The Language of Bees - Laurie R. King [105]
Just what I should want, were I up to no good.
I wound down the stairs and told the conductor that I would get off at his next stop, which proved to be the village centre, half a mile down the road. I strode up the row of shops as if certain of my destination, but in fact trying to decide: linger here until dusk and risk missing something at the house, or go back and chance being seen?
A sign on the other side of the high street decided me: Estate Agent, it offered; Properties to Let.
The office was about to close, it being ten minutes to six, but I slipped in, unobtrusively deposited my bag on a chair near the doorway, and walked up to the man behind the desk, my hand already out.
“I'm sorry, miss—” he began, but he got no further.
Really, what could he do, faced with an enthusiastic young lady who pumped his hand and declared that he was just what she'd been looking for, she was the secretary to Lady Radston-Pompffrey who was looking for a large house to let for her American niece and family, who for some odd Colonial reason wished a place that felt as if it were in the country whilst at the same time they could be in Town without bother, and this appeared to be precisely the sort of area Lady R-P would approve.
At the thought of what finding a large house for me could do to his monthly income, the gentleman settled back into his chair, apologised that he couldn't offer me a cup of tea but his assistant had already gone home, and took out his pencil to note the details of what the good Lady wanted for her American niece.
Interestingly enough, what this fictional aristocrat wished matched quite closely what I had seen of the house behind the tall brick walls. His face fell.
“Ah, well, I'm sorry you didn't come in last summer, we could have helped you there. Yes, I know the house you mean, and in point of fact, I acted as agent for it—the house is now under a two-year lease, not due to expire until November of 'twenty-five. However, I'm sure we can find—”
“November, you say? Do you suppose the tenants might have tired of it by now? Perhaps I should pop in and ask them.”
“No. I mean to say, I wouldn't recommend that, they made it quite clear that they were looking for privacy.”
“Ooh, how mysterious. Local folk?”
“A gentleman from overseas, I understand, although his agent was local. They hold meetings there, I think it's one of these new-fangled religious groups.”
“Or perhaps they're Naturists, you know, prancing about the garden in the nude.” That served to distract him. “Have you met the man? I wonder if I know him? Lady R-P dabbles in Tarot and Spiritualism,” I confided.
“Er, sorry? Met him, no—saw him once, nice-looking fellow, but I shouldn't think …”
“Do you have his agent's name?” I asked, thinking, Please don't make me break in and go through your books.
“Gunderson,” he answered absently. “Shady character, that one. Look, I've noticed ladies going into the property from time to time. You don't actually suppose they—”
“I can certainly find out for you, through Lady R-P's friends. Gunderson, you say?”
“That's right. I can't remember his first name, offhand. …”
“Perhaps there's a file?” I suggested.
He instantly stood up and went to his cabinets, coming back with a thin file that he opened on the desk—the poor man did not at all care for the idea of nude orgies taking place on a