The Hardie Inheritance Read Online Free PDF

the consequences for yourself. Yes, you can look round inside. We’ll pick your daughter up first, shall we?’
    They found Trish sitting on the cobbles of the stable yard, staring at her handiwork.
    â€˜That’s a fine animal to be sure,’ said Ellis, not risking any more specific identification.
    â€˜It’s a cat,’ Trish told him.
    â€˜It’s good.’ Grace picked up the clay figure and stroked it under the chin before giving it back. ‘Would you like to take it home with you? Or if you leave it here I could put it in the oven next time I fire my own things, and then it won’t crumble away.’
    â€˜I don’t want to keep it.’ Trish squashed the cat between her two hands and rolled the clay back into a sausage.
    The two adults stared at her in surprise.
    â€˜I can make another one,’ she told them. ‘The next one will be better. It’s more fun making things than having them.’
    â€˜But it’s more fun making something that’s going to last than making something which is going to be thrown away,’ suggested Grace.
    Trish shook her head in disagreement, ‘if you’re going to keep it, you’ve got to get it right. But if you know it’s going to be thrown away it doesn’t matter if the ears are too big.’ Already she had begun to model another cat, while Ellis laughed.
    â€˜I can see we have a basic difference of philosophy here,’ he said. ‘Trish, Miss Hardie is very kindly going to let me look inside the house. Would you like to come?’
    â€˜Yes, please.’ Trish scrambled to her feet and the three made their way out of the stable yard and into the larger courtyard enclosed by the wings of the main house. Grace opened a door into the back hall and led the way along a corridor and into the drawing room. She drew back the curtains from one of the five windows which reached very nearly from floor to ceiling.
    â€˜My mother comes in here to play the piano, that’s all,’ she said, and waited in silence while Ellis looked around. Except for the grand piano, which had a cared-for and well-polished look, everything in the room was covered with dust sheets. Even the carpet was hidden under a drugget. But the plaster-work of the ceiling and cornices was in good condition and the wall coverings, although faded, were not tattered: they would not show their age in a black and white photograph.
    Without making any comment he moved on through the library and billiards room: Grace pulled open one pair of curtains in each, but the rooms remained only dimly lit. So the contrast was great when, after returning to the corridor, he was shown into the high-ceilinged studio.
    They had turned two corners as they walked, so that it was a clear north light which reflected off the white walls from a skylight. And this was clearly a room in constant use. At one end was a wide work bench, with shelves on the wall behind it and a row of oil lamps hanging above. A potter’s wheel with a foot tread stood near to the bench, and another free-standing table in the middle of the room was fitted with a clamp which would hold a piece of wood steady while a carver moved around it. There was a brazier in the middle of the floor as well, suggesting that his hostess did not allow winter’s cold to interrupt her work.
    With a cry of pleasure and interest, Trish ran towards the far end of the room.
    â€˜You’re not to touch anything,’ Ellis called after her. ‘Not anything at all.’
    â€˜Trush Trist.’ The phrase seemed set to become one of her long-running jokes. Ellis, although keeping an eye on her, turned towards Grace.
    â€˜This – the state of the other rooms, I mean – is simply the way houses used to be left when a family moved off on holiday in the old days,’ he said. ‘If you would trust me to deal with it, I would be very happy to uncover them, take my photographs, and