Doctor Who_ The Banquo Legacy - Andy Lane [8]
I unpacked my small suitcase first, and then washed the journey from my face and hands. They had given me the same room as always, off to the left of the corridor from the stairs. From it I had a good view from above and beside the front door, out over the grounds and my footprints walking backwards to the woods. I turned from the window and made an effort to heft my large suitcase up on to the bed, so as to be able to open and unpack it. In fact it came up so easily that I nearly fell over backwards. I surveyed its bulky shape on the bed and pictured Simpson’s apparently desperate struggle to shift the comparatively light weight, and shook my head in amused disbelief. As I began to sort out some clothes to wear for lunch, my mind drifted back to less pleasant things – such as the strange purpose of my visit. And Richard Harries.
It was a quiet meal – not least because Harries did not attend. He took all his meals, I was informed by Wallace, in his ‘laboratory’ – or the conservatory, as it had been until Harries descended upon it. Quite why George tolerated Harries’s presence I had never been quite sure, but the business of the last few days had raised one possibility in my mind.
‘Still,’ said Wallace, picking at the salad, ‘not to worry. Soon be free of him, you know. Once he’s performed this miracle for us tonight he’ll be away showing it to all and sundry I expect.’
‘What exactly is this “miracle", as you call it?’ I enquired.
‘Better ask him that. Damned nuisance, though.’ Wallace pulled apart his piece of chicken and peered ruefully at it. ‘Can’t abide cold food,’ he whispered confidentially, and his wife concealed a smile. Elizabeth missed very little.
‘Richard has insisted that we send away the servants for the week,’ she explained. ‘Cook, both kitchen maids, the scullery maid, the gardener –’
‘Why on earth should he do that?’ I interrupted before she could enumerate the entire staff.
‘Doesn’t want any tongue-waggers. Getting worked up over nothing in my opinion,’ scowled George. ‘No cook, so no cooking.’ He poked at a lettuce leaf with his fork.
‘George managed to persuade him that we couldn’t cope without Simpson,’ Elizabeth continued. ‘And he also let us keep on one of the others. George opted for Beryl rather than Cook. Didn’t you, dear?’
George peered more closely at his chicken and said nothing. Beryl, waiting at the table, reddened slightly and moved back to the sideboard. She was a pretty young girl of about eighteen, with blonde hair, a small nose and a mouth that seemed slightly too wide. She had been with the Wallaces for about three years and lived with her parents in the village. Ever since I had known her, she had looked as though she was short of a few hours’ sleep, but she was energetic enough in her usual work as a chambermaid.
At that moment Simpson returned, having taken a tray in to Harries, and refilled our glasses.
‘I’ll just refill your glass, sir,’ he said quietly, reaching over my shoulder. ‘Careful now, sir,’ he added as I almost choked on a pickle. He straightened up, task completed. ‘Professor Harries says would you care to join him in the conservatory sometime this afternoon, sir?’
I suspected that Professor Harries had in fact referred to the room as his ‘laboratory’, but Simpson liked to stick to the ‘proper’ terms for everything. Knowing Harries, I imagined that an answer was not required – only my presence.
‘Does he?’ I murmured in reply.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Simpson patiently, in a tone of voice that implied that I was accusing him of having invented the message.
‘I should see him pretty early, if I were you, John,’ Elizabeth Wallace said, allowing Beryl to remove her empty plate.
‘Yes,’ agreed her husband, ‘I imagine Gordon will be here soon. And Dr Friedlander, looking forward to finally meeting him, you know. Then Catherine arrives at three. You know what they’re like when they get together, no stopping them.’
Dr Friedlander I had not heard of. But I knew Catherine, Richard’s twin sister, who seemed