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Authors: Basil Copper
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aware that this member of a remarkable family was just as percipient and quick-witted as the rest of them.
‘There was something I wished to discuss with you, Professor,’ she went on, hesitating and resting one slim hand on the back of the big carved chair near the fire. Coleridge waited politely for her to sit before he took the chair opposite, a small occasional table between them.
‘I am at your disposal, Miss Homolky,’ he said, turning his eyes from her face to the details of her costume.
She wore green velveteen breeches tucked into tan riding boots, and they gave her a masculine look that was offset by the decidedly feminine curves of the legs beneath the thick material. A belted corduroy jacket of the same colour circled her trim waist, and a dark brown shirt, open-necked at the fine pillars of her throat, was topped by a red silk scarf which was knotted carelessly, with the art that conceals art, and thrust into the bosom of the shirt where firm breasts swelled beneath the jacket.
Coleridge knew he had been wise to put the table between them; he was not normally an impressionable man, but he knew this girl could have a powerful effect on members of the opposite sex. He had already noted the attraction that she had for the good-looking and enthusiastic young Dr. Raglan.
She moistened her full lips and went on rapidly, keeping her eyes turned down to the polished parquet which dully reflected the dancing flames of the fire.
‘I believe you witnessed an ugly incident which had taken place a short while before you arrived at the Castle?’
Coleridge inclined his head.
‘That is so. Your father seemed rather upset and asked me not to mention it in front of the family.’
The girl made a little dismissive gesture with her right hand, raising her eyes to fix his own.
‘Father has already told us the broad details, Professor. You may speak quite freely with me.’
Coleridge felt faint surprise rising within him, but his manner was noncommittal.
‘I know very little about it, Miss Homolky. I merely saw the remains of this poor fellow being brought back, and I gathered the details from my guide, who spoke to the priest about it.’
The girl nodded, her eyes still on Coleridge’s face.
‘Father Balaz. Yes. He is a good friend and often dines here. I have a particular reason for asking you about the matter. The man who died worked for my father and had been a loyal companion to me during my childhood.’
Her voice trembled a little, but her gaze was steady as she continued to regard her guest.
‘We are very close-knit in these communities, Professor Coleridge, even though we may appear to be separated in station and style of life from the village people. My mother and grandmother were also very upset.’
She broke off and looked almost fiercely into the fire before resuming.
‘There have been many wild stories in circulation. I would be grateful if you could tell me what you saw and heard last night.’
Coleridge shrugged.
‘There is little enough to tell, Miss Homolky.’
He related the events of the previous evening, his eyes turned down toward the parquet where the flames of the fire were reflected. The girl sat with one hand on the arm of the carved chair, her small knuckles showing white where she clutched it. Coleridge told her everything he could remember, leaving out the bloodier detail to spare the girl’s feelings.
There was no sound in the vast apartment except for the faint noise of the fire, and when he at last finished the girl gave a low, vibrant sigh that startled Coleridge by the depth of sorrow in it. His surprise must have shown on his face, for the blonde girl flushed slightly and put up her hand to brush the hair from her eyes.
‘You are a stranger here, Professor,’ she said gently, ‘and can know little of childhood ties forged under the dark and tragic circumstances of such an unfortunate country as mine.’
Coleridge looked her full in the eyes.
‘I can assure
‘There was something I wished to discuss with you, Professor,’ she went on, hesitating and resting one slim hand on the back of the big carved chair near the fire. Coleridge waited politely for her to sit before he took the chair opposite, a small occasional table between them.
‘I am at your disposal, Miss Homolky,’ he said, turning his eyes from her face to the details of her costume.
She wore green velveteen breeches tucked into tan riding boots, and they gave her a masculine look that was offset by the decidedly feminine curves of the legs beneath the thick material. A belted corduroy jacket of the same colour circled her trim waist, and a dark brown shirt, open-necked at the fine pillars of her throat, was topped by a red silk scarf which was knotted carelessly, with the art that conceals art, and thrust into the bosom of the shirt where firm breasts swelled beneath the jacket.
Coleridge knew he had been wise to put the table between them; he was not normally an impressionable man, but he knew this girl could have a powerful effect on members of the opposite sex. He had already noted the attraction that she had for the good-looking and enthusiastic young Dr. Raglan.
She moistened her full lips and went on rapidly, keeping her eyes turned down to the polished parquet which dully reflected the dancing flames of the fire.
‘I believe you witnessed an ugly incident which had taken place a short while before you arrived at the Castle?’
Coleridge inclined his head.
‘That is so. Your father seemed rather upset and asked me not to mention it in front of the family.’
The girl made a little dismissive gesture with her right hand, raising her eyes to fix his own.
‘Father has already told us the broad details, Professor. You may speak quite freely with me.’
Coleridge felt faint surprise rising within him, but his manner was noncommittal.
‘I know very little about it, Miss Homolky. I merely saw the remains of this poor fellow being brought back, and I gathered the details from my guide, who spoke to the priest about it.’
The girl nodded, her eyes still on Coleridge’s face.
‘Father Balaz. Yes. He is a good friend and often dines here. I have a particular reason for asking you about the matter. The man who died worked for my father and had been a loyal companion to me during my childhood.’
Her voice trembled a little, but her gaze was steady as she continued to regard her guest.
‘We are very close-knit in these communities, Professor Coleridge, even though we may appear to be separated in station and style of life from the village people. My mother and grandmother were also very upset.’
She broke off and looked almost fiercely into the fire before resuming.
‘There have been many wild stories in circulation. I would be grateful if you could tell me what you saw and heard last night.’
Coleridge shrugged.
‘There is little enough to tell, Miss Homolky.’
He related the events of the previous evening, his eyes turned down toward the parquet where the flames of the fire were reflected. The girl sat with one hand on the arm of the carved chair, her small knuckles showing white where she clutched it. Coleridge told her everything he could remember, leaving out the bloodier detail to spare the girl’s feelings.
There was no sound in the vast apartment except for the faint noise of the fire, and when he at last finished the girl gave a low, vibrant sigh that startled Coleridge by the depth of sorrow in it. His surprise must have shown on his face, for the blonde girl flushed slightly and put up her hand to brush the hair from her eyes.
‘You are a stranger here, Professor,’ she said gently, ‘and can know little of childhood ties forged under the dark and tragic circumstances of such an unfortunate country as mine.’
Coleridge looked her full in the eyes.
‘I can assure
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