Cherringham--The Secret of Combe Castle Read Online Free PDF Page A

right.”
    “So then — who would know their way round?” said Jack. “How many staff do you have?”
    “Ha! Staff? You must be joking!”
    “You don’t have any — at all?”
    “Edwina’s front of house — all charm and smiles. And I’m technical manager, chief cook and bottle-washer!”
    “Well, whoever put those signs up must have been happy wandering about down in the dungeons with just a torch, don’t you think? They’d have to be familiar with the layout.”
    “Hmm, I suppose that’s true,” said Oswald.
    “What about your brother?”
    “Baby? Nonsense. I mean why would—”
    “But he does know his way round?”
    Oswald looked uncomfortable with the notion.
    “Hmm. We did grow up here. But … Baby? Good Lord no. It’s not possible.”
    “Dunno Oswald. These kind of things … anything’s possible.”
    Oswald shook his head as if the idea was anything but possible. Then he turned and led Jack along another dusty corridor, until they reached a door marked ‘Modern Times.’
    We’re about to leave the days of beheadings and hangings, Jack thought.
    Jack watched Oswald reach up and wipe a spider’s web from the door.
    “Bit of a bonus, this room. Very popular.”
    “How much do you charge for the whole tour?” said Jack.
    “Tenner each, fiver for the little ‘uns,” said Oswald.
    “You let children into the dungeon displays?” said Jack.
    “Can’t stop ‘em,” said Oswald. “Need to have an adult with them, of course. Funny thing though. I don’t think kids these days scare so easily. They often come running out of there laughing their heads off.”
    “Nervous reaction, I expect,” said Jack.
    Based on the zombies, vampires and buckets of blood on TV, Jack guessed that Oswald’s displays might look pretty creaky.
    “Hmm, never thought of that,” said Oswald, opening the door and stepping back to let Jack in.
    “Ta-da!” he said.
    Jack stepped into the room and looked around.
    Nothing had prepared him for this.
    “Quite something, isn’t it?” said Oswald.
    Jack looked at Oswald, grinning proudly.
    Eccentric, thought Jack. That’s the word I should use. That’s the polite word: eccentric.
    He looked back into this ‘modern’ room. It was filled with wax models dressed in what looked like cast-offs from a thrift shop. Men in suits, women in fifties dresses, groups of soldiers, a handful of rather politically incorrect Middle Eastern gentlemen, extras from Lawrence of Arabia.
    In pride of place stood four men in black suits, three with guitars, one at the drums.
    Surely not, thought Jack. Can’t be …
    “Let me guess,” he said. “The Beatles?”
    “Spot on!” said Oswald. “Quality of the models, gives it away, no? Cost a small fortune!”
    If there were still some visitors left at this stage of the tour, Jack was sure they’d be running for the exits after seeing John, Paul, George, and Ringo with their moth-eaten hair, glass eyes, and shoeless brown feet.
    “Guessing vermin must be a problem for you,” said Jack.
    “How’d you know, old chap?” said Oswald. “Rats won’t leave Paul alone.” He sniffed. “Everyone’s favourite Beatle!”
    “John seems to have survived okay.”
    “Not their cup of tea, it seems. Don’t blame ‘em. He was never mine. Too damned political, all that world peace nonsense! Come on, plenty more to see.”
    *
    Sarah sat back on the faded sofa and watched Edwina pour the coffee into chipped mugs.
    The woman looked tired, under strain, and was clearly putting a brave face on things.
    So far she’d given Sarah straight answers to her questions.
    “So there’ve been no recent changes you can think of on the estate which might have given someone a grudge?” she asked, taking the coffee which Edwina handed to her.
    “No,” said Edwina. “I mean, we’ve got some farm workers who live over in the farm cottages. But we look after them properly — if we didn’t we’d have no income at all.”
    “The museum doesn’t