Spider Light(45)

‘The actual building’s long since gone, of course,’ said Godfrey, proferring the cinnamon toast. ‘But you could try the county library, or the records office–although that would probably mean going into Chester. But they’d have details about land transfers and so on.’

‘Would it be all right if I made notes on anything I find about Latchkill? Because—Oh, this is lovely toast. I haven’t had cinnamon toast since I was a child.’

‘Of course you can make notes,’ said Godfrey.

‘It’s truly just for my own interest–I’m not writing an exposé on anybody or wanting to solve some ancient mystery or anything like that. It’s only a holiday project.’

‘You can have the run of the cellars for as long as you like,’ said Godfrey. ‘In any case, you’ll be helping us out by starting the cataloguing. I thought you could work in the little room near the old sculleries–providing you don’t mind it having been the butler’s pantry. It’s not pantry-esque now, in fact we use it when the VAT inspector comes in, or for the auditor’s visit every year. The professor usually deals with that, of course; I haven’t a very good head for figures.’

Miss Weston said gravely that she did not in the least mind working in a butler’s pantry. She could bring her laptop with her or she could just make sheaves of notes and take them back to Charity Cottage to list everything in whatever way they agreed. They could see what worked best.

The curious thing was that Godfrey had been thinking of Miss Weston as rather ordinary–polite and pleasant and she had a nice voice–but nothing very remarkable. She was a good listener. But when they talked about Latchkill and Amberwood’s history, her whole expression altered and she looked quite different. As if a light had flared behind her eyes.

It was silly to feel awkward about introducing the question of payment, but it had to be done and so Godfrey plunged in.

‘I don’t expect any payment at all, Dr Toy. I approached you, if you recall. And I’m not qualified for this kind of work. I might make all kinds of a hash of it.’

She would not make a hash of it, of course, because she was not the kind of person who would make a hash of anything she undertook. Godfrey found himself thinking that if he had had the necessary confidence (all right and maybe been a few years younger as well), Miss Weston might have been precisely the kind of lady he could have become a bit romantic over. Intelligent. Unusual. Not somebody you would necessarily look at twice, until something caught her interest and then there was that sudden glow that made you want to go on looking at her. He liked and admired ladies, but he had never felt he understood them and he had never dared approach one on any sort of emotional level, certainly not on any physical level. But he found himself hoping that Miss Weston would stay at the cottage for a long time.

If enough material on Latchkill turned up, they might even think about setting up a display on it–it was as much part of Amberwood’s history as anywhere else, and the Trust liked the museum to come up with new exhibitions and new angles on the area. If so, Miss Weston might agree to help with that as well. But Godfrey thought he would save that suggestion until they saw how things went. He also thought he had better keep in mind all the stories of foolish old men who became enamoured of much younger ladies. Not that he was so very old, of course–he had a good few years yet before he began collecting his pension!

So he just said that if Miss Weston was absolutely sure about the money…?

‘I’m quite sure, Dr Toy.’

Then, said Godfrey, they would not mention it again. He passed on to the pleasant suggestion that they abandon the tea cups in favour of a glass of sherry.



Walking back to Charity Cottage, Antonia felt distinctly lightheaded, which was probably due to a mixture of cinnamon toast, scones and two large glasses of sherry.

It was not dark yet; it was the in-between time that was neither quite day nor quite night. Antonia always found it a rather eerie time, because the light and the shadows could play tricks on you. She had always disliked going into her own house at this hour, unless she knew Richard would be there. But the sooner she was inside the cottage the sooner she could switch on lights and turn up heating, and perhaps put on the radio or the television. She unlocked the front door and stepped briskly into the sitting room, flipping on the electric fire and the old-fashioned standard lamp near the window, liking the friendly warm glow that instantly flooded the room. She left her jacket on the back of a chair, and opened the inner door. She would not want much supper after all those scones and toast, but there was some salad stuff in the fridge that could be washed and left to drain, and she had bought ham and cooked chicken in Amberwood yesterday; it was still a novelty to be able to walk into a shop and choose whatever she wanted.

As she went across the dining room, there was a faint movement just beyond the kitchen door which she had left half open. She hesitated, and then thought it was probably Raffles who had got in again. Had he? Yes, something had definitely stirred within the kitchen, although it did not seem substantial enough to be a human intruder so there was nothing to feel scared about.

Or was there? Antonia took a cautious step forward, aware of little creakings and rustlings that might only be the cottage’s timbers contracting in the cool evening air, but might as easily be the sounds of an intruder, creeping away into hiding. Of all the neurotic ideas to have! But something had moved in the kitchen, and it was still moving–Antonia could see the faint stirring of the shadows.