Whispers in the Dark by Jonathan Aycliffe Page A

task. I propose to arrive in Newcastle tomorrow in the company of two of my best men. Can you please arrange for someone to meet us at the station and for accommodations in a suitable hotel? Will you also please ensure that we are supplied with a full description of the boy, with a photograph, if possible, and details of how he came to be missing? The services of a clerk with good local knowledge would prove invaluable. I am, sir, your faithful servant, Josiah Endicott.’ ”
    Anthony returned the paper to his pocket, then looking across the table at me, asked, “How do you find the roly-poly, Charlotte? It is to your liking, I trust?”
    “Oh, yes, very much.”
    “And the custard? It is not too thin, I hope?”
    I shook my head violently.
    “No, no, not at all. It is quite how I like it. Quite how I . . .”
    I hesitated.
    “Remember it?” asked Antonia.
    I nodded. Was that why they had arranged for nursery food to be served at dinner, to awaken a memory in me?
    “Mrs. Johnson made it specially. Do remember to thank her later.”
    “I shall. I shall indeed.”
    “Now, Charlotte,” resumed Anthony, “you realize that I shall have to ask you for details of Arthur. To send to Mr. Endicott.”
    “Send to him?” I glanced up. “But surely he will come here?”
    Anthony shook his head.
    “Why, no. It is much too out of the way here. It would only cause an unnecessary delay.”
    “I see. But surely he will wish to speak to me. Perhaps I should go to Newcastle. I can tell him everything I remember. And I have some lovely photographs.”
    “That will not be necessary, Charlotte dear.” Antonia smiled. “You are still fatigued by your journey here. A description will suffice.”
    “You and I shall sit down after dinner, Charlotte,” Anthony continued, “and you shall tell me all there is to know about your brother. And I will put the photographs into Mr. Endicott’s hands personally. You have my word. Now, you must have another helping of roly-poly. And I shall have another as well: it must be twenty years and more since I had any, and I do confess, it is still my favorite.”
    He cut another fat slice and slipped it onto my plate. Jam ran out onto the dish, staining it red. Then yellow custard was poured over it. I felt a little sick. My stomach, unused to such rich food, was turning ever so slightly.
    “Mrs. Johnson will be sorely disappointed if you do not do justice to her cooking, Charlotte. She wants to see red roses in your cheeks again. As do we all.”
    I smiled and picked up my spoon. As I did so I shivered. The room had grown suddenly cold, as though a draft had rushed in from somewhere, but there was a Chinese screen between us and the door. The fire was still blazing as redly as ever. I saw a look pass between my cousins. They had noticed the sudden chill as well.
    “I think you should close a window, Anthony. It has grown quite chilly in here.”
    Anthony gave her a strange look, then nodded and got to his feet. He went across the room and made as though pushing the sash more firmly shut. But when he returned to his seat, the temperature in the room was still low. The problem did not lie in a partly open window, I was sure of that. But why the pantomime?
    Antonia smiled at me and reached for her wineglass. I noticed that her hand shook slightly. She lifted the glass and sipped a little wine. The room began to feel warm again, as quickly as it had grown cold. Antonia glanced at me.
    “Charlotte has been reading to me, Anthony.”
    He raised one eyebrow.
    “Really? How splendid. I hope she has been reading something improving. You are much in need of improvement, my dear.”
    “That is unkind of you. She has been reading from Charlotte Bronte. Jane Eyre . We have already made considerable progress. This afternoon we reached the part where Jane meets Mr. Lloyd, the apothecary.”
    “That is most excellent progress.” He turned to me. “Do not let her tire you, Charlotte. My sister will listen