thought. I've seen this movie. Isn't this where the ruddy-faced local warns him to keep clear of the old house up there on the hill? 'Strange things 'appen up there at the 'all.'
But the barman merely pushed back the pump and righted the glass. He smiled pleasantly as he placed the ale on the bar mat in front of Gabe and said, 'Dreadful weather we're havin' lately. Must have rained for three weeks solid now. Hope it don't spoil yer stay.'
'We'll be keeping ourselves pretty busy,' Gabe told him as he waited for the tonic. 'My daughter starts at the local school Monday.' The 'local' school was several miles away in the nearest town of Merrybridge.
Pouring half the tonic water into a fresh glass and leaving the rest in the bottle, which he stood beside it, the barman nodded. 'That'll be Merrybridge Middle School, will it? She'll be all right there. Most of the village kids go to the Merry Middle. Picked up by bus from the main street. S'pect the driver will make a stop at Crickley Hall for yer daughter, no problem for him. Frank's one of my regulars so I'll mention it when he comes in tonight. The school will have to make the formal arrangement regarding payment and insurance, but that's easily done.'
'Thanks, I'd be grateful. I'm taking her in myself the first morning but I'll fix it with the school. I need to go into Ilfracombe anyway.'
'And what about the little 'un?'
'She's only five. My wife'll take care of her while we're down here.' Gabe knew Eve would teach Cally the basics of reading and writing far more strictly than any nursery school.
As the other man took the money for the drinks and food from Gabe, he remarked, 'Big place, that Crickley Hall. Yer'll be rattlin' around in it.'
'I bet it'll be cold, too, in this weather.' This came from the attractive chestnut-haired barmaid, who had come back from serving a customer at the far end of the bar. Her Devonian burr was barely noticeable; if anything, her accent was more south London than West Country. 'It'll be damp. All those old places are.'
'Yeah, I found puddles on the stairs last night and I'm not sure how they got there,' Gabe replied. 'Maybe from a loose window frame. There's a big window over the stairs. All gone this morning, though, not even damp patches left behind.'
'You wait 'til there's a proper storm. Then you'll know about it. You've probably got a leaky roof too.' The girl gave a brief mock shiver.
The barman shrugged. 'Owner's not lived there fer years and them that rented it never stayed long.'
Oh-oh , Gabe said to himself wryly, here it comes. Fifty years ago a mad axeman chopped up his family and hid the body parts all over the house, or at the turn of the last century the wealthy owner of Crickley Hall, old Charlie Crickley himself, forbade his daughter to marry the local ratcatcher and she hanged herself in the cellar .
But the bartender went on: 'That's why the place has been so neglected and why yer gettin' yer leaks.'
'I thought the old guy, Percy—Percy Judd?—took care of the house.'
The other man gave him a rueful grin. 'Percy's a bit ancient to do much upkeep. That's why the estate manager pays two ladies from the village to go in and give it a good dusting once a month. No, Percy can't do a lot on his own nowadays. To be honest wiv yer, he's only kept on out of kindness. Has he been knocking on yer door yet?'
'Yesterday, soon after we arrived. Just how old is he?'
The barman's forehead creased as he took a moment to think. He scratched his chin. 'Oh, he must be… well, I don't know for sure, but he's got to be nearly eighty by now. Served overseas wiv the army at the end of the last world war, so he must be getting' on a bit.'
Gabe whistled softly through his teeth. 'And he's still working?'
'Like I say, as a kindness. No one likes to sack him, y'see. He helps out at the church en' all, but nothing too heavy, just tending the churchyard, collectin' hymn books after Mass, that sort of thing. He's a dear old chap, set in
But the barman merely pushed back the pump and righted the glass. He smiled pleasantly as he placed the ale on the bar mat in front of Gabe and said, 'Dreadful weather we're havin' lately. Must have rained for three weeks solid now. Hope it don't spoil yer stay.'
'We'll be keeping ourselves pretty busy,' Gabe told him as he waited for the tonic. 'My daughter starts at the local school Monday.' The 'local' school was several miles away in the nearest town of Merrybridge.
Pouring half the tonic water into a fresh glass and leaving the rest in the bottle, which he stood beside it, the barman nodded. 'That'll be Merrybridge Middle School, will it? She'll be all right there. Most of the village kids go to the Merry Middle. Picked up by bus from the main street. S'pect the driver will make a stop at Crickley Hall for yer daughter, no problem for him. Frank's one of my regulars so I'll mention it when he comes in tonight. The school will have to make the formal arrangement regarding payment and insurance, but that's easily done.'
'Thanks, I'd be grateful. I'm taking her in myself the first morning but I'll fix it with the school. I need to go into Ilfracombe anyway.'
'And what about the little 'un?'
'She's only five. My wife'll take care of her while we're down here.' Gabe knew Eve would teach Cally the basics of reading and writing far more strictly than any nursery school.
As the other man took the money for the drinks and food from Gabe, he remarked, 'Big place, that Crickley Hall. Yer'll be rattlin' around in it.'
'I bet it'll be cold, too, in this weather.' This came from the attractive chestnut-haired barmaid, who had come back from serving a customer at the far end of the bar. Her Devonian burr was barely noticeable; if anything, her accent was more south London than West Country. 'It'll be damp. All those old places are.'
'Yeah, I found puddles on the stairs last night and I'm not sure how they got there,' Gabe replied. 'Maybe from a loose window frame. There's a big window over the stairs. All gone this morning, though, not even damp patches left behind.'
'You wait 'til there's a proper storm. Then you'll know about it. You've probably got a leaky roof too.' The girl gave a brief mock shiver.
The barman shrugged. 'Owner's not lived there fer years and them that rented it never stayed long.'
Oh-oh , Gabe said to himself wryly, here it comes. Fifty years ago a mad axeman chopped up his family and hid the body parts all over the house, or at the turn of the last century the wealthy owner of Crickley Hall, old Charlie Crickley himself, forbade his daughter to marry the local ratcatcher and she hanged herself in the cellar .
But the bartender went on: 'That's why the place has been so neglected and why yer gettin' yer leaks.'
'I thought the old guy, Percy—Percy Judd?—took care of the house.'
The other man gave him a rueful grin. 'Percy's a bit ancient to do much upkeep. That's why the estate manager pays two ladies from the village to go in and give it a good dusting once a month. No, Percy can't do a lot on his own nowadays. To be honest wiv yer, he's only kept on out of kindness. Has he been knocking on yer door yet?'
'Yesterday, soon after we arrived. Just how old is he?'
The barman's forehead creased as he took a moment to think. He scratched his chin. 'Oh, he must be… well, I don't know for sure, but he's got to be nearly eighty by now. Served overseas wiv the army at the end of the last world war, so he must be getting' on a bit.'
Gabe whistled softly through his teeth. 'And he's still working?'
'Like I say, as a kindness. No one likes to sack him, y'see. He helps out at the church en' all, but nothing too heavy, just tending the churchyard, collectin' hymn books after Mass, that sort of thing. He's a dear old chap, set in
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