Mystery Mile. Margery Allingham

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ name was derived from the belt of ground mist which summer and winter hung in the little valleys round the small hill on which the village stood. Like many Suffolk hamlets, the place was more of an estate than a village. The half-dozen cottages, the post office, and the Rectory were very much outbuildings of the Manor House, the dwelling of the owner of the Mile.

      In olden times, when the land had been more profitable, the squire had had no difficulty in supporting his large family of retainers, and, apart from the witch burnings in James I’s reign, when well-nigh a third of the population had suffered execution for practices more peculiar than necromantic, the little place had a long history of peaceful if gradually decaying times.

      The families had intermarried, and they were now almost as much one kin as the Pagets themselves.

      The death of the present squire’s father, Giles Paget, had left his young son and daughter the house and worthless lands, with little or no money to keep them up, and some twenty or thirty villagers who looked to them as their natural means of support.

      The Manor, hidden in the thick belt of elms which surrounded it, had but one lamp shining from the big casement windows. It was a long, low, many-gabled building, probably built round 1500 and kept in good repair ever since. The overhung front sheltered rose trees under its eaves, and the lintels of the windows were low and black, enhancing the beauty of the moulded plaster surrounding them.

      In the library, round the fireplace with the deep-set chimney seat, the squire and his sister were entertaining the rector.

      The squire was twenty-three. Giles Paget and his sister Biddy were twins. As they sat together they looked startlingly modern against the dark oak-furnished room which had not been materially altered for centuries.

      Giles was a heavily built, fair youngster whose sturdiness suggested a much larger man. He had a square-cut face, not particularly handsome, but he had a charming smile.

      Biddy was possessed of an animation unusual in a country girl. Tall as her brother, with a figure like a boy’s, she had a more practical outlook on life than had been born into the Paget family for centuries.

      Their visitor, the Reverend Swithin Cush, rector of Mystery Mile, sat and beamed at them. He was a lank old man, with a hooked nose and deep-set twinkling black eyes surrounded by a thousand wrinkles. His long silky white hair was cut by Biddy herself when it got past his collar, and his costume consisted of a venerable suit of plus-fours, darned at knees and elbows with a variety of wools, and a shining dog collar, the one concession he made to ‘the cloth’. His only vanity was a huge signet ring, a bloodstone, which shone dully on his gnarled first finger. For nearly fifty years he had baptized, wedded, and buried the people of the isthmus. The village was conservative, not to say medieval in its religious opinions, and the old chained Bible in the little late-Norman church was the only book of the law they considered at all.

      The subject of discussion round the fire in the library was the paper Giles Paget held in his hand.

      ‘St Swithin can now see the telegram,’ said Biddy; ‘the first Mystery Mile has seen since Giles won the half-mile. I don’t know how Albert’s going to get here, Giles; the Ipswich taxies don’t like the Stroud at night.’

      The rector took the telegram and read it aloud, holding the paper down to the fire to catch the light from the flames.

      LISTEN KIDDIES UNCLE HAS LET HOUSE STOP RING OUT WILD BELLS STOP SEND NO FLOWERS STOP ARRIVING NINE THIRTY STOP SHALL EXPECT FOOD AND RARE VINTAGES STOP OBEDIENTLY YOURS EVA BOOTH.

      ‘If I know anything about Albert,’ said the rector, ‘he’ll arrive on a broomstick.’

      Biddy sighed. ‘Think he has let the house?’ she said. ‘I never dreamed he would take us seriously. I do hope we get something for it. Cuddy’s third daughter’s having another baby in September. That’s another for the bounty. These ancient customs are a bit hard on the budget.’

      ‘ “The Lord will provide,” ’ said the rector regretfully, ‘is a tag which is not found in the Vulgate. But I have great faith in Albert.’

      Biddy chuckled. ‘St Swithin,’ she said. ‘Albert is a fishy character and no fit associate for a dignitary of the Church.’

      The old man smiled at her, and his small black eyes twinkled and danced in the firelight.

      ‘My daughter,’ he said, ‘out of evil cometh good. There is no reason why we should not sit in the shadow of the Bay Tree while it flourishes. Although,’ he went on seriously, ‘our very good friend Albert is a true son of the Church. In the time of Richelieu he would no doubt have become a cardinal. His associates are not solely criminals. Look at us, for instance.’

      Giles broke in. ‘Oh no,’ he said, ‘he’s not a crook. Not exactly, I mean,’ he added as an afterthought.

      ‘He’s not a detective either,’ said Biddy. ‘As a matter of fact, he’s really a sort of Universal Aunt, isn’t he? “Your adventures undertaken for a small fee.” Oh, I like Albert.’

      Giles grinned.

      ‘I know you do,’ he said. ‘She’s prepared a school treat for him in the next room, St Swithin. One of these days she’ll put us in a home and go off with him.’

      Biddy laughed and regarded them shrewdly out of the corners of her brown eyes.

      ‘I might,’ she said, ‘but he’s comic about women.’ She sighed.

      ‘He’s a comic chap altogether,’ said Giles. ‘Did I tell you, St Swithin, the last time I saw him we walked down Regent Street together, and from the corner of Conduit Street to the Circus we met five people he knew, including a viscountess and two bishops? Each one of them stopped and greeted him as an old pal. And every single one of them called him by a different name. Heaven knows how he does it.’

      ‘Addlepate will be glad to see him,’ said Biddy, patting the head of a sleek chestnut-brown dog who had just thrust his head into her lap. The dog looked self-conscious at hearing his name, and wagged his stump of tail with feverish enthusiasm.

      Giles turned to the rector. ‘Albert said he tried to train Addlepate for crime before he gave it up as a bad job and brought him down to us. He said the flesh was willing but the mind was weak. I shall never forget,’ he went on, pulling at his pipe, ‘when we were up at Cambridge, hearing Albert explain to the porter after midnight that he was a werewolf out on his nightly prowl who had unexpectedly returned to his own shape before he had time to bound over the railings. He kept old . . .’

      The sound of a motor horn among the elms outside interrupted him. Biddy sprang to her feet. ‘There he is,’ she said, and ran out to open the door to him herself. The other two followed her.

      Through the rustling darkness they could just make out the outlines of a small two-seater, out of which there rose to greet them the thin figure they expected. He stood up in the car and posed before them, one hand upraised.

      ‘Came Dawn,’ he said, and the next moment was on the steps beside them. ‘Well, well, my little ones, how you have grown! It seems only yesterday, St Swithin, that you were babbling your infant prayers at my knee.’

      They took him into the house, and as he sat eating in the low-ceilinged dining-room they crowded round him like children. Addlepate, grasping for the first time who it was, had a mild fit of canine hysterics by himself in the hall before СКАЧАТЬ