The Wicker Tree Read Online Free PDF Page A

distrusted as effete and too English sounding, he held his neighbours' and his employees' esteem. They continued to accept him as their leader, she believed, because he had always included them in his project, in his adventure. His seemingly effortless authority was perhaps part political, part priestly but really defied analysis. Whatever. It worked. She had waited for a moment, just in case he sang, and was rewarded, because Lachlan was now delivering Handel's last great crowning Amen in his glorious, deep bass voice. In Delia, this always produced a melting inner throb, as if from an intimate caress. She gave a little shiver of pleasure and hurried on down to the nether world of the castle's great kitchens.
    On one side of the long, wide passage that bisected the basement lay the main kitchen and another huge room, which was almost always locked. On the other side were the still room, the laundry, the larders, the freezers, the now defunct dairy, the sewing room and what had once been the servants' dining room and the cook's and butler's parlour. Where, sixty years ago, there had been twenty-five servants at Tressock Castle, the place was run now with a staff of five: Daisy, the cook, Beame, the butler, and three women who came in daily to clean the twenty-odd rooms still in more or less constant use. Half a dozen major modern appliances made the cleaning no more than a repetitive chore. The roaring whine that Delia heard as she reached the basement passage came not, she at once realised, from one of these machines but from Beame's workshop in the defunct dairy.
    Daisy was standing outside the door to the dairy encouraging a slightly tearful young Heather, one of the cleaners, to mop up a spreading pool of blood that was seeping under the door and onto the flagstones in the passage.
    'The door's locked of course,' said Daisy. 'I keep shouting at him to stop a minute but he canna hear me over that machine of his. Please be careful where you step.'
    Delia was relieved to see that her cook was perfectly sober and immediately wondered why Heather had her apron and hands covered in blood.
    'I slipped in it, ma'am. The blood is that sticky.'
    'Well go and wash yourself, Heather,' said Delia. 'And get out of those soiled clothes. Daisy, find her something else to wear. Give me that mop.'
    As the two other women hurried away, Delia started to mop up the blood. Just as she did so, a great splash of gore hit the farther side of the frosted glass panes set into the dairy door and started to trickle viscously downwards. Under the door, a fresh crimson flood streamed outwards while the howling, whining mechanical sound continued louder than ever. Delia hammered furiously at the door and shouted Beame's name at the top of her voice.
    After a few seconds, the sound behind the door stopped and there was silence. Then Beame's voice, cautious, suspicious: 'Who's that?'
    'It's me, Beame. The blood is flooding out into the passage. You've got plenty of room in there. Move what you're doing away from the door.'
    'I didna realise, ma'am. Sorry.'
    'It's quite alright, Beame. Carry on the good work. We're off to Glasgow tomorrow early. Hope you'll be finished by then.'

Delia and Lachlan
    DELIA'S CONFERENCE WITH Daisy over the May Day feasts was assisted by the fact that there were plenty of precedents. They had been planning for May Day every year for more than a decade and were used to catering for the whole little township when the celebration was at its peak. As usual, Delia detailed what would have to come from Glasgow, which she herself would bring back. Suckling pigs, for instance, were always hard to find locally. Daisy listed what she knew she could buy at the local supermarket.
    At nine o'clock, Delia and Lachlan walked into the castle's entrance hall, ready for their journey, to find Beame waiting for them with a curious air of expectancy that puzzled Lachlan.
    'Beame and I have planned a little surprise for you, Lachlan,' said Delia.