his wife. ‘I think ye’ll agree that there’s more than three-thirds of savage hound in him, my dear,’ he said grimly, ‘or would you care for another closer look?’
Mrs Flawse gave him a very close look indeed and said she would not.
‘Then ye’ll not contradict me on the matter of eugenics, ma’am,’ he said, and shouted to Mr Dodd to drive on. ‘I have made a study of the subject and I’ll not be told I am wrong.’
Mrs Flawse kept her thoughts to herself. They were not nice ones. But they would keep. The carriage drew up at the back door and stopped. Mr Dodd came round through a sea of hounds.
‘Get them out the way, man,’ shouted Mr Flawse above the barks. ‘The wife is afraid of the creatures.’
The next moment Mr Dodd, flailing around him with the horsewhip, had cowed the hounds back across the yard. Mr Flawse got out and held his hand for Mrs Flawse. ‘You’ll not expect a man of my age to carry you across the door-stone,’ he said gallantly, ‘but Dodd will be my proxy. Dodd, carry your mistress.’
‘There’s absolutely no need …’ Mrs Flawse began but Mr Dodd had obeyed orders, and she found herself staring too closely for her peace of mind into his leering face as he clutched her to him and carried her into the house.
‘Thank you, Dodd,’ said Mr Flawse, following them in. ‘Ceremony has been observed. Put her down.’
For a horrid moment Mrs Flawse was clutched even tighter and Dodd’s face came closer to her own, but then he relaxed and set her on her feet in the kitchen. Mrs Flawse adjusted her dress before looking round.
‘I trust it meets with your approbation, my dear.’
It didn’t but Mrs Flawse said nothing. If the outsideof Flawse Hall had looked bleak, bare and infinitely forbidding, the kitchen, flagged with great stones, was authentically medieval. True there was a stone sink with a tap above it, which signified running if cold water, and the iron range had been made in the later stages of the Industrial Revolution; there was little else that was even vaguely modern. A bare wooden table stood in the middle of the room with benches on either side, and there were upright wooden seats with backs beside the range.
‘Settles,’ said Mr Flawse when Mrs Flawse looked inquiringly at them. ‘Dodd and the bastard use them of an evening.’
‘The bastard?’ said Mrs Flawse. ‘What bastard?’ But for once it was Mr Flawse’s turn to keep silent.
‘I’ll show ye the rest of the house,’ he said, and led the way out down a passage.
‘If it’s anything like the kitchen …’ Mrs Flawse began but it wasn’t. Where the kitchen had been bleak and bare, the rest of the Hall lived up to her expectations and was packed with fine furniture, tapestries, great portraits and the contributions of many generations and as many marriages. Mrs Flawse breathed a sigh of relief as she stood below the curved staircase and looked around her. In marrying old Mr Flawse she had done more than marry a man in his dotage, she had wedded herself to a fortune in antique furniture and fine silver. And from every wall a Flawse face looked down from old portraits, wigged Flawses, Flawses in uniform and Flawsesin fancy waistcoats, but the Flawse face was ever the same. Only in one corner did she find a small dark portrait that was not clearly identifiable as a Flawse.
‘Murkett Flawse, painted posthumously, I’m afraid,’ said the old man. Mrs Flawse studied the portrait more closely.
‘He must have died a peculiar death from the look of him,’ she said. Mr Flawse nodded.
‘Beheaded, ma’am, and I have an idea the executioner had a bad head that morning from over-indulgence the night before and took more chops than were rightly called for.’
Mrs Flawse withdrew from the horrid portrayal of Murkett Flawse’s head, and together they went from room to room. In each there was something to admire and in Mrs Flawse’s case to value. By the time they returned to the entrance
Mrs Flawse gave him a very close look indeed and said she would not.
‘Then ye’ll not contradict me on the matter of eugenics, ma’am,’ he said, and shouted to Mr Dodd to drive on. ‘I have made a study of the subject and I’ll not be told I am wrong.’
Mrs Flawse kept her thoughts to herself. They were not nice ones. But they would keep. The carriage drew up at the back door and stopped. Mr Dodd came round through a sea of hounds.
‘Get them out the way, man,’ shouted Mr Flawse above the barks. ‘The wife is afraid of the creatures.’
The next moment Mr Dodd, flailing around him with the horsewhip, had cowed the hounds back across the yard. Mr Flawse got out and held his hand for Mrs Flawse. ‘You’ll not expect a man of my age to carry you across the door-stone,’ he said gallantly, ‘but Dodd will be my proxy. Dodd, carry your mistress.’
‘There’s absolutely no need …’ Mrs Flawse began but Mr Dodd had obeyed orders, and she found herself staring too closely for her peace of mind into his leering face as he clutched her to him and carried her into the house.
‘Thank you, Dodd,’ said Mr Flawse, following them in. ‘Ceremony has been observed. Put her down.’
For a horrid moment Mrs Flawse was clutched even tighter and Dodd’s face came closer to her own, but then he relaxed and set her on her feet in the kitchen. Mrs Flawse adjusted her dress before looking round.
‘I trust it meets with your approbation, my dear.’
It didn’t but Mrs Flawse said nothing. If the outsideof Flawse Hall had looked bleak, bare and infinitely forbidding, the kitchen, flagged with great stones, was authentically medieval. True there was a stone sink with a tap above it, which signified running if cold water, and the iron range had been made in the later stages of the Industrial Revolution; there was little else that was even vaguely modern. A bare wooden table stood in the middle of the room with benches on either side, and there were upright wooden seats with backs beside the range.
‘Settles,’ said Mr Flawse when Mrs Flawse looked inquiringly at them. ‘Dodd and the bastard use them of an evening.’
‘The bastard?’ said Mrs Flawse. ‘What bastard?’ But for once it was Mr Flawse’s turn to keep silent.
‘I’ll show ye the rest of the house,’ he said, and led the way out down a passage.
‘If it’s anything like the kitchen …’ Mrs Flawse began but it wasn’t. Where the kitchen had been bleak and bare, the rest of the Hall lived up to her expectations and was packed with fine furniture, tapestries, great portraits and the contributions of many generations and as many marriages. Mrs Flawse breathed a sigh of relief as she stood below the curved staircase and looked around her. In marrying old Mr Flawse she had done more than marry a man in his dotage, she had wedded herself to a fortune in antique furniture and fine silver. And from every wall a Flawse face looked down from old portraits, wigged Flawses, Flawses in uniform and Flawsesin fancy waistcoats, but the Flawse face was ever the same. Only in one corner did she find a small dark portrait that was not clearly identifiable as a Flawse.
‘Murkett Flawse, painted posthumously, I’m afraid,’ said the old man. Mrs Flawse studied the portrait more closely.
‘He must have died a peculiar death from the look of him,’ she said. Mr Flawse nodded.
‘Beheaded, ma’am, and I have an idea the executioner had a bad head that morning from over-indulgence the night before and took more chops than were rightly called for.’
Mrs Flawse withdrew from the horrid portrayal of Murkett Flawse’s head, and together they went from room to room. In each there was something to admire and in Mrs Flawse’s case to value. By the time they returned to the entrance
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