Free Carson's Conspiracy by Michael Innes Page A

looking up at Garford now that there was a Rolls in the stable. He didn’t go in for the deeply spurious servility of the Punters, and although in general a somewhat crusty character he always spoke to his employer pleasantly enough. Carson, somehow, didn’t greatly care for this.
    Lockett was a widower, and shared his cottage with a young man called William, who was understood to be his stepson. Carson suspected William of really being a by-blow of Lockett’s own. But as a broad-minded man Carson naturally took no exception to this. William was quite useful. He had employment, seemingly of an undemanding sort, in the forecourt of a service-station, and was frequently available to lend his stepfather a helping hand in a horticultural way at Garford. About the money involved here Lockett was particular, frequently naming moderate sums that the young man ought to be handed in person. On these occasions Carson would seek out William and pay up willingly enough. He sometimes wondered whether William had then to disgorge part of these gains to his stepfather towards his keep. But that was no business of his. William was lowly, and therefore – Carson supposed – not too bright. But he was a useful bundle of muscles around the place.
    On his way back to the house and his dinner, Carson had a word with Lockett now. Lockett never asked gardening questions, since these were apt to leave his employer at a loss. Instead, he usually described what he was about. At the moment, he said, he was ‘pegging down those Ellen Willmott verbenas’.
    â€˜Quite right, Lockett. Just the proper time for that.’ Carson knew that Lockett knew that he would have said precisely this had he, Lockett, gone off his head and pursued this mysterious activity in mid-December. But conventions of this sort of knowledge on the part of a townee employer were wholly in order, and Lockett acquiesced in them. Straightening his back, he then went on to a little general conversation.
    â€˜I wouldn’t care to take a liberty,’ Lockett said. ‘But there’s been something the lad was asking me.’ The ‘lad’ was William, and Carson had heard of William’s inquiring mind before. Invoking it was, in fact, Lockett’s regular technique when he had himself a problem or project to advance. ‘Would you ever have thought, sir, of opening the gardens, maybe no more than a couple of times a year, in aid of the District Nursing, or such like? It was summat we did regular in the olden days.’
    â€˜Did you, indeed?’ Carson prepared himself to be very short with this absurd idea.
    â€˜Miss Judith, now – that was here a few weeks back. She put me in mind of it.’ Lockett had already forgotten his claim that the thought had been William’s.
    â€˜And who the devil is Miss Judith?’ Carson asked.
    â€˜Well, sir, it’s what they’ve called her since almost before I knew her. Mrs Appleby. Lady Appleby, as she is today. My first employment as a garden boy was at Long Dream. The Ravens’ place, sir. Lady Appleby was a Raven, as you know.’
    â€˜Ravens? I never heard of them.’
    â€˜Well, sir, that can only come of your not having been long in these parts. Quite a chat I had with Miss Judith – Lady Appleby, that is – when she and Sir John walked round the place. A noticing woman in a garden, she is – and good enough to say we ought to open the place now and then, just as we used to do at Dream.’
    â€˜I’ll think about it, Lockett.’ Carson had no intention of thinking about it, and judged that its having been suggested to his gardener was impertinent. But if he asserted that to Lockett, he certainly wouldn’t go up in the man’s estimation. Lockett was touchy, and might start, like Punter, talking about good service. He might even declare that he intended to retire, and ask his employer to take a month’s notice. That would