Read Online The Prayer of the Night Shepherd by Phil Rickman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Phil Rickman
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address Jane like a real mate, a colleague. Nat had clearly been around, and not only in hotels and restaurants.
‘Unexpected guests?’ Jane looked over at the car park and saw Jeremy’s old Daihatsu 4×4, which Nat must be using, and Ben’s MG, and that was all.
‘If only,’ Nat said.
The letter was crinkly and discoloured, and some of the print had smudged. Amber flattened it out on the baronial island unit, slid it across to Jane and switched on the halogen spotlights.
‘I had to dry it on the stove. Ben threw it in the sink on his way out.’
‘Oh.’ Jane looked at the letter but didn’t pick it up. ‘It’s OK to...?’
‘Please do,’ Amber said. ‘Otherwise you’ll spend the rest of the night wondering why he’s drinking too much and smashing things. Anyway, you’re one of us now.’
Jane felt a grateful blush coming on. She picked up the letter. It was printed on what she guessed to be very expensive, fine-quality vellum, and it was brief and kind of shocking.
The Baker Street League
Dear Foley,
As expected, the management committee of The League has confirmed my decision in regard to its annual conference and the Stanner Hall Hotel.
I was mildly diverted to hear of your intention to develop the link between the hotel, Doyle and The Hound . However, as the majority of my members firmly reject this theory, they did not feel it would be appropriate to associate the name of The League with your establishment.
Sincerely,
pp Dr N.P. Kennedy,
Hon. Secretary.
Jane let the letter fall to the island unit. ‘PP? And it’s not even signed by anybody. That’s like... deliberately insulting, isn’t it?’
‘No, it’s... probably just careless.’ Amber’s doll-like face was squashed-in with strain, her hair pushed back over her high forehead.
‘Amber, the bastard blatantly led Ben to think you were going to get the conference. I heard him.’
Natalie pushed the letter away with a forefinger. ‘He was hardly going to say that to Ben’s face, was he?’
‘Yeah, but he...’ Jane felt personally hurt, remembering the way that Ben had forced himself to smarm the guy. That’s terrific, Neil .
‘Perhaps Kennedy had pressures we don’t know about,’ Amber said. ‘There’s nothing we can do, anyway.’
‘You did say Ben knew other members of this outfit, though, didn’t you? Maybe he can find out what the real reason is.’
‘That probably is the real reason, Jane. They don’t believe the story. They think we’re pulling some scam.’
Jane sat down on a wooden stool. ‘I don’t really understand what that’s about – The Hound of the Baskervilles . When I read the book, it was set in Devon.’
‘Dartmoor.’ Amber leaned over her corner of the island, elbows on a double oven glove with burn marks on it.
‘The Grimpen Mire.’ Jane shuddered. In the book, a wild pony had been sucked to its death in the bog; she’d hated reading that. She’d probably been about twelve. She’d hated what happened to the hound, too. She might have wept at the time. And, anyway, it was all a con. You were led to believe it was going to be supernatural, and it wasn’t. ‘So like, is there some suggestion that Conan Doyle wrote it here?’
Amber shook her head. ‘Not exactly. The story hangs on the legend of a ghostly hound which is a sign of death for the Baskerville family. So, OK, there was a Baskerville family in this area. Long-established, wealthy... They had a castle or something at Eardisley, which is only about six miles up the road. And there’s a pub called the Baskerville Arms over at Clyro, which is just over the other side of Brilley Mountain.’
‘And did they have a ghostly hound?’
‘No, but the Vaughan family did. They lived at Hergest Court, which is only a mile or so away from here, across the valley. There was a hound that was supposed to mean death for someone in the family if it was seen. And it has been seen. Apparently. Over the years.’
‘To this
‘Unexpected guests?’ Jane looked over at the car park and saw Jeremy’s old Daihatsu 4×4, which Nat must be using, and Ben’s MG, and that was all.
‘If only,’ Nat said.
The letter was crinkly and discoloured, and some of the print had smudged. Amber flattened it out on the baronial island unit, slid it across to Jane and switched on the halogen spotlights.
‘I had to dry it on the stove. Ben threw it in the sink on his way out.’
‘Oh.’ Jane looked at the letter but didn’t pick it up. ‘It’s OK to...?’
‘Please do,’ Amber said. ‘Otherwise you’ll spend the rest of the night wondering why he’s drinking too much and smashing things. Anyway, you’re one of us now.’
Jane felt a grateful blush coming on. She picked up the letter. It was printed on what she guessed to be very expensive, fine-quality vellum, and it was brief and kind of shocking.
The Baker Street League
Dear Foley,
As expected, the management committee of The League has confirmed my decision in regard to its annual conference and the Stanner Hall Hotel.
I was mildly diverted to hear of your intention to develop the link between the hotel, Doyle and The Hound . However, as the majority of my members firmly reject this theory, they did not feel it would be appropriate to associate the name of The League with your establishment.
Sincerely,
pp Dr N.P. Kennedy,
Hon. Secretary.
Jane let the letter fall to the island unit. ‘PP? And it’s not even signed by anybody. That’s like... deliberately insulting, isn’t it?’
‘No, it’s... probably just careless.’ Amber’s doll-like face was squashed-in with strain, her hair pushed back over her high forehead.
‘Amber, the bastard blatantly led Ben to think you were going to get the conference. I heard him.’
Natalie pushed the letter away with a forefinger. ‘He was hardly going to say that to Ben’s face, was he?’
‘Yeah, but he...’ Jane felt personally hurt, remembering the way that Ben had forced himself to smarm the guy. That’s terrific, Neil .
‘Perhaps Kennedy had pressures we don’t know about,’ Amber said. ‘There’s nothing we can do, anyway.’
‘You did say Ben knew other members of this outfit, though, didn’t you? Maybe he can find out what the real reason is.’
‘That probably is the real reason, Jane. They don’t believe the story. They think we’re pulling some scam.’
Jane sat down on a wooden stool. ‘I don’t really understand what that’s about – The Hound of the Baskervilles . When I read the book, it was set in Devon.’
‘Dartmoor.’ Amber leaned over her corner of the island, elbows on a double oven glove with burn marks on it.
‘The Grimpen Mire.’ Jane shuddered. In the book, a wild pony had been sucked to its death in the bog; she’d hated reading that. She’d probably been about twelve. She’d hated what happened to the hound, too. She might have wept at the time. And, anyway, it was all a con. You were led to believe it was going to be supernatural, and it wasn’t. ‘So like, is there some suggestion that Conan Doyle wrote it here?’
Amber shook her head. ‘Not exactly. The story hangs on the legend of a ghostly hound which is a sign of death for the Baskerville family. So, OK, there was a Baskerville family in this area. Long-established, wealthy... They had a castle or something at Eardisley, which is only about six miles up the road. And there’s a pub called the Baskerville Arms over at Clyro, which is just over the other side of Brilley Mountain.’
‘And did they have a ghostly hound?’
‘No, but the Vaughan family did. They lived at Hergest Court, which is only a mile or so away from here, across the valley. There was a hound that was supposed to mean death for someone in the family if it was seen. And it has been seen. Apparently. Over the years.’
‘To this
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