Ingenious pain, Andrew Miller [little red riding hood ebook .txt] 📗

gone'? 1 said I thought there were villages in parts of England where Christianity had yet to take root, but About said the superstition was very profound here, and while we were in the village I saw a number of carvings that make me believe he is right. I was glad then we had Ponko with us, for I do not know how we should have been received without him.

There was little to be had in the way of food. No doubt the people were hoarding against the long winter, yet we did obtain

some sausages, butter, a capon, some hard yellow cheese and a leather sack of their local 'wine'. For these we exchanged a good knife, some gloves I bought in Konigsberg, and Monsieur About's dark glasses. I was sorry for the gloves but one cannot eat them. The capon escaped from us on the return journey and we had to chase it. Mr Featherstone, who has a fine appetite and was thus well motivated in the pursuit, overtook the animal just as it reached the treeline and thrust it into his coat where it remained, very quiet, until its neck was wrung. About is in charge of the cooking; our friend the monk has provided some potatoes and we have even discovered some antique herbs left hanging to dry from a roof beam. The juice will make a very nourishing soup for the postillion. I trust it may give him the strength to survive his coming ordeal.

For myself I believe my health is improved. The air is very brisk and clear. I hope and believe I may return to Cow not only somewhat wiser as to the manners of the world, but able to serve you in all conscience in the office to which you were gracious enough to appoint me. Truly, the Almighty moves in mysterious ways.

Monsieur About commands me to send your Ladyship his best compliments and begs that I be excused any further writing until I have taken my turn in stirring the pot. I am therefore your most obliged, faithful and humble servant,

Julius Lestrade

The food has stunned them. For an hour after eating they sit around the table pouring the wine from the skin, their thoughts drifting, circling, settling. The Reverend

fills his pipe, offers his tobacco. A cat jumps softly on to the table and begins to gnaw at one of the chicken bones.

About asks if he might offer the company some entertainment. It is agreed that he might. What does he propose - cards, backgammon, a guessing game?

About shakes his head, stands up from the table, excuses himself. When he is out of the room, Mr Featherstone says: 'He has quite altered Mrs Featherstone's opinion of the French.'

The Reverend says: 'For the better I trust?'

Mr Featherstone says: 'Quite altered.'

About comes in carrying three boxes; two of them about the size of an infant's coffin, the other one smaller, of highly polished boxwood. He says: 'I was afraid the cold night have hurt them, but I find it is not so. First the table must be cleared.'

They stack their odd assortment of knives and dishes on the floor. The surface of the table is wiped. The cat jumps down then up on to the monk's lap. About has the boxes at his feet. The Reverend hears him open them and then a sound like the winding of clocks. About says: 'Allow me to present to you two most elegant members of society.'

He lifts on to the table the figures of a man and woman, exquisitely dressed in Paris fashions, each somewhat less than two feet in height. He touches a switch on their backs and they begin to walk, the man swinging his tasselled cane, the woman turning her head and raising her lace handkerchief as though to sniff its perfume. The cat stands on the monk's lap, arches its back. The figures stop opposite James Dyer at the head of the table. They bow, turn on invisible wheels, and continue their parade, back towards Monsieur About, reaching him just as their springs are exhausted. About returns them to their boxes. The Reverend says: 'These are your business, monsieur? You trade in automata?'

About says: 'In France, a gentlemen will never admit to be in business, but among the English I may confess to it without

exciting prejudice. These are my trade, Reverend. My customers are dukes, princes, kings, and I hope also an empress. The dolls are the finest in Europe, also the most expensive. For this I am a little discreet when I travel. My apologies. Will you see ... autre chose}'

He places the smaller box on the table, opens it and lifts out the most elegant duelling pistols the Reverend has ever laid eyes on. He cocks them both and looks round at the faces of his audience. *Dr Dyer, w^ould you obHge me, sir? Mr Featherstone, please to be so kind as to pass this to the doctor. Gently, sir, the mechanism is very delicate.'

Featherstone takes the pistol. He says: 'Not loaded, I trust!'

When About turns to him there is no smile on his face; no trace of the amiable host, the gay, resourceful travelling companion. Featherstone is visibly disconcerted. So too is the Reverend. He thinks: If this is acting, it is very good acting.

About says: 'They are of course loaded. One does not trifle with a man like Dr Dyer. I assume that you are a doctor, sir, and not merely a barber.'

Dyer takes the pistol from Featherstone. He says: 'Doctor enough for you, monsieur.'

About stands. Dyer stands. Mrs Featherstone coughs. The monk strokes the cat.

The Reverend says: 'I should Uke to see those dolls of yours again, monsieur.'

About ignores him. 'Mrs Featherstone. Will you please give the command to fire. Whensoever you wish.'

The Reverend looks at About in amazement. What a face! Eyes narrowed to points of darkness, mouth shut tight, jaw set firm. His arm is outstretched, the pistol aimed directly at Dyer's chest, at his