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"
This
is
Tynsham
Manor
?
"
I
asked
.
She
was
not
giving
that
,
or
anything
else
,
away
.
"
Where
are
you
from
?
And
how
many
of
you
?
"
she
countered
.
I
could
have
wished
that
she
did
not
fiddle
about
with
her
gun
in
just
the
way
she
did
.
Briefly
,
and
keeping
an
eye
on
her
uneasy
fingers
,
I
explained
who
we
were
,
why
we
came
,
roughly
what
we
carried
,
and
guaranteed
that
there
were
no
more
of
us
hidden
in
the
trucks
.
I
doubted
whether
she
was
taking
it
in
.
Her
eyes
were
fixed
on
mine
with
a
mournfully
speculative
expression
more
common
in
bloodhounds
,
but
not
reassuring
even
there
.
My
words
did
little
to
disperse
that
random
suspicion
which
makes
the
highly
conscientious
so
wearing
.
As
she
emerged
to
glance
into
the
backs
of
the
trucks
,
and
verify
my
statements
,
I
hoped
for
her
sake
that
she
would
not
chance
to
encounter
a
party
of
whom
her
suspicions
were
justified
.
Admission
that
she
was
satisfied
would
have
weakened
her
role
of
reliability
,
but
she
did
eventually
consent
,
still
with
reserve
,
to
allow
us
in
.
"
Take
the
right
fork
,
"
she
called
up
to
me
as
I
passed
,
and
turned
back
at
once
to
attend
to
the
security
of
the
gates
.
Beyond
a
short
avenue
of
elms
lay
a
park
landscaped
in
the
manner
of
the
late
eighteenth
century
,
and
dotted
with
trees
which
had
had
space
to
expand
into
full
magnificence
.
The
house
,
when
it
came
into
view
,
was
not
a
stately
home
in
the
architectural
sense
,
but
there
was
a
lot
of
it
.
It
rambled
over
a
considerable
ground
area
and
through
a
variety
of
building
styles
,
as
though
none
of
its
previous
owners
had
been
able
to
resist
the
temptation
to
leave
his
personal
mark
upon
it
.
Each
,
while
respecting
the
work
of
his
forefathers
,
had
apparently
felt
it
incumbent
upon
him
to
express
the
spirit
of
his
own
age
.
A
confident
disregard
of
previous
levels
had
resulted
in
a
sturdy
waywardness
.
It
was
inescapably
a
funny
house
,
yet
friendly
and
reliable
-
looking
.
The
right
fork
led
us
to
a
wide
courtyard
where
several
trucks
stood
already
.
Coach
houses
and
stables
extended
around
it
,
seemingly
over
several
acres
.
Coker
drew
up
alongside
me
,
and
we
climbed
down
.
There
was
no
one
in
sight
.
We
made
our
way
through
the
open
rear
door
of
the
main
building
and
down
a
long
corridor
.
At
the
end
of
it
was
a
kitchen
of
baronial
capacity
where
the
warmth
and
smell
of
cooking
lingered
.
From
beyond
a
door
on
the
far
side
came
a
murmur
of
voices
and
a
clatter
of
plates
,
but
we
had
to
negotiate
a
further
dark
passage
and
another
door
before
we
reached
them
.
The
place
we
entered
had
,
I
imagine
,
been
the
servants
’
hall
in
the
days
when
staffs
were
large
enough
for
the
term
to
be
no
misnomer
.
It
was
spacious
enough
to
hold
a
hundred
or
more
at
tables
without
crowding
.
The
present
occupants
,
seated
on
benches
at
two
long
trestles
,
I
guessed
to
between
fifty
and
sixty
,
and
it
was
clear
at
a
glance
that
they
were
blind
.
While
they
sat
patiently
a
few
sighted
persons
were
very
busy
.
Over
at
a
side
table
three
girls
were
industriously
caning
chickens
.
I
went
up
to
one
of
them
.
"
we
’
ve
just
come
,
"
I
said
.
"
What
do
we
do
?
"
She
paused
,
still
clutching
her
fork
,
and
pushed
back
a
lock
of
hair
with
the
crook
of
her
wrist
.
"
It
’
ll
help
if
one
of
you
takes
charge
of
the
veg
and
the
other
helps
with
the
plates
,
"
she
said
.
