The Murder Room by P. D. James

apparent untouched innocence. He could raise the lids and gaze at the world with a wide-eyed and disarming insouciance, or disconcertingly dart a sudden glance, both sly and knowledgeable. This dichotomy mirrored what he knew; odd snippets of sophistication which he picked up as he might fragments of litter from the drive, combined with an astonishing ignorance of wide areas of knowledge which her generation acquired before they left school.
    She had found him by placing a card on the vacant jobs board of a local newsagent. Mrs. Faraday, the volunteer responsible for the garden, had pointed out that the sweeping up of leaves and some of the heavier pruning of shrubs and young trees had become too much for her. It was she who had suggested the card rather than an approach to the local job centre. Tally had given the telephone number of the cottage and had made no mention of the museum. When Ryan phoned, she had interviewed him with Mrs. Faraday and they had been inclined to take him on for a month’s trial. Before he left she had asked for a reference.
    â€œIs there anyone, Ryan, someone you have worked for, who could write and recommend you?”
    â€œI work for the Major. I clean his silver and do odd jobs about the flat. I’ll ask him.”
    He had given no further information, but a letter had arrived from an address in Maida Vale within two days:
    Dear Madam. Ryan Archer tells me you are thinking of offering him the job of handyman/gardener’s boy. He is not particularly handy but has done some household chores for me satisfactorily and shows willingness to learn if interested. I have no experience of his gardening ability, if any, but I doubt whether he can distinguish a pansy from a petunia. His timekeeping is erratic but when he arrives he is capable of hard work under supervision. In my experience people are either honest or dishonest and either way there is nothing to be done about it. The boy is honest.
    On this less than enthusiastic recommendation, and with Mrs. Faraday’s endorsement, she had taken him on.
    Miss Caroline had shown little interest and Muriel had disclaimed all responsibility. “The domestic arrangements are for you, Tally. I don’t wish to interfere. Miss Caroline has agreed that he’ll receive the national minimum wage and I will pay him from my petty cash each day before he leaves. I shall, of course, require a receipt. If he needs protective clothing, that can come out of petty cash too, but you’d better buy it and not leave it to him. He can do the heavy cleaning of the floor here, including the stairs, but I don’t want him in any other part of the museum except under supervision.”
    Tally had explained, “Major Arkwright, who provided his reference, says he’s honest.”
    â€œSo he may be, but he could be a talker, and we’ve no way of knowing whether his friends are honest. I think Mrs. Faraday and you had better make a formal report on his progress after his month’s trial.”
    Tally had reflected that, for someone who had no wish to interfere in domestic affairs, Muriel was behaving true to form. But the experiment had worked. Ryan was certainly unpredictable—she could never be sure whether he would turn up when expected—but he had become more reliable as the months passed, no doubt because he needed cash in hand at the end of the day. If not an enthusiastic worker, he certainly wasn’t a slacker and Mrs. Faraday, never easy to please, seemed to like him.
    This morning Tally had made chicken soup from the bones she had boiled up from last night’s supper, and now he was sipping it with evident enjoyment, thin fingers warming on the mug.
    He said, “Does it take a lot of courage to kill someone?”
    â€œI’ve never thought of murderers as courageous, Ryan. They’re more likely to be cowards. Sometimes it can take more courage not to murder.”
    â€œI don’t know what you mean,