Читать книгу White Jade - V. J. Banis - Страница 10

CHAPTER SIX

“What the...?” he exclaimed, as startled as I was by the collision.

I caught only a glimpse of him, before I thought to lower my face so he would not get a good look at me. He was tall and hatless. His hair was dark. He wore only a corduroy jacket and beneath it his shoulders were broad and square.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I should have gone the back way.”

“Who are you?” he demanded in a voice that said quite plainly he was used to exercising authority.

“No one,” I said, and in the next breath, “I came about a job.”

I didn’t give him time to question me further. Stepping quickly around him I ran down the steps and then slowed to a fast walk, not wanting to seem as if I were fleeing the place.

After a moment, I glanced back. He was still at the top of the steps, staring after me. I thought he had a faint smile on his lips, but as I looked, he turned and went inside. I thought, he’s too tall, he’ll hit his head, but he went in without a bump and without bowing or relinquishing any of his arrogance.

In a twinkling I knew who he was, the knowledge coming from forgotten bits of information I had long since stored in my subconscious. Mary Morgan Linton had a brother, his name was—I frowned—David.

This must be David. Certainly he was no servant. He had too commanding a manner. He had not even apologized for our accident, although of course it was I who ran into him.

Would he remember me? I thought not. He could not have had more than a glimpse of me, and he thought I was merely someone seeking employment. Why should he attach any importance to me?

Mostly likely, I would never see him again anyway. He did not live there, I was sure of that. And when I came back, I would soon be gone once more, so I was not likely to meet him again.

I put him from my mind and starting walking. I had a long hike into town. I thought of my friendly taxi driver but there was no way of summoning him. Maybe, I thought wishfully, he’ll just appear. He might have some reason to come out this way, and drive by and see me. Maybe....

He did not, however, happen to drive by. I saw him four days later when, for the third time in a week, I got off the train at Elsinore.

“Well, well,” he greeted me when I approached the taxi stand, “becoming a regular visitor, looks to me.”

“This time I’m planning to stay a while.” I smiled at him, grateful to see a familiar face, however limited our acquaintance. I expected no friendly welcomes when I reached the Linton home.

For all that I knew, I might be too late. Perhaps Jeff was already...but I would not let myself think the rest of that. He knew I was coming. My letter, sent special delivery as soon as I returned to the city, had been answered with equal speed. In businesslike language, as if we did not know one another beyond that one, brief meeting, it accepted me for the position and suggested that I come at the first opportunity.

The driver brought me up to Morgan House—as he informed me the townspeople knew it—and after helping me with my bags and bidding me well, left. Once again I approached that massive door and lifted the heavy brass knocker. I thought of the little maid who had admitted me the last time. Would she remember me and comment on that visit?

It was not she who answered the door, however. It swung open and I found myself looking up into a handsome face—finely chiseled nose, lips set in a hard line above a square chin, eyes dark and piercing. I had seen that face before, had looked up into it quite recently when I collided with him in this same doorway. David Morgan, Mary’s brother.

For a moment we stood as if suspended in time. I had seconds in which to realize how handsome he was. He wore riding clothes that well became him. The fitted breeches, the gleaming boots, the beautifully cut coat that revealed the width of his shoulders, all accentuated an aura of masculinity and strength.

The moment ended, the spell broke.

“Hello,” he said, his tone neither welcoming me nor rejecting me.

“I’m Miss Channing.” Something in his gaze made me feel suddenly embarrassed and I looked down, annoyed that his arrogant maleness should intimidate me in this way. “I’ve been employed to look after Mr. Linton.”

“Yes. Come in.” He stepped aside for me. I went past him, into the big central hall. “We just lost a maid. I’ll see if I can find the housekeeper.” He started away and paused, studying me intently. “Have we met before?”

I had been waiting for this and had my answer ready. “I was here once before for an interview. I believe we met then.”

Recognition came into his eyes. “Oh, yes, the young lady who runs people down.”

“I believe I apologized at the time,” I said, angry and turning red. He was no less arrogant and rude than his sister and I felt no less resentful toward him.

“I’ll see if I can find Mrs. Evans,” he said, dismissing that other subject as of no importance. No doubt he viewed me the same way. Without waiting for a reply he strode down the hall, his step firm and purposeful, the walk of a man who always knew exactly where he was going—and always got there.

I turned over the new information he had given me. The maid who’d met me before was gone. Jeff had foreseen that danger and somehow gotten rid of her. I felt sorry for her, of course, but under the circumstances he’d had little choice. I hoped he had been generous.

I frowned, remembering. David Morgan had said, “We just lost a maid....” Which suggested that he was staying here in the house. I couldn’t think offhand just how this would complicate things, if at all. It might even be an advantage to have a strong-minded man about. I’d have to think about that for a while.

I felt that my admitting to our previous meeting was a safe enough ploy, however. I had only seen him on the one visit, and I had seen Mary on one visit. There was no reason at all to suppose they would compare dates and discover that those meetings did not occur at the same time. But I made a mental note to tell Jeff, just in case.

I reflected ruefully that I really was ill-suited to intrigue.

Mrs. Evans, as it turned out, was a small, birdlike creature who moved with little fluttery gestures, as if not quite prepared to light in any one spot.

“Things have been so topsy-turvy,” she said, leading me up the stairs, “the help coming and going so fast you can’t even get a girl trained, and Mr. Linton being so sick. That’s his room, there.” She pointed at the door to his room. “I’ve put you right next to it, where it’ll be convenient for you to come and go.”

She ushered me into a small, pleasantly furnished room. It had a fireplace, before which were two comfortable looking chairs covered in chintz, with a footstool and a little lamp-topped table. The bed was an old fourposter covered with a thick comforter. The room was less elegant than the rest of the house, but with more charm.

“I hope this will be all right,” she said. “It isn’t the best room in the house.”

“I think it’s lovely.” She seemed a bit at a loss as to how she should treat me. A private nurse was somewhat removed from ordinary house servants, in a station above, say, a maid, and yet hardly the same as a house guest. I thought it best to put her at ease and if possible make friends with her. I would certainly need friends in this house. “I’m not much for things too grand.”

“I know just what you mean,” she said, seeming pleased. “It makes my back a little stiff if you know what I mean. Give me a bit of chintz and a nice fireplace. Not that I’m not happy here, you understand,” she added quickly. “And I hope you will be, too.”

“I’m sure I shall.” The fire had been laid but not lit. From the window I had a view toward the rear of the property. I could see the garages and the stables. David Morgan’s costume had told me there must be horses and I wondered if I might be permitted to ride. Although I was city bred, riding lessons had been part of the standard curriculum for finishing-school girls and I considered myself a competent horsewoman.

Beyond the estate buildings stretched open fields and gently rolling hills and in the distance, but not particularly far away, thick, sprawling woods. It would be good riding country, a real pleasure after years of riding in Central Park.

“If there’s anything you want, or you’ve got any questions, you just ring that little bell there.” She indicated a button on the wall near the door. “I hope you’ll be comfortable.”

“And I hope we will be good friends.”

“Oh, I’m sure we will be, Miss,” she said, almost twittering.

When she had gone I stood for a moment more looking about the room. What nonsense, to stand and contemplate the pleasure of a ride through the woods, as if I were on holiday, as if a man’s life wasn’t hanging in the balance.

I put myself grimly to unpacking my things. My life might be in danger as well. I must keep that fact in mind, never forgetting for a moment. I had come for one reason alone—murder was being done in this house. And, if one, why not two?