Home from nowhere by Marsh Jackson

Author:Marsh, Jackson
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9798671240535
Publisher: James Collins
Published: 2020-07-30T16:00:00+00:00

‘Jasper,’ Mr Payne hadn’t finished organising, but he had started to eat, so Jasper was able to do the same. ‘Just in case you return and find the back door locked, I have a spare key for you. It’s yours to keep safe and use during your free hours. We lock the back door when there is no-one downstairs.’

‘Thank you, Mr Payne,’ Jasper gasped. They would never have trusted him with a key at Kingsclere.

The rest of the morning continued in what was already becoming a regular rhythm. The bedroom bell rang, and Mr Payne left. Jasper cleared the table and washed the dishes while Harvey prepared the breakfast room. Mrs Roberts worked cheerfully in the kitchen, and Jasper put away the clean plates. Before he knew it, it was half-past nine, he had changed into his suit, and was waiting in the hall when the back doorbell rang.

‘It’ll be for you,’ Mrs Roberts shouted through, and she was right.

Jasper checked his clothes in the passage mirror before hurrying to the door. It was the first time anyone had called for him, and the first time he had been to church with someone he didn’t know. Thanks to Mr Wright’s conversation last night, he was looking forward to the morning, whereas before, he would have been dreading it. If he stopped to think about it, he was still unnerved by what he had seen in the bedroom, but if he blocked out the image and remembered that, here, it was acceptable, his cares were banished.

The bell rang again just as he reached for the door, and yanking it open, he took the caller by surprise, causing the young man to stumble backwards. His arms flayed in circles as he teetered on the step, his face distorted, and an unusual sound coming from his mouth. Just as Jasper reached to grab him, he jumped from the steps, landed in a stumbling crouch, and his bowler hat fell off.

Unsure of what to do, Jasper watched the caller pick himself up, retrieve his hat and brush down his trousers. The man, who he realised was no older than himself, rushed forward with one hand outstretched and the other clutching his bowler to his head. He tripped on the first step, and came to a faltering halt in the doorway.

‘Hello,’ he panted, his expression intense and his cheeks red. ‘William Barnett here for Mr Blackwood.’

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