Read Online Down the Garden Path by Dorothy Cannell - Free Book Online Page A

spray of pins, and I forgot our quarrels, the woman in his bed. We were a team. We had always been a team.
    “I still say”—his voice was muffled—”that your plot is mad, outrageous, and in all likelihood pointless.”
    Disengaging my arms I moved slowly away from him. I had to be reasonable, coherent, and imperturbable, all difficult when I was breathing in the giddy scent of his aftershave, becoming lulled by the idea that nothing was really that important outside this room.
    “Why mad, outrageous, pointless?”
    “Mad—because the chance of pulling the thing off is less than minimal, without a hidden ace—or two. Outrageous—because you know nothing about these women, and pointless—because you have no proof that your connection is to their family.”
    “Okay.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “We do have an ace up our sleeves. The Tramwells’ thirst for romance. Poor old pets, you only had to look at them to know the high points of their lives are shopping at Harrods twice a year and Princess Diana’s having another baby. In a way I think it is rather splendid that we can let them live out one of their fantasies. And as for not being related to their family, maybe I do want to believe I am descended from that other Tessa because it would all fit so well, but if I am wrong about that I still may discover something about my origins through being in that house. If my mother ...”
    “Tessa, why aren’t you more curious about your father?”
    “What do I need him for? I have Dad.”
    “But you can’t just ignore his role, even if you have no desire to know him.”
    I shook my head. “Fergy always said that she reckoned he was a sleeping partner in more ways than one, but I see him more as a hit-and-run motorist. If he had been around when my mother needed him, she wouldn’t have had to do what she did. Harry, you are going to help me, aren’t you? Please.”
    I reached out to him with both hands and he took them slowly.
    “Yes,” he said. “But for my reasons, not yours.” And I was too happy to wonder then what he meant.
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Chapter 3
    For all my bravado I did experience the occasional twinge of conscience at the prospect of tricking two innocent old ladies. And on the morning of the great event I could not get warm. Fergy’s words kept knelling in my ears. “God pays debts without money.” Although fortunately for her peace of mind she had no idea of what turn my wickedness had taken. She and Dad believed I was engaged in a farewell bed-and-breakfast tour of the Cotswolds. She wrote saying future correspondence would be directed to the Kings Ransome post office, that she was busily occupied in founding a new chapter of the Joyful Sounds, and in keeping the ladies away from Dad. What could be more captivating to predatory female instincts than a new clergyman with a spotlessly kept house? Yes, Fergy could see her work cut out for her, especially as Dad had displayed a certain uncharacteristic waywardness in inviting Vera’s sister Ruth to tea and actually requesting the silver pot.
    How innocent it all sounded. If Fergy had seen me that first night at Cloisters, lying in a narrow bed in what had been the nursery fifty years ago, she would have dragged me out by the hair. Lying back on my pillows, I looked about the room. Impossible not to feel the eeriness. A faint scent of dried lavender hung in the air, but it couldn’t cover the deadness. All those relics of spent childhood; the ink-stained desk, the arthritically slouched rocking horse, frayed picture books, and dolls. Those dolls were the worst, with their blind-eyed stiff china smiles. In the centre of the room was a full-sized swing suspended on thick ropes from rings in the high-beamed ceiling. Creak, creak. I did not relish waking in the dark to the sound of a gibbet out on the windswept moor.
    Well, what was I complaining about? My amateur theatrical production demanded atmosphere, didn’t it? It also demanded that