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

she had just said. It made Bella wonder if she ought to apologise for her vocation and then she felt an overwhelming urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. How could she feel vaguely threatened by her own housekeeper? It was ludicrous but it was her own fault, a situation of her own making, no one else’s. Was it Eleanor Roosevelt who’d said no one can intimidate you unless you let them? She resolved, there and then, to take a different tack with Cora, more relaxed, and treat her like any other human being.

“Yes, I’m a writer, Cora, so it’s all probably in my imagination, right?” she suggested, with a smile, to lighten the mood.

“Hm, there’s no telling what goes on in some folks’ ‘eads. Look at poor Alfie.” She studied the kitchen ceiling, thoughtfully, as if she were able to see right through it to the room above. Then she lowered her head till her eyes met Bella’s. There was a cold detachment in her look giving Bella the impression that the woman was pre-occupied with other thoughts as she spoke.

“There ‘ave been some comin’s an’ goin’s ‘ere, right enough.” She paused, seeming now to concentrate on the present. Absent-mindedly she brushed at some imaginary fluff on the ample bodice of her black dress. “But what you talk of… dreams an’ cats an’ all,” she said the words in a fanciful way, like it was some childhood fantasy. “I know nothin’ ‘bout things like that. As for flowers, Miss Foxton, I just likes to brighten that dark little room up. No ‘arm in that, is there?” No harm at all, Bella thought, as she watched Cora Flint turn to leave the kitchen, the woman obviously considering their conversation to be over. She stopped at the door, turning back to look at Bella.

“I’ll go up and get your washin’ then, Miss Foxton. Best you be getting’ on, isn’t it?”

The following evening, in the room above the saloon bar of The Lamb, Samuel Handysides presided over another meeting of the small group of local residents that had met there recently. The only addition to their number was a big woman, dressed in black, whose sombre presence set the tone of the gathering and was the reason for them all coming together. Cora Flint sat, aloof and unsmiling, at the opposite end of the table to the publican, waiting for Samuel to call the meeting to order. Around her, muted conversations were taking place, and woven through the gloomy, pressing atmosphere was a sense of morbid expectation which affected them all, as they waited for the meeting to begin. It was reflected in their pale, serious faces as Samuel Handysides got to his feet and silence descended on the room.

“You all knows why you’re ‘ere,” he began, “so I think it’s best to let ‘etty say her piece then I’ll throw the meetin’ open to discussion when she’s finished.” There were grave nods around the table as he turned his attention to the woman facing him. “So if you’d like to tell us, in your own time, what happened yesterday Cora.” As he returned to his seat, Cora Flint got to her feet, slowly surveying the faces of the other people in the room, people she’d known all her life. They were all waiting expectantly, aware that what Cora had to say could possibly change their lives in some dramatic way.

“Like I told you, I been expectin’ somethin’ like this to ‘appen…” she began, in a  firm, quietly confident voice, reassured by the accuracy of her wisdom and foresight. No-one in the room knew exactly what had taken place and were relying on Mrs. Flint to tell them. Her opening words had guaranteed their undivided attention and she played her audience like a professional, “…ever since she came to Willow Cottage.” Nobody stirred. There was no shuffling of feet or clearing of throats, each individual intent on catching every word she said. Samuel Handysides looked from one face to another, around the room, seeing the concern etched into each and every one of them, finally settling his gaze on the solid bulk of the woman at the opposite end of the table as she continued.

“Miss Foxton is nobody’s fool,” she let the words sink in, to give them full effect. “She notices things that, per’aps some of us wouldn’t. She experiences things that might not happen to us.” Mrs. Tinker let her eyes roam slowly around the room,  alighting on each of them, in turn. “An’ she’s been askin’ me to make sense of the goin’s on at the cottage!” She lifted her head slightly and the features of her face were defined in light and shadow by the illumination from the wall lights. It gave her a spectral appearance, lending emphasis to her words, as a babble of conversation erupted. Samuel Handysides grabbed a nearby glass and banged it on the table several times.

“Come on now! Quieten down, an’ let’s ‘ear what Cora’s got to say.” It took a few moments for complete silence to be restored. “Continue in your own time, please Cora, and let’s have no more nonsense,” he added, looking at them all over his glasses, “until Mrs. Flint’s finished.”

“I was called to account, yesterday mornin’, by Miss Foxton,” continued Cora, squaring her shoulders and folding her arms in front of her, “and asked if I could give a meanin’ to a dream she’d been ‘avin’. Not just the once, mind, this dream. My lord, no. Several times now, she’s ‘ad it, an’ it’s always the same thing.” She leaned forward now, in a show of intimacy, spreading her arms and resting her hands on the table, then lowered her voice in a conspiratorial manner. “The way of it is, she gets to thinkin’ she’s bein’ chased, purr-sued, she called it,” Cora explained, in a hoity-toity voice, but no-one laughed. “An’ those that are chasin’ ‘er gets closer an’ closer, lookin’ like they’re about