The Knapthorne Conspiracy Malcolm Ballard (most popular novels of all time .txt) 📖

he?” Mrs. Flint gave a brisk movement of her head to indicate that the gardener had gone round the side of the house, to the back garden.

“He’d be on the job by now, so I’d best be comin’ in and makin’ a start, Miss Foxton.” And without more ado she stepped forward and Bella stepped back to hold the door open for her.

“Yes, come in, Cora,” she agreed, as her housekeeper advanced on the kitchen, out of earshot. I’ve just got to pick the right time, Bella instructed herself, as if there’s such a thing as the right time with someone like Cora. Maybe it’s better to dive in head first and see what happens. She was standing at the worktop, on the right-hand side of the kitchen, buttering the toast, as Mrs. Flint came in from the laundry.

“Why don’t you take your breakfast up with you, then you won’t be getting under my feet?” she suggested. I’m sure she means well, Bella thought, but why does she have to make it sound like an order.

“Good idea, Cora,” she replied, as though she’d never have thought of it but made no effort to move. “Cora…” she began hesitantly, causing the woman to tut and a frown to wrinkle her brow. What is it now? her look asked, in exasperation, and Bella was left with no option but to press on.

“You were born in the village, presumably?” Bella tried to make the question appear as light-hearted as possible.

“If I were, what of it?” Cora Flint fired back, as if it was an accusation rather than a question and Bella looked mortified.

“Nothing!” she replied, anxiously. “I’m not prying, please don’t think that, but if you were born here you’d probably know as much as anyone around here about Willow Cottage.” There, she’d said it! And she’d noticed a reaction in Mrs. Flint. A slight stiffening of her body, the shoulders going back, as if the rigidity of her stance would repel any verbal assault. Her eyes had narrowed too to show that her mind’s defences were on red alert to detect any subterfuge, any devious attempt to outwit her by the alien outsider. It was exactly what Bella had hoped to avoid.

“What’s there to know about Willow Cottage? I don’t know what you’m meanin’? Anyway, I’m busy an’ I’ve got to get on!” She made to walk away but Bella put a hand on her arm, to stay her. Cora Flint looked at it, contemptuously.

“Look, I don’t mean to offend or embarrass you,” Bella apologised, removing her hand, “but please allow me to explain.” For a moment it appeared as if her housekeeper was plagued by uncertainty. Hers was not a pretty face with its bold, fleshy features set in a stern grimace but her eyes were alive, searching the room as if looking for an escape route while she considered what to do. After what, to Bella, seemed an eternity she came to a decision.

“What is it you want then, Miss Foxton.” Inwardly, Bella sighed with relief but dare not show it. The first hurdle had been cleared. The question was, how far along the track would she be allowed to get? She longed to say to Cora: ‘Don’t worry about the housework, for the moment. Come into the lounge and sit down and I can tell you what this is all about.’ Maureen Sparks would have been in there in a flash, eager to know what was going on.

“I love this place, Cora,” she began, in an attempt to put the woman’s mind at rest, “and I’m very happy here…” Cora Flint shuffled her feet and exhaled noisily through her nose as if to say get on with it. “…but I’ve been wondering, with your association with Willow Cottage…” She wasn’t finding it easy, with the big woman staring her down.

“Yes?” Mrs Flint asked, impatiently. Bella closed her eyes briefly, thinking ‘it’s now or never,’ and took the plunge.

“I’ve had this dream, several times now, since I’ve been here and I wonder, if I tell you about it, whether it would make any sense to you?” Immediately the words were out she realised how foolish it sounded. Almost as though she were a little girl, frightened of the dark. Was it scorn she saw in Cora Flint’s eyes?

“A dream, Miss Foxton?” she said, incredulously. “Why should I be knowin’ anythin’ about a dream.” The tone was dismissive, as though the whole thing was too silly for words. “I been a housekeeper here, nothin’ more. I’m not a gypsy woman with a crystal ball!” Was she actually laughing at her, Bella wondered, wishing now that she hadn’t brought the subject up in the first place. But then a reaction set in, an annoyed response to the woman’s attitude, prompting her to not only describe the dream to Cora Flint but also ask her about the cat, and the flowers in the bedroom at the end of the hall. Not content with leaving it at that, and wanting to get it all off her chest, she even mentioned how Jane had felt uncomfortable in the cottage when she’d come to stay for the weekend. Her piece said she waited on tenterhooks clinging to the slimmest hope that, against all expectations, her housekeeper might be able to offer an explanation for any of the circumstances of which she had spoken. Cora’s face was unreadable. It was impossible to tell what was going on underneath that stony glare, what reaction was taking place, but the longer Bella waited for a reply the less confident she became of getting any answers. With Cora Flint eventually poised to speak Bella instinctively knew, with unequivocal certainty, that the words weren’t going to be what she had wanted to hear.

“They say you’m a writer. Books an’ all, is that right?” She had raised herself up, tilting her head back slightly as if looking down her nose at Bella, almost as though there was something distasteful in what