With only a faint question in his tone, Michael said, ‘Miss Gilmore? I’m Michael Flint.’
‘Dr Flint. Come inside,’ said Luisa Gilmore, and, as if conforming to all the opening lines of sinister ladies dwelling in remote mansions, added, ‘I’ve been expecting you.’
She stood back, and Michael stepped over the threshold.
Two
The inside of Fosse House was much as he had expected. It was vaguely shabby and run down, and there was a faint dimness everywhere – not so much from lack of care as gradual decay from the damp that must seep through the walls and stones and lay a quenching bloom on mirrors and bright surfaces.
But if the house was run down, its owner was not. Luisa Gilmore was certainly in her seventies and she leaned slightly on a walking stick, but as she led Michael across the big panelled hall, although she limped slightly, her movements were sharp and coordinated. She did not appear to subscribe to modern ideas about preserving youth or keeping up with modern fashion; she wore a dark-blue dress of the style Michael thought was referred to as classic, and there was a shawl around her shoulders – although that might be against Fosse House’s coolness. Her hair, which was silver, was brushed in a general style that, like the dress, might have belonged to any era.
She ushered him into a room which she referred to as the small sitting-room but which was still twice as big as Michael’s own sitting room in Oxford. It was not very well lit, but when she sat down in a wing armchair, gesturing him to a seat facing her, the light from a low lamp fell across her face and he thought that she must have been very good-looking in her younger days. But he also thought her pallor was more than the pallor of age – that it might be the pallor of illness. Or was it Morticia Addams after all? Don’t be absurd.
He expressed to Luisa the gratitude of himself and the Director of Music for being allowed access to Fosse House’s annals.
‘I hope you’ll find useful material,’ said Luisa. ‘Would you like a cup of tea or coffee before you drive along to the village? Or perhaps a glass of sherry?’
It was clear she did not want him to start work that evening and even clearer that she would prefer him to go as soon as politeness allowed, so Michael thought sherry would be the easiest and the quickest option. It came in fragile, thin-stemmed glasses, and it was so rich and strong that it would probably lay him flat before he had driven fifty yards. Setting it down after three sips, he explained how he hoped to approach the task ahead.
‘I’ll let you have a note of everything I make use of, of course, but while I’m here I don’t need to intrude on you or your day at all. If you’re happy to leave me with the various papers on the Palestrina Choir I’ll just quietly get on with it.’
‘You will have lunch here, of course.’
‘Well, thank you. There’s no need for you to go to any trouble. Just a sandwich will do.’
‘It won’t be any trouble. I have cleaning and cooking help on several mornings. Someone will be coming in tomorrow morning, and lunch can be prepared for you.’ So might a duchess have referred to unknown underlings who would do whatever they were bidden.
‘Most of the papers are in the library,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘I’ll show you before you go – I thought it would probably be the best place for you to work. Let me go ahead, then I can switch on lights for you. This is rather a dark house.’
‘I liked the lights you put at the front windows when I arrived,’ said Michael. ‘It was very welcoming to see that.’
She gave him rather a sharp look, but only led him across the hall without speaking. Michael noticed that the slightly limping gait was more strongly marked than he had previously realized. He also saw that she glanced uneasily around as they went, and he wondered if she was not alone in the house after all. Was there someone here she did not want him to know about or to meet? He was about to tell her about seeing the boy earlier, but as soon as she opened the door to the library he forgot about Gothic heroines and young men with leaf-blown scars. The atmosphere and the scents of old leather and vellum, the crowded shelves and stacks of what looked like manuscripts and unbound books, beckoned invitingly and insistently. Come in and unravel the past, said the books and the stored-away papers. Find the pathways into the long-ago, for it’s not very far away, not that particular part of the past you’re looking for. On a more practical note, there were several deep, soft chairs drawn up to the old fireplace, as well as a large library-table under the window. Michael smiled at the room and knew if the research took longer than the planned two days it would be no hardship.
Luisa drew the curtains against the night. ‘The storm is returning,’ she said. ‘If you listen, you can hear it coming in from the fens. I sometimes think it almost sounds like whispering voices.’ Without giving him time to think how best to answer this, she said, ‘So you will be as well to set off now, Dr Flint. With a storm brewing, the road from here to the village centre is an unpleasant one in the dark.’
Michael was about to say he would leave right away, when he caught sight of a thick folder placed on the table, together with a deep cardboard box, both clearly marked ‘Palestrina Choir: 1900–1914’.