Читать книгу Missing: Presumed Dead - James Hawkins - Страница 11

Chapter Five _____________________________

The Dauntsey house radiated an air of neglect that had spread beyond its boundaries, even infecting the twisting lane that took them off the main road. Patterson had failed in his attempt to find a plausible excuse and they bumped their way toward the entrance gate as water-filled ruts snatched at the steering wheel under Bliss’s hands, flinging globs of liquid mud high into the hawthorn hedgerows either side.

A stockade of tall poplars and old oaks surrounded the garden, though a number had been pushed over in past storms and lay, still attached to roots, like guardsmen fainting on a parade ground. A couple of sandstone lions guarding the gates had succumbed to decades of damp and frost and their fierce features had softened like butter on a warm Sunday.

“Is this the right place?” enquired Bliss, fruitlessly searching the brick gate-pillars for a nameplate, correctly guessing that, like the Colonel, the house had no need of a name amongst the locals.

“Yup,” nodded Patterson, and Bliss pulled up just inside the gates to survey the sad looking building.

“Bit of a mess,” he said, summing up the peeled paintwork, spalled brickwork, dislodged slates and overgrown vegetation.

Patterson declined comment as he went off on foot in search of the constable who was supposedly guarding the property, leaving Bliss to insert the heavy iron key in the ancient lock and let himself into the entrance hall.

A treacly layer of combed brown varnish had stuck tenaciously to the woodwork since the 1930s and, as far as Bliss could tell, was the only thing keeping the place glued together. Weakened joists had sagged under the stress of age and screeched in pain as he tiptoed across the desolate hallway in search of the main rooms. Realising he was treading softly, he paused, and stood silently in the middle of the vacuous hall trying to pick up vibes, attempting to assimilate something, anything, from the house’s aura. But, with a slight shiver, he concluded that any warm memories of happier times had dissipated, leaving a physical coldness.