Read Perfect Gallows for Free Online Page B

porridge was grainy, chewy, piping hot, quite different from Mum’s tepid slop. While he was eating Mrs McHealy took a tray of bread rolls out of another oven and flipped them on to a wire rack to cool.
    â€œWhen Mum tried baking it was more like bricks,” said Andrew.
    â€œDaresay it was,” said Mrs McHealy. “This wartime flour’s no earthly. How’d you fancy your egg, sir?”
    â€œSoft but not gooey, please.”
    â€œSammy has his getting on raw,” said Jack. “Don’t see how he can stomach ’em.”
    The darkie grinned. His presence seemed to make the atmosphere more welcoming, and Andrew thought he himself had helped by judging the charm-flow right, but there was still a sense of caution, of wary inquisitiveness. He could feel the old groom watching him, but then switching his glance away the moment he looked up. The attention of the other two, though more tactful, was also perceptible.
    â€œSammy says how you managed Sir Arnold was very nice last evening, sir,” said Mrs McHealy.
    â€œI did my best. I didn’t realize anyone was listening.”
    â€œYou think we didn’t ought, sir?”
    â€œI don’t mind.”
    â€œGetting on fifty years Sambo’s lived in this house. Thirty-nine I been here, and now we’ve, got our Hazel too. Nineteen twenty-two you come, wasn’t it, Jack, and Florrie was here afore that, and Mabel soon after, not to mention others as live in the cottages, like Mr Feather, and Mrs Oliphant up West Lodge—her George was under-gardener when I come. My way of thinking, we’ve as good a right as any to know what’s coming to us. Sir Arnold, he’s not got long to live …”
    â€œLucky to see another winter, ’cording to the doctor,” said Jack.
    â€œFlorrie was polishing outside the door while he was telling Miss Elspeth and Miss May,” said Mrs McHealy. “You see, while Master Nick was alive we all thought it was going to him in the end, spite of everything, but then he went and got killed in Italy, poor lad …”
    â€œIsn’t Sir Arnold going to leave most of it to my cousins?” said Andrew.
    â€œSambo says no. He’ll never leave the house to a woman. There’s one up in London, in Charles Street, he might leave them that. But this house here and the money to go with it, that’s got to go to a man.”
    â€œNot that we know for certain sure,” said Jack.
    â€œBut that’s what Sambo thinks, and he knows Sir Arnold better ’n most, don’t you, love?”
    â€œBaas never took any account of women,” said Samuel.
    â€œSo you see, sir, when Sir Arnold takes it into his head to have a look at the next heir, after Master Nick, that is, and there isn’t nobody else far as we can find, it’s only natural we’ll be taking an interest. And pardon me saying so, my mind you’ll be making a big mistake skulking off home. You stood up to Sir Arnold last night. Can’t do yourself much harm standing up a bit more by hanging on, can it?”
    Mrs McHealy hadn’t stopped cooking while she talked, working at the stove and speaking over her shoulder through the sizzle of frying. The lovely hot-lard smell filled the room. Now, before Andrew could answer, there was a clatter of running steps along the corridor and a girl about ten years old dashed into the kitchen. She had wiry dark hair and skin the colour of milky tea.
    â€œMorning, Gran,” she said.
    â€œThere’s some’ll be late for their own funeral,” said Mrs McHealy.
    â€œFew minutes yet,” said Jack.
    Ignoring them the child ran to the darkie and slung her arms round his waist. He bent to kiss her forehead. His grizzled hair and her black tangle had exactly the same texture. Mrs McHealy stumped over to the table with a plate in each hand—fried bread, bacon, egg. Nifty though Mum was at wangling extras and bringing odd