Read Online The Strange Fate of Kitty Easton by Elizabeth Speller, Georgina Capel - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Speller, Georgina Capel
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seen her do before, and headed for the doorway, nearly bumping into Eleanor, who was closely followed by Julian.
Maggie hovered, awkwardly, trying to get past the new arrivals.
‘It looks as if my brother’s already been availing himself of your fruit cake,’ Patrick said, giving Maggie a pat on the back as she left the room.
Julian looked impassive but a spot of colour burned on each cheek. Compared with his younger brother, he did look a bit solid, despite his hours walking the estate, Laurence thought. Julian’s movements were slower too, his features more amiable but less classically handsome.
Eleanor stepped forward and shook hands with Patrick. Laurence had seldom seen her so demure.
‘My husband’s just sorting out tomorrow’s plan of work,’ she said. ‘He hopes you’ll forgive him.’
Eventually Julian moved forward and shook hands with his brother.
‘Patrick.’
Both seemed to be gauging the other’s reaction. Frances was pouring tea but, as she straightened up and handed a cup to her sister, she too was watching the two men.
‘Good journey?’ Julian asked.
‘Not bad. Warmer here than Greece, funnily enough. Outside, anyway. This house was always so damned cold.’
Patrick rubbed his hands together in an exaggerated fashion, taking a fresh cup of tea from Eleanor.
Julian bent down and rubbed Scout’s ears.
‘Is that Otter still, or son of Otter?’ Patrick asked.
Julian fiddled with the dog’s collar. ‘Daughter of Otter,’ he said. ‘Scout.’
‘He’s always had the same breed of dog,’ Patrick explained to Eleanor, ‘as did my father before him. A single dynasty of small but indomitable terriers. Inbred and not very bright. But fearless.’ He reached down to pat the dog but Scout bared her teeth.
‘Give her time,’ said Julian. ‘She doesn’t like strangers.’ He ruffled her neck again. ‘Well, I’ve promised to help William—but we can talk at dinner perhaps?’
Without waiting for an answer he walked out. Scout shot ahead, her paws skidding on the flagged corridor. They heard Julian’s footsteps retreat and the baize door at the end of hall thudded shut.
Lydia seemed nonplussed, her eyes following Julian to the door. Patrick sat, seemingly relaxed, in the window seat, one leg crossed over the other, looking out for some minutes as if putting some distance between himself and the rest of them. Eleanor raised her eyebrows and Frances shook her head, almost imperceptibly. Eventually Patrick turned back to the others.
‘You’ve really made some changes, Lydia. You’ve done marvellously well.’
‘Well, it’s tidy, at least, but in another month—’
‘The first time I came back after the war, I wished I’d never come back.’ He directed his gaze at Laurence. ‘It was February. The whole place was still in mourning. As for this,’ he pointed towards the garden, ‘except for the small borders by the house, they hadn’t been able to keep it up in the war. It had grown and rotted year after year. It was bitterly cold when I arrived, I remember that clearly ... Your new man?’
‘David,’ said Frances. ‘Not very new now.’
‘He picked me up. Didn’t talk much. He didn’t have to. We passed through the village. Some chimney smoke. Some bare beanpoles. An empty wood store. A couple of boarded-up windows. Two scared-looking children peering from a doorway. A woman in black trudging up the lane. David slowed to pass her. She looked like a witch, with her arms wrapped round herself and bent over in the cold, but when she raised her head she was young under her shawl and must have been beautiful. Perhaps I’d known her once—I used to know everyone in Easton—but she just stared at me. I’d left the Hall and Digby and the village, all unchanged and prospering, and I’d come back to a landscape of death. Even the drive was overgrown. Dead trees, branches we had to swerve around. When I got out, blackened weeds crunched underfoot.’
Frances
Maggie hovered, awkwardly, trying to get past the new arrivals.
‘It looks as if my brother’s already been availing himself of your fruit cake,’ Patrick said, giving Maggie a pat on the back as she left the room.
Julian looked impassive but a spot of colour burned on each cheek. Compared with his younger brother, he did look a bit solid, despite his hours walking the estate, Laurence thought. Julian’s movements were slower too, his features more amiable but less classically handsome.
Eleanor stepped forward and shook hands with Patrick. Laurence had seldom seen her so demure.
‘My husband’s just sorting out tomorrow’s plan of work,’ she said. ‘He hopes you’ll forgive him.’
Eventually Julian moved forward and shook hands with his brother.
‘Patrick.’
Both seemed to be gauging the other’s reaction. Frances was pouring tea but, as she straightened up and handed a cup to her sister, she too was watching the two men.
‘Good journey?’ Julian asked.
‘Not bad. Warmer here than Greece, funnily enough. Outside, anyway. This house was always so damned cold.’
Patrick rubbed his hands together in an exaggerated fashion, taking a fresh cup of tea from Eleanor.
Julian bent down and rubbed Scout’s ears.
‘Is that Otter still, or son of Otter?’ Patrick asked.
Julian fiddled with the dog’s collar. ‘Daughter of Otter,’ he said. ‘Scout.’
‘He’s always had the same breed of dog,’ Patrick explained to Eleanor, ‘as did my father before him. A single dynasty of small but indomitable terriers. Inbred and not very bright. But fearless.’ He reached down to pat the dog but Scout bared her teeth.
‘Give her time,’ said Julian. ‘She doesn’t like strangers.’ He ruffled her neck again. ‘Well, I’ve promised to help William—but we can talk at dinner perhaps?’
Without waiting for an answer he walked out. Scout shot ahead, her paws skidding on the flagged corridor. They heard Julian’s footsteps retreat and the baize door at the end of hall thudded shut.
Lydia seemed nonplussed, her eyes following Julian to the door. Patrick sat, seemingly relaxed, in the window seat, one leg crossed over the other, looking out for some minutes as if putting some distance between himself and the rest of them. Eleanor raised her eyebrows and Frances shook her head, almost imperceptibly. Eventually Patrick turned back to the others.
‘You’ve really made some changes, Lydia. You’ve done marvellously well.’
‘Well, it’s tidy, at least, but in another month—’
‘The first time I came back after the war, I wished I’d never come back.’ He directed his gaze at Laurence. ‘It was February. The whole place was still in mourning. As for this,’ he pointed towards the garden, ‘except for the small borders by the house, they hadn’t been able to keep it up in the war. It had grown and rotted year after year. It was bitterly cold when I arrived, I remember that clearly ... Your new man?’
‘David,’ said Frances. ‘Not very new now.’
‘He picked me up. Didn’t talk much. He didn’t have to. We passed through the village. Some chimney smoke. Some bare beanpoles. An empty wood store. A couple of boarded-up windows. Two scared-looking children peering from a doorway. A woman in black trudging up the lane. David slowed to pass her. She looked like a witch, with her arms wrapped round herself and bent over in the cold, but when she raised her head she was young under her shawl and must have been beautiful. Perhaps I’d known her once—I used to know everyone in Easton—but she just stared at me. I’d left the Hall and Digby and the village, all unchanged and prospering, and I’d come back to a landscape of death. Even the drive was overgrown. Dead trees, branches we had to swerve around. When I got out, blackened weeds crunched underfoot.’
Frances
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