The Grand Illusion by Syd Moore

Author:Syd Moore [Moore, Syd]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780861541614
Published: 2024-02-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Daphne discovers the workshop before Jonty. It is a good half mile from the main residence, surrounded by a thick circumference of trees. Mostly dark-leaved conifers, but there are some silvery birches in amidst them. It is secluded, so she has to circle twice before she finds the path that takes her into the enclosure.

The puzzle has the benefit of calming her nerves. She is slightly worried by what she may find there.

She need not have been concerned.

‘The finest men’, as Septimus had called them, turn out to be Ernest, a carpenter from the village in his sixties, and an engineer called Jack, who has apparently gone to fetch some water.

Ernest perches atop an upturned wheelbarrow on the lawn. The grass needs a bit of a trim, full as it is of dandelions and daisies. There is an old outbuilding made of wood, not much larger than a shed, laid into concrete foundations. The sun is dipping behind the tops of the ash grove that borders the plot on the west. Though it is still light, the tree-shadows crawl to their feet. Soon, twilight will yawn across them. The birds know it and are starting their nocturnal call to the nest.

‘That’s your workshop,’ says Ernest between puffing on his cigarette and eating one of the several sandwiches on his lap – thick-sliced ham with pickles. His speech is accented with the local burr. Slow and casual.

The workshop doors are open: there is a small oil stove inside. The wooden sides are rickety, with cracks between the boards. ‘It looks like it might blow down at any minute. Are you sure it’s safe?’

‘Been standing for a good hundred years, I reckons,’ says Ernest. ‘My father used to work here. Been like that since I was a child and no structural problems. Not yet.’

What Jonty will make of it, she doesn’t know. She notices flowers planted in buckets and tubs around the side. They strike her as peculiarly beautiful.

‘I brought cuttings from home,’ says Ernest, watching. ‘So much of the land has gone over to veg. I know we have to do this, keep the country fed, but seeing a splash of colour counts for a lot these days, don’t it? Raises my morale, I’ll tell you. And I know some of the boys stationed here.’ He nods in the direction of the manor. ‘They ain’t got much and they’re worried about where they’ll be sent and what’s going to happen next. Plants, flowers’ – he pronounces it ‘fleurers’ – ‘when they look lovely like these do, they make you think of better things. A living reminder, ain’t they, that everything has its time.’

She agrees. ‘We had some geraniums at home. They’re cheerful. Not as healthy as these though. London smoke.’ She shrugs.

‘You one of those girls co-opted in?’ Ernest asks, not in an unfriendly way. She thinks he is assessing her frame. Although she is slight, she can be sturdy.

‘I’m not, no. I’m The Grand Mystique’s assistant.’

This affects a change in Ernest.

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