The Jade God by Alan Sullivan (snow like ashes series txt) 📕

up automatically when the new master of Beech Lodge came in.

“If you want that job, I’m inclined to give it to you.”

The big chest expanded slowly, and the broad figure lost something of its rigidity.

“Thank you, sir, and I’ll do my very best,” said Martin eagerly. “I know the place like a book, and I know roses, and you won’t have reason to regret it.”

Derrick smiled. “We haven’t discussed the matter of wages yet.” He was wondering whether the rate of pay meant as little to this man as it had to Perkins. “What I’m going to offer won’t seem much to one who has knocked about the world as much as yourself. It’s not a case of American wages.”

“I’m not worrying about wages, sir. It doesn’t take much to keep me going, and I’ve never had a drink in my life. It’s the old job I’m after.”

“Then what do you say to thirty shillings a week and the cottage.”

“That’s fair enough,” said Martin eagerly.

“By the way, I take it you’re not married?”

“I haven’t any wife now,” he stammered after a poignant pause.

“Sorry, Martin, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Any children?”

“No, sir.” The tanned face was calm again.

“Then I suppose you can begin tomorrow?”

“I’m ready for that.” Martin fingered his cap. “Might I sleep in the cottage tonight, sir? I’ve got my bundle outside.”

He said this without any seeming thought of the inference Derrick must draw, an inference that the latter jumped at. Why bring a bundle before one was sure of a job? But perhaps, and here a message drifted in from the paneled walls, perhaps it was already arranged that Martin should get the job, and the man in some queer way was aware of that. And, after all, why should he part from his bundle? He would have slept with it under a hedge.

Derrick felt in his pocket. “Perhaps you’d better stop in the village tonight, and clean up the cottage tomorrow. It must be cold and damp. Got enough money?”

Martin gave a twisted smile. “Yes, sir, I have money, but if you don’t mind I’ll risk the damp. It’s nothing to me.”

“No, let it stand till tomorrow; then you can move in. I’ll see you about ten o’clock.”

He rang the bell, Martin standing motionless, a baffling expression on his face. He had secured what he came for but still seemed ill at ease and uncontent. Then Perkins entered like a sallow ghost, and Derrick, regarding these two, experienced a novel sensation at seeing them stand side by side, the staff of Beech Lodge, the depositories of the secret of the house. Between them lay the thing he pursued, or that pursued him. They did not look at each other, but waited, silent, impassive, and remote. He wondered what it would be that first broke through the surface of this extraordinary calm, so profound as to be already ominous. But that would come in its appointed cycle.

“Perkins, I have engaged Martin as gardener. He will commence work in the morning, occupy the cottage, and do for himself entirely. Did you do anything in the house before, Martin?”

“Boots and coals, sir.”

“I don’t need any help now, sir,” put in Perkins swiftly.

Martin’s lids flickered, but he did not stir.

“Then for the meantime, Martin, stick to outside work. All right, you may go now.”

The man mumbled good night, made his former awkward salute, and marched into the hall. He did not glance at the woman, nor she at him. Derrick’s eyes narrowed a little.

“Please come here, Perkins, when you’ve locked up.”

The door closed, and he looked instinctively at the portrait as though to ask whether in all this he had done the right thing. But Millicent was uncommunicative tonight. Quite deliberately Derrick was rebuilding the personnel of Beech Lodge as it existed two years before, peopling it with the same faces, making it echo with the same voices. Its onetime master was no doubt still here, and now there remained only the other Millicents. If the circle could but be closed, and old contacts reestablished, then perhaps the way would become clear. He was deliberating this when Perkins’s return ended the reverie.

“I’d like, if possible, to feel sure, Perkins, that from all you know of Martin I’ve done the right thing in engaging him. This unexpected return is bound to affect you in some way under the circumstances, and⁠—”

He stopped abruptly. She was staring at him with so searching an expression that he knew that tonight he had drawn nearer the essential mystery of Beech Lodge. Yet it was not his action but his words that produced this remarkable effect. He was aware that it was not in the garden, where Millicent had lovingly tended his roses, or anywhere but in this room that the spirit of the murdered man seemed to cry aloud for vengeance⁠—and for peace.

“It was meant that Martin should come back and you should engage him,” said Perkins dully. “I do not know more than that. You could not help it. You were called, and Martin, too.”

He perceived that there was nothing absurd in this. She spoke simply, as though reciting facts established beyond all question. Her look told him that at this moment she could go no further. Suddenly something reached him out of space. The room was alive again.

“How long had Mr. Millicent been dead when you found him?”

“I told you that they sent for me,” she answered gravely, “but I do not know how soon they sent. When the doctor came he thought that it had happened more than an hour before.”

“And you found him at this desk?”

“Did Martin say that?” she asked breathlessly.

“Does it matter who said it?”

Her thin hands clasped over her breast. There was a look in her face he had never seen there before.

“But it matters a great deal if it was Martin. Were you and he long in this room together?”

“No,” she said tremulously, “only a moment, but he stayed there after the doctor came.”

Derrick’s voice, which in