understand.'
'Of a sort.'
'I have to admit never recalling having seen any of your books.'
'Probably because I write under various pseudonyms.'
'May I ask what names?'
'Oh, G. K. Chesterton, Ernest Hemingway, Virginia Woolf.'
For a split second Thornton looked startled. Then he smiled icily. 'I'm sorry. You think I'm being too inquisitive.'
'Not at all. Merely a feeble joke. No, I'm not a best-selling author. Mine are mostly travel and guide books. And I write magazine articles. I use the names Jonathan George and Andrew Lewis mainly.'
'Oh, I am familiar with the name Jonathan George. A work on Malaya, I believe?'
'One of my slightly better-known efforts.'
'Surely a far cry from the stately homes of England, is it not?'
'I believe in casting my net wide.'
'Who are to publish this book?'
'It's for the American market, actually. A New York firm. I doubt that the name would mean much to you.'
'What other houses are to be included apart from Alderley?'
'I'm not quite sure Alderley is to be included yet,' Deveraux said. He listed some of the other houses.
'I see,' Thornton said. 'Your plans seem to be far advanced.'
'Far enough, I think,' said Deveraux. 'Far enough.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Secret Passage
Mr. and Mrs. Peabody and Evans arrived about six. Jane, who'd had vague expectations of meeting the caricatured Texans of fiction, was pleased to find the Peabodys pleasant, unassuming people. She took to them at once.
The only person, in fact, who seemed not to like them, was Lord Burford himself. This puzzled Jane until Gerry explained the Earl's fears and suspicions about the guns. 'He'll be all right in a few hours, though,' she added, 'when he realises how nice they are.'
However, this wasn't to be. During the pre-dinner drinks, Gerry found her father standing alone, looking glum.
She poked him in the ribs. 'What's wrong?'
'Don't. Him.' He gave a jerk of his head.
'Peabody?' Gerry glanced towards the millionaire - a squarely-built man of about fifty-five, with a pugnacious jaw and rimless glasses. 'I thought you'd be happier now you'd seen how pleasant and quiet and intelligent he is.'
'That's the trouble. I was hoping he'd be a brash, self-opinionated fool, who'd just used his money to buy blindly. But I've got a horrible feeling he's going to turn out to know more about guns than me.'
'Oh really, Daddy, don't be ridiculous. I'm sure you'll get on like a house on fire when you really know him. Now go and talk to him.'
'Oh, all right.' Lord Burford squared his shoulders and ambled across. He tapped Peabody on the shoulder. 'Tell me all about Texas,' he said.
* * *
In spite of Merryweather's forebodings, dinner that evening was a very successful occasion.
The food - clear soup, dover sole, saddle of lamb with garden peas, strawberries and cream, and a fine Cheddar cheese - was superb. Lord Burford, having talked to Peabody, had, temporarily at least, got over his apprehensions and was a jovial host. Lady Burford, who, after Merryweather's warning had spent a hectic time trying to find an unaccompanied lady to invite at short notice, had at long last succeeded in getting hold of a Mrs. Carpenter, the relict of a former bishop of the diocese, who usually dined at Alderley a couple of times a year. So the Countess was happy, and determined not yet to worry about the same problem at future meals.
The guests seemed to get on well together. Mrs. Peabody wore her famous necklace, and the magnificent stones were an immediate talking-point. Peabody and Adler found a common interest in baseball. Felman seemed less ill at ease than earlier. Algy was eating too eagerly to bore anybody greatly. And Jane and Deveraux, finding themselves seated side by side, had caught each other's eye, hesitated, then both smiled tentatively. Thereafter - much to the relief of Gerry, who had arranged the pairing - they talked, formally at first, but later more cordially.
So the atmosphere was in every way thoroughly satisfactory,
'Of a sort.'
'I have to admit never recalling having seen any of your books.'
'Probably because I write under various pseudonyms.'
'May I ask what names?'
'Oh, G. K. Chesterton, Ernest Hemingway, Virginia Woolf.'
For a split second Thornton looked startled. Then he smiled icily. 'I'm sorry. You think I'm being too inquisitive.'
'Not at all. Merely a feeble joke. No, I'm not a best-selling author. Mine are mostly travel and guide books. And I write magazine articles. I use the names Jonathan George and Andrew Lewis mainly.'
'Oh, I am familiar with the name Jonathan George. A work on Malaya, I believe?'
'One of my slightly better-known efforts.'
'Surely a far cry from the stately homes of England, is it not?'
'I believe in casting my net wide.'
'Who are to publish this book?'
'It's for the American market, actually. A New York firm. I doubt that the name would mean much to you.'
'What other houses are to be included apart from Alderley?'
'I'm not quite sure Alderley is to be included yet,' Deveraux said. He listed some of the other houses.
'I see,' Thornton said. 'Your plans seem to be far advanced.'
'Far enough, I think,' said Deveraux. 'Far enough.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Secret Passage
Mr. and Mrs. Peabody and Evans arrived about six. Jane, who'd had vague expectations of meeting the caricatured Texans of fiction, was pleased to find the Peabodys pleasant, unassuming people. She took to them at once.
The only person, in fact, who seemed not to like them, was Lord Burford himself. This puzzled Jane until Gerry explained the Earl's fears and suspicions about the guns. 'He'll be all right in a few hours, though,' she added, 'when he realises how nice they are.'
However, this wasn't to be. During the pre-dinner drinks, Gerry found her father standing alone, looking glum.
She poked him in the ribs. 'What's wrong?'
'Don't. Him.' He gave a jerk of his head.
'Peabody?' Gerry glanced towards the millionaire - a squarely-built man of about fifty-five, with a pugnacious jaw and rimless glasses. 'I thought you'd be happier now you'd seen how pleasant and quiet and intelligent he is.'
'That's the trouble. I was hoping he'd be a brash, self-opinionated fool, who'd just used his money to buy blindly. But I've got a horrible feeling he's going to turn out to know more about guns than me.'
'Oh really, Daddy, don't be ridiculous. I'm sure you'll get on like a house on fire when you really know him. Now go and talk to him.'
'Oh, all right.' Lord Burford squared his shoulders and ambled across. He tapped Peabody on the shoulder. 'Tell me all about Texas,' he said.
* * *
In spite of Merryweather's forebodings, dinner that evening was a very successful occasion.
The food - clear soup, dover sole, saddle of lamb with garden peas, strawberries and cream, and a fine Cheddar cheese - was superb. Lord Burford, having talked to Peabody, had, temporarily at least, got over his apprehensions and was a jovial host. Lady Burford, who, after Merryweather's warning had spent a hectic time trying to find an unaccompanied lady to invite at short notice, had at long last succeeded in getting hold of a Mrs. Carpenter, the relict of a former bishop of the diocese, who usually dined at Alderley a couple of times a year. So the Countess was happy, and determined not yet to worry about the same problem at future meals.
The guests seemed to get on well together. Mrs. Peabody wore her famous necklace, and the magnificent stones were an immediate talking-point. Peabody and Adler found a common interest in baseball. Felman seemed less ill at ease than earlier. Algy was eating too eagerly to bore anybody greatly. And Jane and Deveraux, finding themselves seated side by side, had caught each other's eye, hesitated, then both smiled tentatively. Thereafter - much to the relief of Gerry, who had arranged the pairing - they talked, formally at first, but later more cordially.
So the atmosphere was in every way thoroughly satisfactory,
Similar Books
