Читать книгу In the Night Wood - Dale Bailey - Страница 17

They stood in a vaulted entrance hall, like children in a tale, long lost and returned at last to break the spell that had been cast over their ancestral home. A great chandelier illuminated the tapestries and framed portraits that adorned the walls. Doors to the left and right stood closed. The high archway before them framed a long, luxuriously furnished salon.

“I saw you fall,” Mrs. Ramsden said. “That stile is a menace. I don’t know how many times I’ve told Mr. Harris we need to do something about it.” She sighed in exasperation with Mr. Harris as she led them through the salon, past twin oaken staircases that curved like the necks of swans to the gallery above. The balusters had been carved with an intricate motif of leaf and vine. Cunning foxlike faces peered out at them as they passed. “Anyway,” she added, “welcome home. The house isn’t always lit up this way, but we wanted to put her best face forward for you. I’d hoped to give you the grand tour, but I don’t think you’re in any shape to enjoy it, Mrs. Hayden. Let’s get you upstairs and see if we can’t find some ice for that ankle.”

They went up a back staircase to what had been Mr. Hollow’s living quarters: a house inside the house, Charles thought, and a luxuriously appointed one: polished floors and plush oriental rugs, Victorian-era furniture, built-in bookcases stocked with neat rows of leather-bound books. Capacious, high-ceilinged rooms — study, sitting room, dining room — radiated off the large central foyer, where a grand staircase curved up to an open gallery. “There are four suites and a maid’s room upstairs,” Mrs. Ramsden said, leading them down a wide hall into a breakfast room lined with windows, providing a panoramic view of the lawn. There was a second stone house down there. A cottage, really: a single floor, with narrow windows.

“That’s Mr. Harris’s house,” Merrow said, putting Erin’s satchel on the table. “He’s the estate’s steward.”

“We do hope you’ll be comfortable here,” Mrs. Ramsden said as she got Erin settled. “I’ll get you some ice.”

Merrow took out her phone. “Let me see if I can find you a doctor.”

“Please don’t bother. I just twisted it.”

“It’s no bother,” Merrow said and turned away, holding the phone to her ear. By the time Mrs. Ramsden returned with a dish towel and a large plastic bag of ice, Merrow was saying, “Yes, I expect you to come out here, John. We’re speaking of the new mistress of Hollow House. Yes, three should be fine. Yes, I’m sure she’ll survive until then. Good. Thank you, then.”

She ended the call and smiled — a little tightly, Charles thought. “Dr. Colbeck will be here at three,” she said. “Can you endure it for a couple of hours?” When Erin nodded, Merrow turned to Mrs. Ramsden. “Does Mr. Harris intend to join us?”

Mrs. Ramsden hesitated. “See, we thought you’d be arriving a little bit later. Mr. Harris ran into Yarrow. I expect him back directly.”

“Not the day I should have chosen for a trip into the village,” Merrow said. “Well.” She looked at Erin. “You seem to be in good hands. If there’s nothing else I can do for you …”

“You’ve done more than enough.”

“Then I’ll be off.” At the doorway, she turned. “Keys. Mustn’t forget the keys.” She reached into her purse and withdrew a heavy key ring. “I’ve marked the important ones. Mr. Harris will have to help with the others.”

A doorbell rang in the foyer.

“I suppose that’s him,” Mrs. Ramsden said.

“No doubt,” Merrow said. “I’ll let him in on my way out. In the meantime, if you need anything, please do ring me up. You have my card.” And then, smiling at Erin, “I’m sure you’ll be up and about in no time.”