A Quiet Death Read Online Free PDF Page B

wryly: 'I assure you that you need have no fears on the score of respectability. The McGonagalls are paragons. Besides,' he went on reassuringly, moving the lace curtain aside, 'look out there. Is that not the most exciting prospect?'
    Before them stretched the impressive but distinctly unbeautiful panorama of the bridge. The height of skeletal iron piers threatened to dwarf everything in the immediate vicinity, but it too had become a pale ghost, almost obliterated by a monstrous cloud of fine dust from foundry chimneys.
    On ground level far below, all footpaths had ceased to exist, vanishing under the mud stirred everywhere by bands of navvies striving to connect roads with the landfalls, an activity accompanied by an ear-splitting din. The blast of explosives shook the room in which they stood, vying with the incessant rhythm of rivets driven home against steel girders while the creak of cranes elevating materials skyward added their unlovely screech to the scene.
    'Behold,' said Vince proudly, 'history in the making. And that is the important thing, Stepfather.'
    'That's all very well. But I don't think I'd wish to have the bridge's presence outside my window, so to speak, a constant companion night and day.'
    His weary glance took in the contents of the room. 'At least it looks clean enough,' he conceded. For the shabby wood gleamed, the oilcloth sparkled, and the room smelt distinctly of polish.
    'Of course it is. That bed is spotless. Mrs Mac is very particular, changes the sheets every week.'
    Faro found little consolation in such an assurance as the pleasant Edinburgh house Vince had left loomed in his mind, a modest paradise in comparison.
    Knowing that argument was useless, he said weakly, 'I'd just like to see you with more comfortable lodgings. You gave me to understand that Deane's were paying a good salary.'
    'Moderately good, Stepfather, considering what my earnings were in Sheridan Place,' Vince added bitterly. 'But I have another reason for living frugally at present. Don't you see, by staying here I can put by a little every week, which I will need of course, once Rachel and I are married.'
    Faro was appalled. Shock at finding his stepson living in this wretched room had momentarily put out of his head that Vince was to marry Deane's heiress. God in heaven, how could the lad be so blind, remembering the splendour they had glimpsed, the mock-medieval hall, every sign of wealth and comfort.
    Any comparison between Rachel Deane's home and this squalid lodging was not only unimaginable but obscene.
    'Has Miss Deane visited you here?' he asked idly.
    'Please call her Rachel, Stepfather. There has been no occasion for her to do so. And until the engagement is formally announced it would not be proper—'
    Faro was spared any further comment as an infant wailed somewhere nearby. Vince went over and opened the door. The cries grew louder.
    'That's the McGonagall baby.' Vince listened and was reassured by rapid footsteps. 'Mrs McGonagall isn't far away.'
    Smiling at Faro, he continued, 'That was my other reason for choosing this lodging. The McGonagalls have six children, steps of stairs you might say, as well as an orphaned cousin from Ireland. William, the husband, is a weaver with Deane's but he has aspirations to being an actor—a tragedian, he prefers to call himself. I attended him—just a minor accident with one of the machines—and he asked me to look at Jean, Mrs Mac, who had bronchitis.
    'Well, when I came along I saw what a struggle they had. She's from Edinburgh, does some cleaning to make ends meet. Funny, in a way she reminded me of our dear Mrs Brook—same voice, you know, and an absolutely splendid cook.'
    Vince paused awaiting his stepfather's approval. When Faro remained silent, he added: 'I do think I was a little homesick and when she told me she had a spare room, I said yes, I would take it. She was so grateful, said I was offering far more than it was worth. But I feel better about it,