family. Her mother was a witch, too.”
She spoke in a matter-of-fact way.
“You sound as though you believe in witchcraft, Mrs Dane Calthrop,” I said.
“But of course! There's nothing mysterious or secretive about it. It's all quite matter-of-fact. It's a family asset that you inherit. Children are told not to tease your cat, and people give you a cottage cheese or a pot of homemade jam from time to time.”
I looked at her doubtfully. She appeared to be quite serious.
“Sybil helped us today by telling fortunes,” said Rhoda. “She was in the green tent. She's quite good at it, I believe.”
“She gave me a lovely fortune,” said Ginger. “Money in my hand. A handsome dark stranger from overseas, two husbands and six children. Really very generous.”
“I saw the Curtis girl come out giggling,” said Rhoda. “And she was very coy with her young man afterwards. Told him not to think he was the only pebble on the beach.”
“Poor Tom,” said her husband. “Did he make any comeback?”
“Oh yes. 'I'm not telling you what she promised me,' he said. 'Mebbe you wouldn't like it too well, my girl!'”
“Good for Tom.”
“Old Mrs Parker was quite sour,” said Ginger laughing. “'Tis all foolishness,' that's what she said. 'Don't you believe none of it, you two.' But then Mrs Cripps piped up and said, 'You know, Lizzie, as well as I do, that Miss Stamfordis sees things as others can't see, and Miss Grey knows to a day when there's going to be a death. Never wrong, she is! Fairly gives me the creeps sometimes.' And Mrs Parker said 'Death - that's different. It's a gift.' And Mrs Cripps said: 'Anyway I wouldn't like to offend none of those three, that I wouldn't!'”
“It does all sound exciting. I'd love to meet them,” said Mrs Oliver wistfully.
“We'll take you over there tomorrow,” Colonel Despard promised. “That old inn is really worth seeing. They've been very clever in making it comfortable without spoiling its character.”
“I'll ring up Thyrza tomorrow morning,” said Rhoda.
I must admit that I went to bed with a slight feeling of deflation.
The Pale Horse which had loomed in my mind as a symbol of something unknown and sinister had turned out to be nothing of the sort.
Unless, of course, there was another Pale Horse somewhere else?
I considered that idea until I fell asleep.
The Pale Horse
II
There was a feeling of relaxation next day, which was a Sunday. An after-the-party feeling. On the lawn the marquee and tents flapped limply in a damp breeze, awaiting removal by the caterer's men at early dawn on the morrow. On Monday we would all set to work to take stock of what damage had been done, and clear things up. Today, Rhoda had wisely decided, it would be better to go out as much as possible. We all went to church, and listened respectfully to Mr Dane Calthrop's scholarly sermon on a text taken from Isaiah which seemed to deal less with religion than with Persian history.
“We're going to lunch with Mr Venables,” explained Rhoda afterwards. “You'll like him, Mark. He's really a most interesting man. Been everywhere and done everything. Knows all sorts of out-of-the-way things. He bought Priors Court about three years ago. And the things he's done to it must have cost him a fortune. He had polio and is semi-crippled, so he has to go about in a wheelchair. It's very sad for him because up to then he was a great traveller, I believe. Of course he's rolling in money, and, as I say, he's done up the house in a wonderful way - it was an absolute ruin, falling to pieces. It's full of the most gorgeous stuff. The sale rooms are his principal interest nowadays, I believe.”
Priors Court was only a few miles away. We drove there and our host came wheeling himself along the hall to meet us.
“Nice of you all to come,” he said heartily. “You must be exhausted after yesterday. The whole thing was a great success, Rhoda.”
Mr Venables was a man of about fifty, with a
She spoke in a matter-of-fact way.
“You sound as though you believe in witchcraft, Mrs Dane Calthrop,” I said.
“But of course! There's nothing mysterious or secretive about it. It's all quite matter-of-fact. It's a family asset that you inherit. Children are told not to tease your cat, and people give you a cottage cheese or a pot of homemade jam from time to time.”
I looked at her doubtfully. She appeared to be quite serious.
“Sybil helped us today by telling fortunes,” said Rhoda. “She was in the green tent. She's quite good at it, I believe.”
“She gave me a lovely fortune,” said Ginger. “Money in my hand. A handsome dark stranger from overseas, two husbands and six children. Really very generous.”
“I saw the Curtis girl come out giggling,” said Rhoda. “And she was very coy with her young man afterwards. Told him not to think he was the only pebble on the beach.”
“Poor Tom,” said her husband. “Did he make any comeback?”
“Oh yes. 'I'm not telling you what she promised me,' he said. 'Mebbe you wouldn't like it too well, my girl!'”
“Good for Tom.”
“Old Mrs Parker was quite sour,” said Ginger laughing. “'Tis all foolishness,' that's what she said. 'Don't you believe none of it, you two.' But then Mrs Cripps piped up and said, 'You know, Lizzie, as well as I do, that Miss Stamfordis sees things as others can't see, and Miss Grey knows to a day when there's going to be a death. Never wrong, she is! Fairly gives me the creeps sometimes.' And Mrs Parker said 'Death - that's different. It's a gift.' And Mrs Cripps said: 'Anyway I wouldn't like to offend none of those three, that I wouldn't!'”
“It does all sound exciting. I'd love to meet them,” said Mrs Oliver wistfully.
“We'll take you over there tomorrow,” Colonel Despard promised. “That old inn is really worth seeing. They've been very clever in making it comfortable without spoiling its character.”
“I'll ring up Thyrza tomorrow morning,” said Rhoda.
I must admit that I went to bed with a slight feeling of deflation.
The Pale Horse which had loomed in my mind as a symbol of something unknown and sinister had turned out to be nothing of the sort.
Unless, of course, there was another Pale Horse somewhere else?
I considered that idea until I fell asleep.
The Pale Horse
II
There was a feeling of relaxation next day, which was a Sunday. An after-the-party feeling. On the lawn the marquee and tents flapped limply in a damp breeze, awaiting removal by the caterer's men at early dawn on the morrow. On Monday we would all set to work to take stock of what damage had been done, and clear things up. Today, Rhoda had wisely decided, it would be better to go out as much as possible. We all went to church, and listened respectfully to Mr Dane Calthrop's scholarly sermon on a text taken from Isaiah which seemed to deal less with religion than with Persian history.
“We're going to lunch with Mr Venables,” explained Rhoda afterwards. “You'll like him, Mark. He's really a most interesting man. Been everywhere and done everything. Knows all sorts of out-of-the-way things. He bought Priors Court about three years ago. And the things he's done to it must have cost him a fortune. He had polio and is semi-crippled, so he has to go about in a wheelchair. It's very sad for him because up to then he was a great traveller, I believe. Of course he's rolling in money, and, as I say, he's done up the house in a wonderful way - it was an absolute ruin, falling to pieces. It's full of the most gorgeous stuff. The sale rooms are his principal interest nowadays, I believe.”
Priors Court was only a few miles away. We drove there and our host came wheeling himself along the hall to meet us.
“Nice of you all to come,” he said heartily. “You must be exhausted after yesterday. The whole thing was a great success, Rhoda.”
Mr Venables was a man of about fifty, with a
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