scrupulously clean, looking out and up to the slope of Sittaford Beacon. Charles's room was a small slit facing the front if the house and the lane, containing a bed and a microscopic chest of drawers and washstand.
“The great thing is,” he observed after the driver of the car had disposed his suitcase upon the bed, and had been duly paid and thanked, “that we are here. If we don't know all there is to be known about everyone living in Sittaford within the next quarter of an hour, I'll eat my hat.”
Ten minutes later, they were sitting downstairs in the comfortable kitchen, being introduced to Curtis, a rather gruff looking gray haired old man, and being regaled with strong tea, bread and butter, Devonshire cream and hard boiled eggs. While they ate and drank they listened. Within half an hour they knew everything there was to be known about the inhabitants of the small community.
First there was Miss Percehouse, who lived in No. 4 The Cottages, a spinster of uncertain years and temper who had come down here to die, according to Mrs Curtis, six years ago.
"But believe it or not, Miss, the air of Sittaford is that healthy that she picked up from the day she came. Wonderfully pure air for lungs it is.
“Miss Percehouse has a nephew who occasionally comes down to see her,” she went on, “and indeed he's staying with her at the present time. Seeing to it that the money doesn't go out of the family, that's what he's doing. Very dull for a young gentleman at this time of year. But there, there's more ways than one of amusing yourself, and his coming has been a providence for the young lady at Sittaford House. Poor young thing, the idea of bringing her to that great barrack of a house in the winter time. Selfish is what some mothers are. A very pretty young lady, too. Mr Ronald Garfield is up there as often as he can be without neglecting Miss Percehouse.”
Charles Enderby and Emily exchanged glances. Charles remembered that Ronald Garfield had been mentioned as one of the party present at the table turning.
“The cottage this side of mine, No. 6,” continued Mrs Curtis, "has only just been took. Gentleman of the name of Duke. That is if you would call him a gentleman. Of course, he may be and he may not. There's no saying, folks aren't so particular nowadays as they used to be. He's been made free of the place in the heartiest manner. A bashful sort of gentleman he is - might be a military gentleman from the look of him, but somehow he hasn't got the manner. Not like Major Burnaby, that you would know as a military gentleman the first time you clapped eyes on him.
"No. 3, that's Mr Rycroft's, little elderly gentleman. They do say that he used to go after birds to outlandish parts for the British Museum. What they call a naturalist he is. Always out and roaming over the moor when the weather permits. And he has a very fine library of books. His cottage is nearly all bookcases.
"No. 2 is an invalid gentleman's, a Captain Wyatt with an Indian servant. And poor fellow he does feel the cold, he does. The servant I mean, not the Captain. Coming from warm outlandish parts, it's no wonder. The heat they keep up inside the house would frighten you. It's like walking into an oven.
“No. 1 is Major Burnaby's cottage. Lives by himself he does, and I go in to do for him early mornings. He is a very neat gentleman, he is, and very particular. He and Captain Trevelyan were as thick as thieves. Friends of a lifetime they were. And they both have the same kind of outlandish heads stuck up on the walls.”
“As for Mrs Willett and Miss Willett, that's what no one can make out. Plenty of money there. Amos Parker at Exhampton they deal with, and he tells me their weekly book comes to well over eight pounds or nine pounds. You wouldn't believe the eggs that goes into that house! Brought their maid servants from Exeter with them, they did, but they don't like it and want to leave, and I'm sure I don't blame them. Mrs Willet,
“The great thing is,” he observed after the driver of the car had disposed his suitcase upon the bed, and had been duly paid and thanked, “that we are here. If we don't know all there is to be known about everyone living in Sittaford within the next quarter of an hour, I'll eat my hat.”
Ten minutes later, they were sitting downstairs in the comfortable kitchen, being introduced to Curtis, a rather gruff looking gray haired old man, and being regaled with strong tea, bread and butter, Devonshire cream and hard boiled eggs. While they ate and drank they listened. Within half an hour they knew everything there was to be known about the inhabitants of the small community.
First there was Miss Percehouse, who lived in No. 4 The Cottages, a spinster of uncertain years and temper who had come down here to die, according to Mrs Curtis, six years ago.
"But believe it or not, Miss, the air of Sittaford is that healthy that she picked up from the day she came. Wonderfully pure air for lungs it is.
“Miss Percehouse has a nephew who occasionally comes down to see her,” she went on, “and indeed he's staying with her at the present time. Seeing to it that the money doesn't go out of the family, that's what he's doing. Very dull for a young gentleman at this time of year. But there, there's more ways than one of amusing yourself, and his coming has been a providence for the young lady at Sittaford House. Poor young thing, the idea of bringing her to that great barrack of a house in the winter time. Selfish is what some mothers are. A very pretty young lady, too. Mr Ronald Garfield is up there as often as he can be without neglecting Miss Percehouse.”
Charles Enderby and Emily exchanged glances. Charles remembered that Ronald Garfield had been mentioned as one of the party present at the table turning.
“The cottage this side of mine, No. 6,” continued Mrs Curtis, "has only just been took. Gentleman of the name of Duke. That is if you would call him a gentleman. Of course, he may be and he may not. There's no saying, folks aren't so particular nowadays as they used to be. He's been made free of the place in the heartiest manner. A bashful sort of gentleman he is - might be a military gentleman from the look of him, but somehow he hasn't got the manner. Not like Major Burnaby, that you would know as a military gentleman the first time you clapped eyes on him.
"No. 3, that's Mr Rycroft's, little elderly gentleman. They do say that he used to go after birds to outlandish parts for the British Museum. What they call a naturalist he is. Always out and roaming over the moor when the weather permits. And he has a very fine library of books. His cottage is nearly all bookcases.
"No. 2 is an invalid gentleman's, a Captain Wyatt with an Indian servant. And poor fellow he does feel the cold, he does. The servant I mean, not the Captain. Coming from warm outlandish parts, it's no wonder. The heat they keep up inside the house would frighten you. It's like walking into an oven.
“No. 1 is Major Burnaby's cottage. Lives by himself he does, and I go in to do for him early mornings. He is a very neat gentleman, he is, and very particular. He and Captain Trevelyan were as thick as thieves. Friends of a lifetime they were. And they both have the same kind of outlandish heads stuck up on the walls.”
“As for Mrs Willett and Miss Willett, that's what no one can make out. Plenty of money there. Amos Parker at Exhampton they deal with, and he tells me their weekly book comes to well over eight pounds or nine pounds. You wouldn't believe the eggs that goes into that house! Brought their maid servants from Exeter with them, they did, but they don't like it and want to leave, and I'm sure I don't blame them. Mrs Willet,
Similar Books
