Cat Carlisle Book 2. Terry Thomas Lynn

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СКАЧАТЬ our summer days, and then we get this. Let’s go in.’

      ‘It’s an awfully big house.’ Annie picked up her valise and the carryall that held her precious art supplies. ‘Sprawling even. What are we going to do with all this room?’ She headed up the path, which cut through two sloping lawns. Two raised beds had been placed in the sunniest spots. One held what Cat imagined was a picking garden. There were two rose bushes, delphiniums, foxgloves, and a myriad of other flowers Cat didn’t recognize. The other held rich, black soil that looked freshly tilled and in need of planting. She followed Annie up the brick path, thinking about flowers and gardens, and how she had so much to learn about both of them.

      The house was bigger than Cat remembered. Her childhood recollections were of a massive brick house, with large windows and lots of light. Now ivy grew up the sides. The brick that showed through the ivy had mellowed with age. The window frames glistened white with fresh paint, an acknowledgement someone had maintained the house, despite the shortage of workers. A woman wearing a black dress, white apron, and a severe look on her face opened the front door just as Cat and Annie approached. She took one look at them, and her severe expression broke into a lined smile, revealing even white teeth.

      ‘Catherine Paxton,’ the woman said. She stepped out of the house, wiping her hands on her apron as she came towards them. ‘I used to watch you when you were just a wee thing. You were a handful. Inquisitive little thing. And those red curls. Pretty as a summer’s day, you were.’

      ‘It’s Carlisle now, I’m afraid. Hello,’ Cat said. ‘You must be Bede Turner? Thanks for being here to greet us.’

      ‘Let me take those bags.’

      Cat looked at Annie, who smiled and shrugged her shoulders, as they stepped into the house. Memories flooded over Cat. She hadn’t been in the house for more than thirty years. Back then, the sweeping staircase that wound around the wall up to the second floor had been cluttered with books, coats, knapsacks, and other childhood detritus waiting to be carried up and put away. Now the stairs lay empty. The bannister gleamed with a high shine. A long trestle table rested against one wall, a single brass lamp sat on top of it. That, along with a rug large enough to cover a good part of the parquet floor, was the only furniture in the room. Cat liked the austerity of it.

      ‘I’ve always liked this part of the house. You might want to add more furniture, a bigger table,’ Bede said. ‘Follow me. I’ll just show you to your rooms.’ Bede headed up the stairs, chattering all the while. ‘If you don’t like where I’ve put you, no worries. You’ve got five to choose from. Mrs Carlisle, I thought you’d want the biggest room. It’s only proper.’

      She stopped at the room. ‘This is yours, miss.’ Annie stepped into her room and gasped. ‘It’s beautiful.’ She put her carryall down and rushed to the window. ‘Look at the view. I’m going to paint this. Tomorrow. First thing.’ A tall twin bed with a mahogany headboard was nestled against one wall. A vanity and mirror, along with a matching wardrobe had been placed opposite. The wardrobe had tall mirrors on its doors. They reflected the light from the windows. A small chaise had been tucked into the corner, a reading light next to it. Annie walked over to it. ‘Would it be all right if we moved this?’

      ‘Whatever for?’ Bede said.

      ‘I’m going to set up my studio here,’ Annie said. ‘I’m an artist.’

      Cat laughed. ‘Let’s just wait and see the rest of the house, Annie. We’ve plenty of room. You shall have a studio, but let’s get the lay of the land before we decide where it will be.’

      ‘Okay.’ Annie shrugged. ‘Thanks for carrying my bags up, Bede. I like to cook, and will help you in the kitchen if you want me to.’

      ‘Do you now?’ Bede said. ‘I’d welcome the company, miss. I’ll just show Mrs Carlisle to her room, and then I’ll be back to unpack for you. There’s fresh towels in the bathroom down the hall.’

      They left Annie unpacking her art supplies, a contented smile on her face.

      ‘She has a hard time accepting help with domestic chores,’ Cat whispered. ‘Feels guilty being waited on.’

      ‘She’s a painter? An artist? She’s just a girl.’

      ‘I know,’ Cat whispered back. ‘But she’s quite good. Even sold a couple of paintings. She wants to illustrate children’s books.’

      ‘Is she one of them child prodigies?’

      ‘You know, Bede, I believe she is.’ Cat stepped into her room. ‘This is absolutely perfect.’ The room was bigger than Annie’s, but it was situated in the corner of the house and had the benefit of windows on two walls. The furniture was old, made of heavy wood. The bed looked comfortable, with clean linen sheets and a peach silk counterpane. She pushed open a window and took deep breaths of the country air. Green fields seemed to stretch for miles before they reached the woods. The side windows showed a view of the road that led to the village. Farther along the lane was a brick house with a large garden surrounded by tall hedges.

      A sweep of memories came rushing back. In her mind’s eye she saw herself as a child, her long red braids dangling down her back as Beth pushed her on the swing that used to hang from the old oak tree. Beth’s family had their own house, but her parents travelled a lot, so Beth and Cat spent a lot of time at Beth’s Aunt Win’s. The tree had grown bigger in the twenty-plus years she had been gone. Its gnarled branches seemed to wave at her, as the memories came forth, unbidden. Cat closed her eyes and leaned against the windowsill. She saw her mum walking through the gate and up the path to Win’s house, come to fetch Cat home. Cat shook her head and pushed those memories away. Now wasn’t the time.

      ‘Whatever happened to Win Billings? Does she still live there?’

      Bede came to stand next to Cat. ‘Winifred Billings. That’s a sad story there. She had a car accident. Drove right off the Lea Road that leads to the village. Come to find out her brakes had been tampered with. She was murdered.’ Bede said the words slow, with dramatic emphasis.

      Cat turned to face Bede. ‘Murdered? Are you sure?’ This was a small village. Gossip spread quickly and was often embellished in the process.

      ‘It’s true. There was an inquest. I heard it with my own ears. Cliff Swan got up on the witness stand – he’s the village mechanic. Knows more about cars than anyone. I’m friends with his mum. He always had a talent for building things – has one of those mechanical minds. He testified under oath someone cut through some pipe with a hacksaw. Said it disabled the hydraulics, so the brakes couldn’t stop the car.’ Bede’s eyes teared up. She wiped them with her apron. ‘Excuse me, ma’am. Miss Win was a dear soul. I used to do for her on Tuesdays. Now I go in and do the rough for Beth and her daughter Edythe.’

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