Read Online Buried Fire by Jonathan Stroud - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Stroud
Ads: Link
certainly what we should hope. Even if they are not, by acting now we can turn it into a minor aberration. If you think it a good idea, why not send him over to me, on some pretext or other, and I'll have a look at him and maybe have a quiet chat. It comes easier from some one less close, you know."
Sarah agreed to this with relief. It seemed very sensible.
"But where has he gone now?" she asked.
"He won't come to any harm, I'm sure of it. Besides, you say Stephen will be with him, and I'm sure he's a good pair of hands."
Sarah supposed he was. But then Mr Cleever gave a little exclamation. "Good heavens, I'd clean forgotten what I came to talk to you about in the first place. It's two things, really. Firstly, I want to speak to you in your capacity as estate agent. You still work for that big firm in Stanbridge, don't you? Good. Well – I have an estate! It's a farm, actually. Hardraker Farm, not too far. from here. Do you know it?"
Sarah did. Mr Cleever seemed pleased. "Good, that's what I hoped you'd say. Now, I don't actually own it, but I'm the executor of the estate. The previous owner, Old Mr Hardraker, died a few years ago, leaving the place in a dreadful state. He can't have worked it properly for thirty years, and it's in appalling disrepair. I've tried to find a new tenant, but no one will take it on, and it's completely deserted now. However, it does cover a lot of land, and now that I've been given leave to sell it, I'd like to get a valuation."
"I'd be glad to see it," said Sarah. "If you want to make an appointment—"
"Yes, that would be delightful. I'm a little busy over the next few days, but I shall ring you next week to arrange something. Thank you, Sarah; that's a weight off my mind. Now, the other thing. It's no less important either."
He paused, appearing to sort delicate words into the correct order in his mind. His smile, when it came, was a little pensive.
"It's about the Reverend Aubrey. About Tom."
Sarah waited, holding her glass with both hands.
"I know that you and Tom have – an understanding," Mr Cleever began slowly. "You must know him better than the rest of us. After all, it's been only a few months since he came here to St Wyndham's, and the pressures of modern pastoral work have kept him very busy . . ." He trailed off, as if unsure of himself.
"Are you saying he doesn't spend enough time with his parishioners?" asked Sarah, crisply.
"Not at all, not at all. He is, by all accounts, very industrious. Only – and I speak as a former church warden here, with some first hand experience – he is a little inclined to . . . go his own way. Perhaps he doesn't confide enough with those of us who are there to help in his ministry."
"Really, Mr Cleever, this is ridiculous. I am sure Tom does everything properly—"
"Forgive me, Sarah. This is not what I meant to say. He does confide in' us, quite regularly, and certainly has a close understanding with Miss Price. They make a very good team. No, what I wanted to ask you was whether anything has been pressing on his mind lately. He seems a trifle distracted."
Sarah didn't know of anything that might be the cause. She wasn't sure she had noticed it herself.
Mr Cleever finished his cup and flexed his fingers. "Of course. It's probably nothing at all – just my imagination. I'm sorry to have brought it up, only as parish councillor I need to be aware . . . Give my regards to Tom, when you see him. I've not called in on him today – I thought he'd have enough to do, what with the outrage this morning."
Sarah wanted to know what outrage this was.
"Oh, you haven't heard? I thought everyone knew by now. No, there was a break-in at the church last night. They believe the lost fragment of the cross was dug up and stolen. And .they have no idea who did it, or why. Very vexing indeed. Well, it is a long walk back and I must be going. I'm sure Tom will fill you in on the dreadful business when he has time. Don't forget to send young Michael
Sarah agreed to this with relief. It seemed very sensible.
"But where has he gone now?" she asked.
"He won't come to any harm, I'm sure of it. Besides, you say Stephen will be with him, and I'm sure he's a good pair of hands."
Sarah supposed he was. But then Mr Cleever gave a little exclamation. "Good heavens, I'd clean forgotten what I came to talk to you about in the first place. It's two things, really. Firstly, I want to speak to you in your capacity as estate agent. You still work for that big firm in Stanbridge, don't you? Good. Well – I have an estate! It's a farm, actually. Hardraker Farm, not too far. from here. Do you know it?"
Sarah did. Mr Cleever seemed pleased. "Good, that's what I hoped you'd say. Now, I don't actually own it, but I'm the executor of the estate. The previous owner, Old Mr Hardraker, died a few years ago, leaving the place in a dreadful state. He can't have worked it properly for thirty years, and it's in appalling disrepair. I've tried to find a new tenant, but no one will take it on, and it's completely deserted now. However, it does cover a lot of land, and now that I've been given leave to sell it, I'd like to get a valuation."
"I'd be glad to see it," said Sarah. "If you want to make an appointment—"
"Yes, that would be delightful. I'm a little busy over the next few days, but I shall ring you next week to arrange something. Thank you, Sarah; that's a weight off my mind. Now, the other thing. It's no less important either."
He paused, appearing to sort delicate words into the correct order in his mind. His smile, when it came, was a little pensive.
"It's about the Reverend Aubrey. About Tom."
Sarah waited, holding her glass with both hands.
"I know that you and Tom have – an understanding," Mr Cleever began slowly. "You must know him better than the rest of us. After all, it's been only a few months since he came here to St Wyndham's, and the pressures of modern pastoral work have kept him very busy . . ." He trailed off, as if unsure of himself.
"Are you saying he doesn't spend enough time with his parishioners?" asked Sarah, crisply.
"Not at all, not at all. He is, by all accounts, very industrious. Only – and I speak as a former church warden here, with some first hand experience – he is a little inclined to . . . go his own way. Perhaps he doesn't confide enough with those of us who are there to help in his ministry."
"Really, Mr Cleever, this is ridiculous. I am sure Tom does everything properly—"
"Forgive me, Sarah. This is not what I meant to say. He does confide in' us, quite regularly, and certainly has a close understanding with Miss Price. They make a very good team. No, what I wanted to ask you was whether anything has been pressing on his mind lately. He seems a trifle distracted."
Sarah didn't know of anything that might be the cause. She wasn't sure she had noticed it herself.
Mr Cleever finished his cup and flexed his fingers. "Of course. It's probably nothing at all – just my imagination. I'm sorry to have brought it up, only as parish councillor I need to be aware . . . Give my regards to Tom, when you see him. I've not called in on him today – I thought he'd have enough to do, what with the outrage this morning."
Sarah wanted to know what outrage this was.
"Oh, you haven't heard? I thought everyone knew by now. No, there was a break-in at the church last night. They believe the lost fragment of the cross was dug up and stolen. And .they have no idea who did it, or why. Very vexing indeed. Well, it is a long walk back and I must be going. I'm sure Tom will fill you in on the dreadful business when he has time. Don't forget to send young Michael
Similar Books
