Stone's Fall Read Free

grateful for the first amusement she had had for many days. She was dressed in mourning, but made the black attire seem alluring; she was wearing what was then called a lampshade dress, with a jacket that fitted close around the neck, and a simple necklace of very large grey pearls which stood out against the black velvet of the clothes. I knew next to nothing of such things, only enough to realise that the clothes were the latest in what women considered fashionable. Certainly, even to an amateur like me, the general impression was all very striking. And only the colour suggested anything like mourning.
    I sat down. Nobody likes appearing to be a fool, and I had not made a very good start. The fact that she was quite pleased with the way things were going did not help. Only later—very much later—did I consider that my inept beginnings might have had something to do with the lady herself, for she was beautiful, although if you considered her face there was no obvious reason to think so. It was not what you might call conventionally handsome; in fact, you might have almost concluded she was slightly odd looking. There was a distinct asymmetry to her features: her nose and mouth too big; her eyebrows too dark. But she was beautiful because she thought she was so, and so dressed and sat and moved in a fashion which elicited the appropriate response from those who saw her. I did not consciously notice this at the time, but it must have had some effect on me.
    The best thing to do, I decided, was nothing. She had summoned me, so it was for her to begin. This allowed her to take control of the meeting, but that was no more than recognising reality. So I arranged myself as best I could and tried hard to conceal my discomfiture.
    “I have spent much time recently reading the newspapers, Mr. Braddock,” she began. “What I am told are your innumerable contributions.”
    “I am gratified, Your Ladyship.”
    “It was not for your literary talent—although I have no doubt you are skilled in your chosen occupation. It is because I have need of someone with an ability to amass information and study it dispassionately. You seem to be just such a person.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Unfortunately, I also need someone who can be discreet, which I believe is not normally a characteristic of reporters.”
    “We are professional gossips,” I said, cheerful again now I was on to a topic I knew about. “I am paid to be indiscreet.”
    “And if you are paid to be discreet?”
    “Oh, in that case the sphinx will seem like a chatterbox in comparison.”
    She waved her hand and thought awhile. I had been offered no refreshment of any sort. “I have a proposition for you. How much do you earn at the moment?”
    This was an impolite question. By the standards of journalism I was paid adequately, although I knew that by the standards of Lady Ravenscliff it was probably a pitiful sum. Masculine pride does not like to be so easily damaged.
    “Why do you want to know that?” I asked cautiously.
    “Because in order to secure your services I will no doubt have to pay you somewhat more than you receive already. I wish to know how much more.”
    I grunted. “Well, if you must know, I am paid £125 a year.”
    “Yes,” she said sweetly, “you are.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Naturally, I discovered this for myself. I wanted to see whether you would give me an accurate figure, or inflate it in the hope of getting more out of me. You have made a good start as an honest man.”
    “And you have made a very poor start as a worthy employer.”
    She acknowledged the reproof, although without any sign of remorse.
    “That is true. But you will see in a moment why I am so cautious.”
    “I am waiting.”
    She frowned, which did not suit her naturally even complexion, and thought for a moment. “Well,” she said eventually, “I would like to offer you a job. It will pay £350 a year, plus any expenses you might incur, and continue for seven