Dead Man Riding by Gillian Linscott Page B

windows were dark now and I suppose all of us thought of the Old Man patrolling outside, alone and unfed.
    Alan asked Dulcie, ‘Were you here on the night it happened?’ His tone was uncertain because he obviously had no more idea than the rest of us who Dulcie Berryman was – housekeeper, landlady or perhaps some unusual species of nurse.
    â€˜What night was that?’
    â€˜When he … When the barn got burned and so on.’
    Dulcie stood up and started stacking plates, not ignoring him but not especially attentive either. ‘Yes, Ah was here.’
    â€˜Did you see what happened?’
    â€˜He told me to stay inside. Anyway, it was dark when they came.’
    She held out her hand for my plate. As I handed it over I looked into her eyes. Brown didn’t begin to describe the colour of them properly, more a very dark amber with the light shining through it. They gave nothing away, even at Alan’s next words.
    â€˜My uncle thinks he killed somebody.’
    She added my plate to the pile, reached for Imogen’s. ‘He has some reet queer notions sometimes.’
    She had the plates in the crook of her left arm. With her free hand she picked up the piece of rabbit leg Imogen had left, stripped the meat off the bone with her teeth and carried the plates over to a stone sink in the far corner, still munching.
    â€˜You mean, you don’t think he did?’
    She didn’t turn. We never knew whether she’d have answered or not because there were footsteps outside then the door opened and the Old Man came in.
    â€˜Robin, would you go and have a look at Sheba? She’s not settling.’
    Robin got up and went out without a glance at any of us. He didn’t say a word. In fact he hadn’t said a word throughout the meal. The Old Man hooked his whip on the back of the door and grinned at us.
    â€˜You’ve eaten well?’ Then, after our ragged chorus of thank yous, ‘Dulcie makes the best rabbit stew in the county, don’t you Dulcie?’ She was clattering things over at the sink. He reached up and unhooked one of the lamps from the beam, standing on tiptoe to do it. Alan was on his feet, towering over his uncle but almost conciliatory now it was clear that Kit wasn’t seriously hurt.
    â€˜Let me do that, sir.’
    â€˜Not yet, my boy. Your turn will come.’
    He carried the lamp over to a hook near the sink, to give Dulcie more light. It swung gently, sending our shadows dancing over the walls, more lively than we felt. We were all of us dropping from tiredness and perhaps the effect of the ale.
    â€˜Now, where shall we put you all? There’s a parlour next door. You can bed down there once we’ve found you some cushions and blankets.’
    Midge glanced at me. At least she seemed to be finding it funny. Neither of us dared look at Imogen.
    Alan said, ‘What about the ladies, sir?’
    â€˜The womenfolk can have Dulcie’s bed. That alright, Dulcie?’
    She nodded without turning round from the washing-up. We started protesting that we couldn’t possibly.
    â€˜Nothing wrong with Dulcie’s bed. Best one in the house by a long way. Plenty of room for three.’
    â€˜But we can’t—’
    â€˜Dulcie will show you upstairs when she’s finished. Now if the rest of you come through here we’ll get you bedded down.’
    Nathan, Kit and Meredith followed him obediently. Meredith had been almost as silent during the meal as Robin and I supposed he must be wishing himself back in his comfortable set of college rooms, smothering or not. Alan stayed behind and dropped down on one knee beside Imogen who was still sitting at the table, head resting on her hand, looking weary and confused beyond thinking.
    â€˜Imogen, I’m so dreadfully sorry about this. We’ll get you back safely tomorrow.’
    She didn’t move or make any reply. He got to his feet, looking wretched. ‘Look