Autumn Leaves at Mill Grange by Jenny Kane (the little red hen ebook .txt) 📗

Thea, who’d been nervous anyway, did not appreciate the advice. ‘Are you seriously telling me the girl is a risk to my safety?’

‘Probably not.’ Shaun played a trowel though his fingers. ‘Just be careful.’

Thea flapped his concerns away. ‘Leave me to it and get back to work before I lose my bottle and you lose more site time.’

*

Even though she wanted to talk to the daughter of the house, it felt wrong to go up to the front door. Thea headed to the rear of Guron House, hoping that there’d be a back door near the kitchen like there was at home.

Home. Thea felt a rush of warmth. Mill Grange was home now.

Not allowing herself time to pause – and therefore think – she knocked on the dark green door that she hoped was the right one.

Silence followed her knock for a full thirty seconds before she heard the sound of shoes walking across stone.

Thea’s palms began to tingle as the footsteps became louder. She thrust her hands deep into her pockets, hoping she wouldn’t have to shake anybody’s hand. A mumbling from the other side of the door suggested that perhaps the key hadn’t been in the lock as expected, and whoever was trying to answer her summons was having trouble tracking it down.

Wishing they’d hurry up, Thea forced herself to focus on the bigger picture. This is for Mill Grange. It could be argued that this is part of your job.

She was in the process of justifying this point to herself, when the door opened to a flurry of apologises for keeping her waiting. The person stood before her was not a maid or any sort of servant. Thea felt wrong-footed as reaching out to shake her hand, Lord Hammett introduced himself.

If he’d noticed how clammy her palm was, he made no comment. Instead he ushered Thea, with old-fashioned gallantry, into a large kitchen, that was currently dominated by a table covered with newspapers.

‘You’ve caught me indulging in my secret vice.’

‘My Lord?’

‘My wife does not approve of me reading the tabloids.’ He gave her a disarming grin. ‘How can I help you? One of the archaeologists I assume?’

‘Yes, Sir, we were wondering how Sophie was, and if she’ll be working today? Migraines can be awful, so we’d understand if she can’t, but we’re so close to the end of the dig, it would be a shame for her to miss out on the last few days after all her hard work.’

‘Indeed.’ Lord Hammett was clearly puzzled, but didn’t comment on the fact the archaeologists were under the impression his daughter had been unwell. ‘I haven’t seen Sophie this morning.’

‘I don’t wish to disturb her if she is sleeping, but it would be good to have a chat if she’s up to it. Deliver a progress report and so on.’

Lord Hammett tapped the arm of his chair a few times. ‘I don’t recall seeing you about before. Not one of the regulars on the team?’

Her face flushing, Thea replied as casually as she could. ‘I arrived yesterday to cover for Sophie if necessary. I’m supposed to be working on another excavation, which I’ll return to if I’m not needed.’

‘Sensible.’ His Lordship spoke with approval. ‘That Phil and Shaun seem to have their heads screwed on. Running the thing like a proper business. Good stuff.’

‘Umm, thanks.’ Thea shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. ‘So, would it be possible to talk to Sophie, my Lord?’

*

‘First on the left, second on the left, third…’ Thea stopped murmuring the instructions she’d been given under her breath as she reached the door she’d been heading for.

She’d been quite surprised when Lord Hammett had given her directions to find his daughter’s room, rather than escorting her there himself, or even calling a member of staff to guide her. Maybe they didn’t have staff as she’d at first assumed. Or perhaps his Lordship simply hadn’t wanted to leave the comforts of his secret paper-reading lair?

Now she was here, outside the room of the young woman who’d aimed to make herself her rival for Shaun’s affections, the whole situation suddenly felt ridiculous. Was she really about to have the sort of conversation she associated with spoilt teenage girls arguing over the hot kid in the football team?

I didn’t even do that stuff then. I’m certainly not starting now.

She wiped her palms on her jeans. Remember how you used to deal with difficult visitors at the Roman Baths. You can do this!

The knock on the door was answered so fast that Thea had the impression Sophie had already known she was there. Telling herself off for being paranoid, Thea opened her mouth to introduce herself, but Sophie beat her to it.

‘Thea Thomas, I presume?’

The way she spoke made Thea think of Stanley greeting Dr Livingstone, and she had to fight not to laugh.

‘And you must be Sophie. I’m pleased to meet you.’ Thea held out her hand, but Sophie ignored it.

‘I suppose you’d better come in.’

As she crossed the threshold into Sophie’s private domain, Thea found herself in what she imagined to be a typical teenager’s bedroom.

There were posters on the walls rather than framed pictures, a huge pile of celebrity magazines sat in a cardboard box between a bin and a desk that was covered in books and paper. The bed wasn’t made and there were clothes deposited in heaps all over the floor. Dirty glasses and mugs lined the lowest tier of a bookshelf stuffed with well-read copies of Georgette Heyer and Jane Austen. A computer sat in the middle of a second desk on the opposite side of the room. A vanity unit near the bed overflowed with books, make-up and bits and bobs of no real use whatsoever.

More a cross between a former boarding-school girl’s room and a student bedsit than a regular teenage bedroom, then. A notion that was reinforced as Thea saw the titles of the books lying open on the desk. They were all local history books or