‘Jim’ Crow,” Valerie introduced them. “He has another Christian name, but nobody ever uses it!” Her laughter was high-pitched and infectious. He’s our local trainer and might just be persuaded to give you a tip or two, straight from the horse’s mouth! Jim—” she laid a slim, elegantly-gloved hand on the checked sleeve—“I want you to meet our new doctor. She will be coming up with the caravan every now and then, but she’s also an old friend of Max—Jane Langdon.”
Jane found her hand gripped in hard, leathery fingers while two brilliantly blue eyes smiled into her own. “Jim” Crow was probably just under five feet tall—shorter than her own height—a small, compact man in his middle thirties who looked as if he had started life as a jockey. He had probably gravitated to the training side when his weight had tipped the scales heavily against him in his former profession. He had an open-air look about him and his frankness pleased Jane. Valerie seemed to be very well acquainted with him.
“See you about seven-thirty, Jim!” she called as he bent to close the door of the convertible after her. “Tell Eddie I’m not going to excuse him this time!”
Jim said that it wouldn’t be necessary, but Jane caught an oddly-guarded look in his honest face as Valerie drove away.
“I ’ ve got to keep Mrs. Kilsyth in sight,” she excused herself when he walked toward her. “I’m following her home.”
Jim’s shrug was briefly condemnatory.
“You certainly won’t pass her,” he said.
It was no easy task to follow Valerie. If there hadn’t been only one main road through the dale and with the trees thinning out as they began to climb, Jane would have had considerable difficulty in keeping the big white car in sight. On the winding stretches of the moor road, however, it appeared every now and then on the brow of a hill, like some gigantic, low-flying white bird, urging her ever on.
But how far had they to go? Already Jane had clocked up four miles. It was far too far away for the local doctor to live.
When she saw the house she thought that she understood. Valerie had chosen it and Max had bowed to the inevitable, as it was obviously his wife’s money that had made its purchase and upkeep possible.
Marton Heights was a large, sprawling, stone-built mansion. Not the place, Jane thought involuntarily, for a village doctor.
Valerie swung her car in between the massive stone pillars of the gateway, sweeping up a wide, gravelled drive to the front door. She was standing waiting by the time Jane had parked behind her.
“You’ll be all right there,” she decided. “I’ll take this thing round to the stables m a minute. Come and have a drink!”
They entered a wide, airy hall with high pillars supporting one of the most unusual staircases Jane had ever seen. It was made of stone and built into the wall in a wide and graceful spiral, with only a thick scarlet cord slotted through brass eyelets to act as a handrail. It led giddily up to the floor above, a veritable death-trap for the unwary, Jane mused, staring up at it.
“You’re admiring my staircase?” Valerie smiled. “It was the main reason why I bought the house. The staircase was the thing! I had never seen one quite like it. Max wanted to have a wrought-iron rail built on the outside of it, but I wouldn’t agree. We’re still wrangling about it, as a matter of fact,” she confessed airily. “Don ’ t you think it would spoil the effect, Jane?”
“ I think it would make the stairs a lot safer,” Jane was forced to say. “Especially where there were children—”
“But there aren’t any children.” Valerie treated her to an odd little forced smile. “There never will be. You see,” she continued deliberately, “Max objects.”
Jane drew a deep breath. She could not believe Valerie, yet why should Valerie lie to her in such a deliberate way?
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “It doesn’t alter my opinion
Jane found her hand gripped in hard, leathery fingers while two brilliantly blue eyes smiled into her own. “Jim” Crow was probably just under five feet tall—shorter than her own height—a small, compact man in his middle thirties who looked as if he had started life as a jockey. He had probably gravitated to the training side when his weight had tipped the scales heavily against him in his former profession. He had an open-air look about him and his frankness pleased Jane. Valerie seemed to be very well acquainted with him.
“See you about seven-thirty, Jim!” she called as he bent to close the door of the convertible after her. “Tell Eddie I’m not going to excuse him this time!”
Jim said that it wouldn’t be necessary, but Jane caught an oddly-guarded look in his honest face as Valerie drove away.
“I ’ ve got to keep Mrs. Kilsyth in sight,” she excused herself when he walked toward her. “I’m following her home.”
Jim’s shrug was briefly condemnatory.
“You certainly won’t pass her,” he said.
It was no easy task to follow Valerie. If there hadn’t been only one main road through the dale and with the trees thinning out as they began to climb, Jane would have had considerable difficulty in keeping the big white car in sight. On the winding stretches of the moor road, however, it appeared every now and then on the brow of a hill, like some gigantic, low-flying white bird, urging her ever on.
But how far had they to go? Already Jane had clocked up four miles. It was far too far away for the local doctor to live.
When she saw the house she thought that she understood. Valerie had chosen it and Max had bowed to the inevitable, as it was obviously his wife’s money that had made its purchase and upkeep possible.
Marton Heights was a large, sprawling, stone-built mansion. Not the place, Jane thought involuntarily, for a village doctor.
Valerie swung her car in between the massive stone pillars of the gateway, sweeping up a wide, gravelled drive to the front door. She was standing waiting by the time Jane had parked behind her.
“You’ll be all right there,” she decided. “I’ll take this thing round to the stables m a minute. Come and have a drink!”
They entered a wide, airy hall with high pillars supporting one of the most unusual staircases Jane had ever seen. It was made of stone and built into the wall in a wide and graceful spiral, with only a thick scarlet cord slotted through brass eyelets to act as a handrail. It led giddily up to the floor above, a veritable death-trap for the unwary, Jane mused, staring up at it.
“You’re admiring my staircase?” Valerie smiled. “It was the main reason why I bought the house. The staircase was the thing! I had never seen one quite like it. Max wanted to have a wrought-iron rail built on the outside of it, but I wouldn’t agree. We’re still wrangling about it, as a matter of fact,” she confessed airily. “Don ’ t you think it would spoil the effect, Jane?”
“ I think it would make the stairs a lot safer,” Jane was forced to say. “Especially where there were children—”
“But there aren’t any children.” Valerie treated her to an odd little forced smile. “There never will be. You see,” she continued deliberately, “Max objects.”
Jane drew a deep breath. She could not believe Valerie, yet why should Valerie lie to her in such a deliberate way?
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “It doesn’t alter my opinion
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