Читать книгу In the Night Wood - Dale Bailey - Страница 18

“The house operates on a skeletal staff, sir,” said Cillian Harris as he led Charles through the salon. “Mr. Hollow kept just enough people on to maintain the property — groundskeepers and housemaids. It’ll be a bit of a lifestyle change, sir.”

Charles glanced at Harris. He looked more like a linebacker than a steward: mid-thirties, with a thatch of unruly dark hair and a crooked nose — not unhandsome in a rough-hewn kind of way. His eyes were bloodshot, and though the man seemed sober enough, Charles was almost certain that he’d caught the scent of whisky on his breath.

It was just past two o’clock.

“Mrs. Ramsden sees to the living quarters and supervises the housemaids,” Harris was saying. “She’ll arrive most mornings around seven. I’m always available. I live in the cottage. You may have noticed it from the breakfast room. I manage the estate.” And then, almost as an afterthought, he said, “Under your direction, of course.”

“Well, let’s work on a more informal basis, then. Why don’t you call me Charles?”

“I couldn’t do that, Mr. Hayden. All my life I served Mr. Hollow, and my father before me, and never once did I call him by his given name. Mr. and Mrs. Hayden you must be to me, by force of habit if nothing else.”

Charles reminded himself that he was an interloper in a foreign land. The custom of the country and all that. “If you insist.”

Harris nodded. “I understand that you intend to do research.”

“Yes, Caedmon Hollow, his book —”

“I know his book all right.” Then, hesitant, as though he felt he was overstepping his bounds, “Never should have written it, if you want my opinion.”

Not really, Charles thought, but he said nothing.

“Well, you’ll want to be back before the doctor arrives,” Harris said. “Let’s just have a glance into the library.”