Enter Pale Death

“Now who’s doing a Mister Toad?” Joe challenged. “Look at you! I’m afraid if I climb aboard you’ll drive me back a couple of decades. We’ll be bursting into the Edwardian age before you can say ‘H. G. Wells’!”

Hu

“I shall be glad to have an interpreter aboard then. What is this vehicle?”

“It’s a Lagonda M45. The poor man’s Bentley, they call them. Very popular with undergraduates seeking to impress. I thought we’d have something with a collapsible hood so we can enjoy the views and the fresh air. It’s a bit wide for the country lanes but it’s got tough wheels and tyres and we won’t have to blush for it when we park it on the forecourt of the Hall. If it were a horse, I’d say it was a well-shod, long-legged hunter with a deep chest, suitable mount for a gentleman.”

He turned off the ignition and made to climb out.

“No, no! Stay where you are,” Joe hurried to shout. “You look perfect at the wheel. It would take me at least ten miles to get the hang of it. And I did note the streams rushing down open gutters on both sides of Trumpington Street on the way here. They’d caught a Ford, two bikes and an old lady on a tricycle before breakfast, I noticed. Damn dangerous bit of plumbing! Can’t think why you allow that in a civilised city. The Romans would never have sanctioned it.” Chattering on, he threw his bags into the back and, hearing not even a token objection, settled into the passenger seat.

Hu

“I never see any point in disguising what I am when I’m working,” Joe said. “Some have even found it reassuring. If it scares the villains—good.”

ALL ATTEMPTS AT conversation were abandoned as they zipped along the main road east leading to Newmarket and on to the North Sea coast. Joe noticed that, as with most good horsemen, Hu

After a few miles of dodging dangerously around lorries and swaying haywains, they turned off the noisy road, taking an offshoot to the left. Hu

Hu

“What’s that scent? Like incense …” Joe answered his own question. “Of course—honeysuckle!”

“S’right. Ten minutes of this’ll unclog your city nose.”

“Coked up as it is with soot and fog and the spewed-out contents of the Lots’ Road power station—my next door neighbour in Chelsea. Ears, too. Birds! I can hear real birds! We only get pigeons and raucous seagulls in London.” Joe was perfectly content to exploit the image of city slicker he’d detected in Hu

Once started, conversation began to flow easily along the lanes, punctuated by village and hamlet and the occasional grand house set in its own parkland, each accorded its commentary by Hu

“I notice that the grandeur of the houses increases the further we go into the dark interior. Have I got that wrong?” Joe remarked.

“Oh, where they’ve survived at all—and many have not—they go on getting ever more splendid right through up into Norfolk. Until you stumble on the real stu

“Shame we’re not invited,” Joe said.

“Don’t worry. You’ll eat well enough. We’re having supper at my cottage. Yes, the old home. I bought it from the guv’nor when my parents died. My sister A

“That’s very kind of her. But—supper, Hu

“Entirely up to you, how much time you want to spend over here. I’ve just taken precautions. If we do get benighted you can bunk up in my spare room. And you can count on there being a good breakfast. Home-cured bacon and Newmarket sausages. Eggs snatched straight from under the hen …”

Joe stirred uneasily. “Sounds wonderful but—look—is there a telephone I can use out here? I shall need to contact my sister again. If Lydia’s still speaking to me after my early morning call from the Garden House.” He put on a crisp, cross voice: “ ‘You’re where? Well, you shouldn’t be! Why aren’t you coming down the drive?’ ”

“Fouling up her plans are you?”

“I’m afraid so. She’s used to it. But this is to be rather a special time. Much pla

“The phone lines have staggered out this far,” Hu

“Anyone else in the household I should put at the top of my list?”

“Grace Aldred. Her ladyship’s maid.”

“She hasn’t moved on, then?”

“No. Her family are local folk. She could have got a job in London but she preferred to stay on here, though she had to take a lowering of position to do that. Gracie’s a laundry maid these days. She gets on well with the housekeeper, Mrs. Bolton, and I’d say she could train on to replace her when Mrs. Bolton retires. I’ve asked the staff to stand by to be interviewed after twelve o’clock. We’ll be finished with the vet by then and you can take as long as you want up at the house.” He looked at his wristwatch. “We’ve made good time. Nearly there. This is all Truelove’s land hereabouts. We could take a break and offer ourselves a little distraction, I think. Your first taste of Suffolk.”