Marlford Read Free Page A

made a neat stack of dishes, balanced it across one arm, and slipped away.
    Ernest waited for the men in his study, a room now completely without books, the shelves collapsing. He paced between the door and the narrow windows, the tattered length of his silk robe de chambre flapping around him, its jaded colours momentarily unequivocal again, jewel-like in the morning sun.
    They appeared as he made a turn at the back of the room, entering without knocking.
    â€˜Good morning, Mr Barton,’ said the shortest of the three of them, slack in his skin, his expressions curtained. He was stocky, his loose bulk straining the seams of his brown tweeds.
    Ernest spun on his heel; the robe de chambre swung. ‘Ah, Hindy, you’re here. Already! Excellent – good morning, gentlemen.’
    The men did not respond. Each of them went instead to one of the straight-backed chairs positioned around the walls, dragging it with effort towards the centre of the room.
    Ernest unfolded a grubby rectangle of green cloth onto the table, spreading it flat with his large hands. He pressedclosed the tears and smoothed out the ingrained ridges. It was a hopeful routine.
    â€˜Morning Glories, Ata, if you please.’ He nodded in the direction of the sideboard.
    The tallest of the men stepped forwards, almost as tall as the stately Barton, very similar in movement, like a younger brother, but his skin darker. He began mixing four drinks in long glasses, a complicated procedure requiring much rattling of tongs and bottles, and a low, intense incantation of what might have been a recipe. He wiped the spillages dry with his sleeve.
    The other men waited, seated at the table, the deck of cards shuffled for the first time, piles of coins stacked in front of Ernest, the dealing box aligned carefully with the layout. As Ata came towards them with the glasses balanced on a wooden tray, Ernest looked around at the players, his smile wide and welcoming, the delight in his face so animated that this game might have been something new and special.
    â€˜Very well, then, punters. Let’s begin.’
    They did not respond. They sipped their drinks; Hindy ran his hand slowly over his chin, as though checking the quality of his shave. No one reached for the cards.
    â€˜Gentlemen?’ Ernest picked up the pack and flicked it, a fresh enticement. ‘Are we ready?’
    The men looked at each other.
    The oldest of them was seated opposite Ernest. He was the smallest of them, too, bent over, his strength taut like wrung leather. ‘We have a concern, Mr Barton.’ His face was thin and sharp, his voice meagre; the trace of a European accent creased his words.
    â€˜A concern?’ Ernest put the cards down and took a swig of his cocktail. ‘I really don’t see – oh, what the deuce is the bother now? Well? Luden, spit it out. Let’s have it.’
    Luden smiled and inclined his head slowly. It was Hindy who spoke. ‘It’s the bob-a-job.’ He pushed his chair back.
    â€˜The Cub Scouts,’ Ata added.
    Ernest grimaced. ‘What about them?’
    â€˜In recent days, we’ve happened to come across them from time to time, on the estate – doing jobs.’ Hindy was the only one of them who spoke without a burr, the clipped perfection of his English betraying his foreignness.
    â€˜Well, of course they were doing jobs. That’s what they’re supposed to do – that’s what they get paid for.’
    â€˜You don’t understand.’ Hindy paused. ‘We’ve never had bob-a-job at Marlford.’
    Ernest picked up the cards once more, running them through his hands and flipping them adeptly into a complicated shuffle, his eyes fixed on the quiver of familiar suits. ‘I know that,’ he said, quietly.
    â€˜We thought you must have known.’ Luden was abrupt. ‘We imagined you were fully aware of the lack of precedent. That’s what surprised