Murder in Paradise Read Free Page B

to conscientiously follow, although he guessed that Macheath would be far from Kent by now, with London fairly accessible.
    Erland went in search of Janey Morris and he had a chance to take in his surroundings, the wide entrance hall through the porch with its red flagged floor and unpainted woodwork, plain, well lit, but quite ordinary, not at all what he had expected from the exterior, with high windows excluding any views of the gardens.
    Gazing up the handsome oak staircase with its extended newel posts, used to the overblown clutter of present-day domestic architecture, he recognised that this more closely resembled the earlier Georgian age, for there were no cornices, no mouldings, no ornamentation, just plain skirting boards.
    The exterior had suggested a religious community but the interior, with its sturdy simplicity, would have done credit to a village school or a country parsonage. There was more to it. This tall turreted house, plain and functional, was also playful with an amalgam of surprises: in the absence of conventional decoration inside there were small arches showing sills and sash windows of all shapes, little casements of a size to shoot an arrow through, the kind of imaginative home a child would love.
    Awaiting Erland’s return he strolled back to the open door and realised that this was also a place for knights of old. That inner courtyard with its well house like a giant candle-snuffer suggested a departure point for long-forgotten battles and crusades.
    Gazing upwards at the great tiled barn-like roof with weathervane and turret to the fountain splashing up just yards away, again he felt that he had set foot in a foreign land, a time of legend and fairy tale. Although Edinburgh had more than its share of Gothic architecture, mostly devoted to church buildings, there were few models for architects to use for the smaller detached domestic dwellings which the new affluent society demanded.
    Back in that inner porch of welcome he looked up at the exposed roof beams and trusses, as well as some brick arches, forming external features brought indoors and asymmetrically positioned.
    He was to discover that Philip Webb’s creation had been designed not as a vertical London townhouse nor a stuccoed suburban villa but a house commodious but not grand, handsome but not flashy, medieval in spirit but modern in function with family rooms for a clutch of children, as befitted the newly married William and Jane. There were also guest rooms, servants quarters and a studio. An artist’s house and a gentleman’s residence.
    He wandered into an open room with a huge fireplace and a wide shallow grate, its scaled-down medieval shape including a hood but lacking a mantelpiece.
    Footsteps! Erland had returned. ‘So this is where you are. Isn’t it magnificent? Gabriel describes it as more a poem than a house. Nothing like it in dear old Orkney – or in Scotland,’ he added proudly.
    Faro nodded in agreement as Erland went on, ‘Janey is rather busy at the moment. She told me to show you to your room.’
    Faro hesitated. ‘Are you sure this is all right?’
    ‘Of course it is all right, old chap. You are most welcome. You’ll meet Janey and Topsy and the others at dinner.’ Turning as Faro followed him upstairs, he said, ‘Well, what do you think?’
    ‘I’m most impressed.’
    As they reached the landing Erland indicated a small arch. ‘This way. Mind your head, it wasn’t intended for anyone as tall as you. Topsy is quite short, you know – like me.’
    As he threw open a door across a wide floor, Faro glimpsed a postered bed, almost the sole furnishing in a room with high, narrow, arched windows.
    ‘You’ll be happy here, Jeremy, mark my words. This place is magic. Pure magic. Make yourself at home, I will see you shortly.’
    Glancing around, Faro considered his good fortune. He could believe Erland; this place was magic.
    But magic had another darker side. However there was no indication of what