Silent on the Moor Read Online Free PDF

suggestion that she send for another cup and share our tea.
    “I could not do tha,” she murmured, but she patted her little mob cap, and a small smile of satisfaction played about her mouth.
    “But you must sit a moment,” I persuaded. “You must be quite run off your feet.” That was a bit of a reach. The inn was clearly empty, and although it was kept clean enough and the food was fresh and ample and well-prepared, there was an air of desolation about the place, like a spinster who was once the belle of the ball but has long since put away her dancing slippers and resigned herself to the dignity of a quiet old age.
    Deborah took a small, straight-backed chair and smoothed her apron over her knees. She stared from me to Portia and back again.
    “You seem terribly young to run such an establishment,” Portia commented. “Have you been married long?”
    Deborah giggled. “I am not married, my lady. Amos is my brother. Will thou have another sandwich? I cut them myself.”
    Portia took one and Deborah’s face suffused with pleasure. “I help him run the inn when we’ve guests.” She looked at us wistfully. “But thee’ll not stay here. Amos will take thee to Grimsgrave Hall.”
    “Is the Hall a very old place?” I asked, pointedly helpingmyself to another slice of cake. The girl did have a very light touch. I had seldom had one so airy.
    “Oh, yes, m’lady. ’Twas built in the time of the Stuarts, but there was a manor at Grimsgrave since before the Conqueror came.”
    “Really? How interesting,” Portia remarked. “And did it often change hands?”
    “Oh, no, m’lady. The Allenby family did own that land in Saxon times. They kept it until last year, when Sir Redwall died and it were discovered there were no money. ’Twas sold, to a newcomer, Mr. Brisbane. He is a friend to thee?”
    “He is,” I put in smoothly. “We thought to surprise him by paying a visit. Spring on the Yorkshire moors is reckoned to be a very lovely thing.”
    “Aye, it is,” she agreed. “The daffodils are out, and all across the moors you can hear the sounds of the little lambs bleating out their first cries.” She hesitated, and I flicked a glance at Portia. This was the time to press the girl.
    “Is the Hall a very large establishment? Are there many places in the household for villagers?”
    Deborah drew back. “No, m’lady. They’ve a half-wit girl to do the rough, and a few lads from the farms will help Mr. Godwin with the lambing and shearing when he has need of them. And, of course, Mrs. Butters is cook-housekeeper, but there be no household there like the old days.”
    “Mr. Godwin?” Portia asked, pouring herself another cup of tea.
    Deborah dropped her eyes to the work-roughened fingers in her lap. “Mr. Godwin was a sort of cousin to the late Sir Redwall. His part of the family was never so exalted. Theywere honest farmers, managers and stewards to the Allenby gentlemen. Mr. Godwin is the last of the Allenby men left. He still has a care for the sheep.”
    I darted a glance at Portia. This was a curious development. Perhaps this last scion of the Allenbys was the source of Brisbane’s difficulties in his new home.
    As if intuiting my thoughts, Portia asked, “What sort of man is Mr. Godwin?”
    To my surprise, Deborah blushed deeply, not a pretty rose colour, but a harsh mottled red. “He is a fine man, m’lady. He is tall and accounted handsome by the village lasses.”
    I hid a smile behind my teacup. There was no mystery about Mr. Godwin. He was simply the village Lothario. I wondered if he had ever misbehaved with Deborah, or if she had merely wanted him to. Making a mental note to observe him carefully when we arrived at Grimsgrave, I turned the conversation again.
    “And is Mr. Brisbane often seen in the village?”
    Deborah shook her head. “Never, m’lady. He keeps up the Hall, and if he has need of something, Mr. Godwin comes. We have not seen him since January past.”
    This I did not