Page 30 of A Good Heart is Hard to Find
Not that the half-open shirt and close-fitting knee breeches didn’t become him: he had a powerful frame even if he did seem to be pared down to sinew, bone and whipcord. You couldn’t imagine anything less spectral if you tried.
‘I don’t need an excuse for being here,’ he said loftily. ‘But if you must know, I got this outfitthrough a friend who does historical re-enactment, and I was just trying it on.’
‘Oh yes? Something for the dressing-up box?’ I said politely. ‘You know, my friend Orla Murphy who runs Song Language would employ you like aflashif she saw you dressed like that.’
Though come to think of it, I’m not sure what we could market him as. Historical Totty-ogram? The Laughing Cavalier? (Not that I’dseen him even smile yet. His was not a face formed for laughter, but would look well standing by a gallows.)
‘I wanted to get into the spirit of the place – only when I saw you, there seemed to be more spirit than I’d bargained for.’
‘Oh, I see!’ Illumination dawned. ‘Jack’s been selling multiple tickets, and you’re a ghost-hunter too?’
‘No, I’m not a ghost-hunter, but I might have knownyou’dbe one of the supernatural weirdos,’ he said disgustedly. ‘And would that be Jack Craig, he of the missing valuables and empty lodge?’
‘What? Which missing valuables?’ I asked, confused.
‘I’ve been here since last night going over the inventory, and your Jack Craig seems to have made off with every small portable valuable in the house – and a Roman statue of Diana from the rose garden.’
‘Notmy Jack Craig,’ I corrected as I let this sink in. ‘So that’s why he wouldn’t let me come before, in case I noticed anything suspicious! I suppose he got wind of you arriving and shoved the key through my door on his way to pastures new?’
Another thought struck me: ‘And perhaps by “tonight” he meant last night, before you came? Only of course I didn’t see the key till much later, and thoughthe meant tonight. He was probably only trying to do me a good turn.’
‘He certainly hasn’t done me one! I don’t suppose you know where I can find him?’
‘No, sorry. Are you from the solicitors? You don’t look like one!’
He looked at me rather strangely: ‘You mean, you really don’t know who I am?’
‘No. Should I?’ I said, though now I came to think of it hedidlook sort of familiar until it occurredto me that he had the same sort of bony face as mine, with deep-set eyes and straight brows, only his was more gaunt. I’d have looked haggard, but he looked haunted and interesting in a hungry sort of way.
‘Are you Irish?’ I demanded. ‘Only Orla always says I look Irish, and you’re a bit like me – though I haven’t got your nose, thank God,’ I added devoutly.
‘What?’ he said, looking strangelydisconcerted. ‘Of course I’m not Irish!’
‘Neither am I.’
‘Fascinating! Spare me a list of all the other places you don’t come from! And what’s the matter with my nose, anyway?’
‘It’s a bit beaky,’ I said with a slight shudder, though the fine, hawk-like curve of it didn’t actually look out of place on his face.
‘Beaky! It is not—’ he stopped. ‘I don’t know why I’m standing here in the middleof the night arguing about noses with you! And it may interest you to know that I’m not a solicitor but Dante Chase, the new owner of Kedge Hall, and you’re trespassing.’
I peered more closely at him. ‘You’re Dante Chase? Aren’t you too young?’
‘Too young for what?’
‘To be old Miss Kedge’s cousin.’
‘I’m not her cousin, but I am the next male relative in line. I won’t draw up a genealogy foryou just now, if you don’t mind. It’s been a long day, and it seems destined to be even longer.’
‘What are you doing up at this time of night, then?’
‘I know it’s past my bedtime,’ he said unpleasantly, ‘but I’m allowed to stay up on special occasions.’
‘Well, don’t wait up for me,’ I said brightly. ‘I can find my own way out.’
‘I was also giving these famous family ghosts a chance to showthemselves until you interrupted me. I especially wanted to see poor blind Betsy run mad and stark-naked down this very gallery at midnight.’
I checked my watch. ‘You’re out of luck then. And anyway, ghosts don’t run about naked – at the most they’re drifting shadows.’
