Maybe by Mark Hayes

Author:Mark Hayes [Hayes, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9798615166709
Publisher: saltholme publishing
Published: 2020-03-15T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

You Should’ve Shot Him

An hour later, Eliza was shown into the library by the stream of vocalised conscious thought as she had come to think of Alice, the maid, who it seemed had just picked up her earlier one-sided conversation where she had left off the moment she reappeared at Eliza’s door. The constant chatter was grating on Eliza’s nerves. It was not so much that she minded the constant deluge of mostly nonsensical diatribes, it was more, she reflected as they made had their way down a wide staircase, that it would have been nice to get a word in edgeways.

Despite this minor irritation, there was at least a certain freeness of information flowing from the vocal cords of the maid. If you could find a way to direct the conversation to subjects you wanted to know about then you could have learned anything you desired. But as directing the conversation seemed impossible, Eliza found herself just listening with half an ear in the vain hope that she could pick up something important.

The walk from her room to the library had taken them along a short corridor and down a grand staircase, then through a couple of doors and up another staircase of dark oak. All along the route the walls were lined with paintings of intermittent quality. A mix of grand landscapes and austere portraits. They and the décor gave the house a feeling of money, old dusty money. Money that had been harvested and hoarded over many generations. Some of the paintings were doubtless of old patriarchs of the family. Some of which had a stark similarity to Benjamin West. The same cheekbones and firm brow passed on down the family line. Eliza had been vaguely aware he was a gentleman of independent means. What she had not considered was the extent of those means. This was old money extensive. Family pile in the Cotswolds and an inheritable seat in the house extensive.

Alice was a less than informing guide when it came to family history, however. Her main concerns seemed to be the need to scrub floors because of muddy boots and irritation at having to make pots of tea for callers at strange hours. There was someone called ‘My Sam’ who might be her husband, or her son, or just the other household servant over whom she felt a degree of ownership. Sam, according to Alice, was much put upon, though the extent of his being put upon seemed to revolve around him having to do things that left Alice sweeping the floors and doing the polishing herself.

Up the second staircase which Eliza was sure was longer than the first, they reached another landing which led to the library. The house, it seemed to her, was wrong, or at least its internal dimensions struck her as wrong, until she realised it was actually two houses adjoined. At some point in the past, the West family abode had extended into a neighbouring house. Which was just more proof of old family money.

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