Appleby's End Read Online Free PDF Page B

dinner,” Heyhoe repeated with finality, and began to circle slowly round the platform collecting bags and suitcases. Of these he presently bestowed such an astonishing number about his person that when he finally crawled off down the platform the appearance presented was very much that of a pile of inanimate objects mysteriously endowed with spontaneous if microscopic locomotion. The rest of the party – it might have been more natural to say of the cortège – followed. Snow was coming down in an obliterating way. It was colder than it commonly is when snow is falling.
    Even at Heyhoe’s pace, they were soon out of the station – which appeared to consist, indeed, of a few planks by way of platform and of a shelter which might have afforded adequate cover to the hardier type of Great St Bernard dog. The railway company, it would appear, long before opening up this district to the advances of civilisation, had altogether lost confidence in its task.
    They passed through a wicket and now seemed to be standing nowhere in particular, except that before them loomed a vague dark mass, somewhat taller than it was broad, uncertainly elevated upon wheels, and approximately answering – though on a somewhat smaller scale – to Appleby’s notion of a stagecoach. It seemed hardly possible that any single quadruped could budge it under the best conditions, let alone on country lanes some six inches deep in snow. The Ravens, however, viewed what was plainly their family conveyance without apprehension, and Everard Raven bustled forward in the most cheerful way. “Heyhoe,” he said, “did you remember the footwarmer? There ought to be just room inside for all.”
    Heyhoe shook his head. “You mun have potatoes,” he said with satisfaction.
    â€œPotatoes, Heyhoe? What d’you mean by that?”
    Very deliberately Heyhoe took, an ancient carriage-lamp from its socket, opened a creaking door and shone the dull light into the interior. “You mun have potatoes,” he repeated. “And the hens mun have corn and the cow mun have cake. And Spot mun have his bottle of hay.”
    They all peered inside, aghast. A superabundance of sacks, each heavy and unwieldy to an extreme, gave the interior more the appearance of a market wain than of a carriage suitable for the reception of six fatigued gentlefolk. Everard Raven shook his head. “Room for Judith,” he said. “But for the rest of us it looks like the box.”
    â€œAnd the boot.” The ferocious Robert was patting Spot amiably on the haunches, and in the light of the remaining lamp Appleby discerned with some relief that this vital factor in the evening’s proceedings was a brute of enormous proportions. “Perhaps some of us had better walk.” Robert as he made this reasonable proposal turned round with a gesture infinitely threatening and violent. He glared at Appleby with spine-chilling ferocity. “But it would be a shame if we didn’t manage to get Mr Appleby inside too.”
    A man of weaker nerve might have suspected the Ravens’ carriage of being an ingenious lethal contrivance – so incongruous were Robert’s speech and demeanour. Appleby’s protestations, however, were made solely on the score of politeness, and they were overborne by enthusiastic commands and injunctions from which only Heyhoe abstained.
    â€œQuite right,” said Judith. “Plenty of room for Mr Appleby. Push him in.”
    â€œCertainly,” said Luke. “Everard’s friend must unquestionably have the advantage of the conveyance. Heyhoe, assist the gentleman to a seat.”
    â€œPush them in,” shouted Mark. “Push in Judith, push in the befriended stranger.” He gave a shove at one of the sacks. “Potato pie. Cattle cake collops. Down with the lid.”
    â€œA rug,” said Everard. “Only three miles – if we have luck at the ford. Heyhoe