Free The Hidden Man by Robin Blake Page B

quickly, with my last remaining question.
    â€˜Wasn’t that the personal reason why you asked me yesterday if Mr Pimbo had done away with himself? That he loved you, and you couldn’t love him back?’
    She turned around and I could see that the young woman, who had so tremblingly heard the news of the conditional bequest, had now become again the imperious housekeeper of Cadley Place.
    â€˜Loved me? I think not, Sir. A man like him does not love a woman such as me … as me – the way I am.’
    Before I could say more she held up her good hand, its palm towards us.
    â€˜Mr Cragg, doctor, if you please! I have tasks to complete.’
    She gestured towards the rose stems lying on the table. Out of water the petals had already begun to lose their tone and crispness.
    â€˜I am sure these must appear very trivial to professional men, but they are my duties, and I have to attend to them. Allow me to show you out.’
    *   *   *
    â€˜What do you make of her, Luke?’ I said, when the door had closed and we were mounting our horses.
    â€˜She is not easy to decipher,’ he replied.
    â€˜Certainly there’s more to know about her and Pimbo – more than what she’s told us.’
    â€˜Yes, if she did not lie, she did speak selectively, I think. Would the mother help to fill in the gaps?’
    â€˜She is half-crazy.’
    â€˜Sometimes half-craziness has much to tell.’
    â€˜I have met the old woman: nothing she says would be admissible in law.’
    We rode through the gate marked ‘out’ and started along the lane. I looked over the wall opposite the house into a well-planted apple grove, in full leaf, and with the unripe fruit hanging in clusters.
    â€˜The orchard in question,’ I said. ‘See the beehives?’
    But Fidelis had already kicked his horse into a trot and was soon hacking on ahead of me. I did not catch up with him until we reached the brow of Town Moor, where he was resting his horse. The spot had a wide view of the roofs and smoking chimneys of Preston, though Fidelis was looking in a different direction, towards a lone ruined house visible away to our left, on the far side of the Moor and standing bleakly on raised ground: Peel Hall. It had been built in the time of Henry the Eighth, of brick and stone, with a tower and tall chimneys. Only the remains of these could still be seen, for the main house was now broken down and uninhabitable, though there was a cluster of usable out-buildings not far from it.
    â€˜I wonder if she is from the family,’ he said.
    â€˜I doubt it. She is a stranger here. And how is her arm, by the way? You and she were getting along well while I was in Pimbo’s study.’
    â€˜She’d burnt herself on a hot lamp glass. The burn was not very well dressed and had suppurated slightly but in my judgement it is already recovering so I covered it with a soothing honey-balm and redressed it. But to tell the truth, the burn is not what is really wrong with the arm; it is not the reason why she carries it in a sling – which she only does in the company of strangers.’
    â€˜What is the matter with it then?’
    â€˜The limb is deformed, Titus. It is, I confess, somewhat disconcerting to look at.’
    â€˜In what way?’
    â€˜In its distortion, stiffness and uselessness. The skin is mottled, with the overall colours associated with a thorough bruising. The elbow and wrist don’t flex, and the fingers are curled into a rigid fist. The whole limb, while it is sensitive to touch and to pain, cannot move of itself, but only swing uselessly from the shoulder.’
    I was filled with a mixture of horror and compassion.
    â€˜What an unfortunate young woman! How did this happen to her?’
    â€˜She was born with it. But let us not dwell upon the matter.’
    My friend swung around and gestured towards a mean hovel with an untidy straw roof which