Whisper Of Darkness. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ as the housekeeper opened the door. ‘I’m afraid I can’t stomach fried food in the mornings.’

      Mrs Harris pursed her lips. ‘You mean to say my fried eggs, sausages and bacon are going to be wasted?’

      Joanna tried to hide her grimace. ‘I’m sorry.’ She was tempted to add, give them to the dogs, but she was glad she decided against it when Mrs Harris continued:

      ‘I’ll have to tell Mr Sheldon about this,’ she declared, with the inevitable sniff. ‘He can’t afford for good food to go to waste. Like as not, he’ll suggest that I warm it up for your lunch, so don’t imagine you can pick and choose here like you used to in London.’

      The door closed behind her, and Joanna’s shoulders sagged. She wondered whether Mrs Harris would believe her if she told her that at home finances had been so tight that the idea of having bacon, eggs and sausages for breakfast would have been an unthinkable extravagance. It was true, she had never eaten a big breakfast, but that was mostly because at boarding school the food had been so appalling, and in Switzerland she had grown accustomed to the continental style of eating.

      Still, there was no time now to sit and reflect on the past. Evidently she was expected to start work at nine o’clock, and it would probably take her half the time she had to pull herself together.

      The cup of tea helped, despite the fact that it was thick and black, and far too sweet for her taste. But at least it was restoring, and she got out of bed afterwards with a little more enthusiasm.

      The lino was icy to her toes, which certainly quickened her actions. Slipping her feet into slippers, she padded over to the washbasin, and after sluicing her face in lukewarm water and cleaning her teeth, she hastily put on the first things that came to hand. The purple corded jeans were blessedly warm, and she found a matching polo-necked sweater that dispelled the gooseflesh from her arms.

      Her hair presented more of a problem, but she managed to coil it into a loose-fitting knot, although she was aware that the tendrils which persisted in falling about her ears gave it a far too casual appearance. Nevertheless, it would have to do until later, she decided, after an anxious examination of her watch, and after applying a shiny lipstick she hurriedly descended the stairs.

      Once again she had the dining room to herself, the early sun highlighting the dents and stains that marked the heavy sideboard, and reflecting off windows grimy with the dust of months. However Mrs Harris filled her time, it was not in housework, thought Joanna grimly, realising that her mother would have dismissed the woman the minute she saw this place.

      A congealing mess of bacon, sausages and broken eggs was set for Joanna’s inspection, and she heaved a sigh of impatience. She had explained she didn’t want the fried food, but the housekeeper had ignored her instructions. There was also toast—cold, she discovered, and tea instead of coffee.

      It was too much. With a feeling of intense frustration, Joanna marched to the door, then stepped back in confusion as she almost collided with her employer. This morning he had not shaved as yet, and the shadow of his beard darkened his already swarthy skin. His black hair, and it was black, she saw, although streaked with grey in places, was rumpled, as if he had been threading his fingers through it, and he seemed to be wearing the same clothes as he had worn the night before. His scarred appearance seemed more obvious this morning, accentuated as it was by gauntness and exhaustion and a certain red-rimmed weariness about his eyes. She wondered for an awful moment whether he had joined the notorious Matt Coulston in his drinking bout, but there was no slurring of Jake Sheldon’s speech when he said harshly: ‘So you’ve decided to get up at last, Miss Seton. When you’ve had your breakfast, perhaps you and I could have a few words.’

      Joanna glanced back at the table, and then took a deep breath. ‘As a matter of fact, I wanted to have a few words with you, Mr Sheldon,’ she stated, refusing to be intimidated by his grim countenance. ‘I’m afraid I don’t eat a cooked breakfast. I never have, and what’s more, I prefer coffee in the mornings, not tea.’

      ‘Oh, you do, do you?’ His expression had not changed, though she perceived a faint hardening of the curiously cat-like eyes. ‘Well, perhaps you ought to take that up with Mrs Harris. She’s the housekeeper around here, not me.’

      ‘Is she?’ mumbled Joanna, under her breath, but he had heard her, and the dark brows descended.

      ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

      Joanna sighed. The last thing she wanted this early in their association was an argument about his housekeeping arrangements, and bending her head, she moved her shoulders in an offhand gesture.

      ‘Nothing,’ she said at last. ‘I—er—I’ll speak to Mrs Harris, as you say.’

      He seemed loath to leave it, though without her contribution he had no choice, but as he turned away she ventured: ‘When will—er—Antonia be ready to start her lessons, Mr Sheldon? And where would you like me to conduct them?’

      His frown was penetrating. A narrow concentration that made her wish she had waited for him to broach the subject. ‘You don’t know?’ he demanded. ‘Mrs Harris didn’t tell you?’

      ‘Tell me? Tell me what?’

      ‘Anya ran away yesterday evening. I’ve been out all night looking for her.’

      ‘No!’ Joanna was horrified. That explained the haggard appearance, the growth of beard on the jawline. ‘And have you found her? Do you know where she is? You should have woken me, I could have helped you.’

      ‘Really?’ His tone was sardonic. ‘When you’re the reason she ran away?’

      Joanna flushed. ‘Have you found her?’

      He heaved a heavy sigh. ‘I have a good idea where she is.’

      ‘Where?’

      He hesitated, as if reluctant to discuss it with her, and then he shrugged. ‘There’s a shepherd’s hut, up on the fell. I know she goes there sometimes. It’s about two miles from here, but until the mist lifts we haven’t a hope in hell of finding it.’

      ‘You knew that—last night?’

      ‘I guessed, after searching the woods around the house, and enquiring in the village.’

      ‘Then why didn’t you——’

      ‘—go searching the fell?’ He shook his head. ‘You don’t know this area very well, do you, Miss Seton? When the mist comes down, and at this time of the year it inevitably does, the fells are treacherous to an inexperienced climber like me. Even the rescue teams can’t turn out in weather like that. They have to wait till the mist clears, till they can see where they’re going.’

      Joanna glanced towards the windows. ‘But it’s clear now.’

      ‘It’s clearing,’ he agreed heavily. ‘As soon as I’ve changed my clothes, I’m going out after her. I only hope to God she got there in time.’

      Joanna made a helpless gesture. ‘But—staying out all night!’ She recalled the anxious moments she had had climbing the stairs the night before, the anticipation of childish pranks meant to deter her from staying. And all the while Antonia had not even been in the house. She felt hopelessly inadequate to combat such determination. ‘Wouldn’t she be afraid?’

      ‘Anya?’ СКАЧАТЬ