Part 12 (1/2)

”Very well--you may conduct me over the inn. We'll start with the public rooms.” Without pause, she swept about.

”I take it this is STEPHANIE LAURENS 45 the tap.” She glided towards the door, her skirts stirring up dust eddies.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Blount stare, open-mouthed, then come hurrying around the counter.

Harry Lester simply stood and watched her, an inscrutable expression on his face.

Lucinda swept on--into the gloomy, _heavily shuttered room.

”Perhaps, Blount, if we were to have those shutters wide I might be able to see well enough to form an opinion?”

Blount cast her a fl.u.s.tered glance, then lumbered to the windows.

Seconds later, suns.h.i.+ne flooded the room, apparently to the discomfort of its two patrons, one an old codger wrapped in a rumpled cloak, hugging the inglenook, the other a younger man in the rough clothes of a traveller. They both seemed to shrink inwards, away from the light.

Lucinda cast a shrewd glance around the room. The interior of the inn matched its exterior, at least in the matter of neglect. The Green Goose was fast living up to Anthony Mabberly's description as the very worst of the Babbacombe inns. Grimy walls and a ceiling that had seen neither brush nor mop for years combined with a general aura of dust and slow decay to render the tap a most unwelcoming place.

”Hmm.” Lucinda grimaced.

”So much for the tap.”

She slanted a glance at Harry, who had followed her in.

”Thank you for your a.s.sistance, Mr Lester--but I'm perfectly capable of dealing with Mr Blount.” The green gaze, which had been engaged in a survey of the unwholesome room, switched to her face. His eyes were less unreadable than his features, but other than distinct disapproval and a species of irritation, Lucinda couldn't be sure what their expression portended.

”Indeed?” His brows lifted fractionally; his languid tone was barely polite.

”But perhaps I should remainjust in case you and the good Blount run into any further ... communication difficulties?” Lucinda suppressed the urge to glare. Short of ordering him out of her inn, hardly supportive of her ploy to conceal her owners.h.i.+p, she could think of no way to dispense with his attentive presence. His green gaze was acute, perceptive; his tongue, as she already knew, could be decidedly sharp.

Accepting fate's decree with a small shrug, Lucinda returned her attention to Blount, hovering uncertainly by the bar.

”What's through that door?”

”The kitchens.”

Blount looked shocked when she waved him on.

”I'll need to see those, too.”

The kitchen was not as bad as she had feared, a fact she attributed to the buxom but worn-down woman who bobbed respectfully when introduced as 'the missus'. The Blounts' private quarters gave off the large, square room; Lucinda disavowed any desire to inspect them. After closely examining the large open fireplace and engaging in a detailed discussion with Mrs Blount on the technicalities of the draw and the overall capacity of the kitchen, which, by their impatient expressions, pa.s.sed over both Blount's and Harry Lester's heads, she consented to be shown the parlours.

Both parlours were shabby and dusty but, when the shutters were opened, proved to have pleasant aspects.

Both contained old but serviceable furniture. ”Hmm, mmm,” was Lucinda's verdict. Blount looked glum.

In the back parlour, which looked out over a wilderness that had once been a garden, she eyed a st.u.r.dy oak table and its attendant chairs.

”Please ask Mrs Blount to dust in here immediately. Meanwhile, t'11 see the rooms above stairs.”

With a resigned shrug, Blount went to the door of the kitchen to deliver the order, then returned to lead the way up the stairs. Halfway up, Lucinda paused to test the rickety bal.u.s.trade. Leaning against it, she was startled to hear it crack--and even more startled to feel an arm of steel wrap about her waist and haul her back to the centre of the treads. She was released immediately but heard the muttered comment,