Chapter 10 Frozen in time

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It was as if the house was frozen in time, Christopher thought as they went through the green baize door to the kitchen and, presumably, the servants' quarters. A cold, musty air about the interior and scary-looking family portraits lining the corridor contributed to this impression.

He still wasn't sure how pleased Amaryllis's friend Mal had been to see them. His eyes had flickered over them in a resigned sort of way, and he had been slow to offer hospitality. Of course, he had probably been in the middle of planning some exotic quest when they arrived, and he wouldn't be pleased to have this process interrupted by people on such a prosaic errand.

Christopher wondered uneasily if they should have called Jemima to tell her where they were before going inside. Or even contacted the police to confess they had cut their way through the fence? But he wasn't even sure why he felt vaguely suspicious. Except that Mal's presence here was incongruous, to say the least. Was he an old family retainer? Was his father a family retainer? Did he know the owner from the army or some local organisation? Was he a burglar who had broken in while the family were away for Christmas?

Amaryllis was chatting away to Mal, not apparently sharing any of Christopher's qualms.

'So I don't suppose you've got another orphan of the storm here?' she was saying. 'Only his wife's getting quite anxious about him, and we should let her know if -'

'There's nobody here except me - and now you,' said Mal, cutting her off in mid-sentence. He sounded brusquer and more bad-tempered than he had been back at the Queen of Scots. But Amaryllis persisted.

'We wondered about searching the grounds for Dave as well, in case he's lying somewhere unable to get up. But of course, that was when we thought there might be a whole party of people here to help. I suppose we'll have to leave it to the police and hope they come along soon.'

'The police know you're here?' said Mal.

'Not exactly,' said Amaryllis. 'But they know we're out looking for Dave.'

Christopher wondered if there was some reason why Mal didn't want the police up here. He had got out of the Queen of Scots quite quickly that afternoon too, when Mr Smith had come in with the constable. He began to try and picture Mal with a balaclava over his head. Would his eyes look bigger and darker in those circumstances? He had noticed Mal had a limp too. Some heroic war injury, Christopher caught himself thinking with a trace of disdain which embarrassed him even although he knew the others couldn't read his thoughts. Well, Mal couldn't anyway. He had always been unsure about whether Amaryllis could.

They went through another door and arrived in a massive kitchen with a small range-type cooker at one end, and lots of old pots and pans hanging from the ceiling and from hooks. Apart from the cooker, which was an Aga or Rayburn or some other trendy brand, the whole place seemed to have been left as it was since Victorian times. A massive old kitchen table was almost completely covered with scruffy-looking maps or plans.

'I'll put the kettle on,' said Mal, sounding a bit more hospitable. 'You must be frozen solid. At least you can get warmed up before you go out in the cold again.'

So he was planning to get rid of them as soon as he reasonably could? Christopher's unease increased. It seemed as if the man must have something to hide: most likely the fact that he had no right to be here. Of course, neither did the two of them, but they did have an innocent explanation, even if they had cut a hole in the fence which definitely counted as trespass or criminal damage or something.

'Nice neat hole in the fence, by the way,' said Mal as he crossed to the sink to fill the kettle. 'I always admire people who damage things neatly.'

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