silly.' She thought for a second. 'Yes, it was silly...but all alone, in the dark...And I had another reason. Squire was found dead just here only a little while back.'
'Squire? Good God! Is that really true?'
'Mrs Hart herself told me. I went up to the house with these...Oh, where are those boots?' She felt about in the darkness while Danny said slowly: 'That's wonderful; the very best thing that could happen.'
'I don't see why.' she said, stooping to gather up the parcel. 'My father'll miss his custom; so will a lot of other people.'
'There'll be a new Squire, silly. Younger and not so set in his ways. Nobody could be so pig-headed as the old man was. Ha ha; now we can all go ahead and get on.'
'That's what I must do now. I was late to start with, and I've still got a long way to go.' She pulled the hood of her cloak into place.
'Where are you now?' Danny asked.
'The same place. Muchanger.'
'Then what are you doing on this road? The Turnpike's shorter and doesn't have ghosts.'
'This is a bit shorter from the Manor end of the village; I told you, I went up with these boots. And I have another reason.'
'Meeting somebody?' He wasn't yet aware that the answer to that question mattered to him; he asked it teasingly.
'No, I wasn't. That's just the sort of thing you would think, Danny Fuller.'
'I only asked,' he said, 'because I thought you might get scared again...alone, in the dark, with all these ghosts about. Lady Alice, dead and buried hundreds of years I I am surprised at you.'
'I'm surprised at myself. But...being frightened was part of it...part of why I was on this road, I mean. And perhaps...Well, I must get along now.'
'I tell you what,' he said. 'You hop up and I'll turn round and drive you to Muchanger.'
'That's very kind of you. Thank you very much, but I'd rather walk.'
'Why?'
She stood silently, trying to put her reason into words that would not sound too offensive. 'You aren't afraid of me, surely.'
'Not afraid,' Damask said. She added, speaking slowly, so that what she said should be precise and unmistakable, 'But somebody might see us. And any girl you ever look at is talked about, you know that. I don't want people saying that I'm one of your jilts.'
'Don't talk so daft,' he said. 'Who's to see us? You can't go lugging that great parcel all the way to Much-anger and getting scared again. If you don't get in the cart I shall turn round and drive slowly alongside; then, if there was anybody to see, you would be talked about. Come on, now, hop up.'
She still hesitated, engaged in one of her inward debates. It was dark; she was late and the parcel was heavy. Also, in her hour of need Danny had arrived; it looked as if God had sent him. Perhaps it would be all right. 'Well, thank you very much.' she said. Danny climbed nimbly into the cart and held out his hand to help her up.
The old horse turned unwillingly and went slowly in the direction which for him was all wrong, leading as it did away from his stable, his well-earned supper. Danny did nothing to hurry him.
The seat of the cart was a plank, stretched from side to side and capable of being removed when the vehicle was needed for farm work; one half of this seat was occupied at the moment by a big linen bag full of snippets of silk and velvet which Danny had that afternoon collected from Miss Jackson, the dressmaker. Mrs Fuller, during the long winter evenings which were her only leisure, occupied herself by making patchwork quilts which were popular in the six parishes as 'bride gifts'. She had a standing arrangement with her cousin the dressmaker by which all 'pieces' were exchanged for a dressed fowl, a dozen eggs, a loin of pork and a pound of butter now and again.
Earlier in the afternoon, seeing Danny off to
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