Witching Hour Read Free

she
    doubted that even a further reduction in their 'competitive terms'
    would reconcile their guests to cold water, so she and her mother
    stood to lose their small remaining amount of direct income.
    But that, she reminded herself, would be lost anyway as soon as
    the unknown Lyall Pentreath arrived. She imagined he would have
    already learned that his inheritance was being run as a small
    country hotel, and she found herself wondering what his reaction
    had been.
    Contempt? Probably. Anger? Almost certainly. Perhaps Miss
    Meakins and the Major would also find themselves dumped bag
    and baggage into the damp chill of an October evening.
    Except, as her mother said, that the new owner would hardly be
    coming now. He would be here in the morning to look over his
    new possession in daylight. Until now, they had counted each day
    at Polzion as a reprieve. Now, it seemed, they were reduced to
    hours.
    Suddenly restless, she rose to, her feet. 'I'd better go and see about
    tea. It's past the time already.'
    'I expect Elsa has been waiting, dear, for your cousin to arrive.'
    'My cousin.' Morgana repeated the words almost incredulously. It
    was the first time her mother or anyone else for that matter had
    used them in relation to Lyall Pentreath. It seemed alien and
    uncomfortable to think that this stranger was actually of her blood,
    even though the relationship between them was a remote one.
    Because of the quarrels and the separation between the two sides
    of the family, the other Pentreaths might as well not have existed
    as far as she was concerned.
    'I wish they hadn't,' she thought fiercely, digging her nails into the
    palms of her hands as she left the room. 'I wish none of them had
    ever been born.'
    The passage leading to what in happier days had been known as
    the servants' quarters was draughty, and Morgana shivered a little
    as she made her way down it. But the kitchen was warm, thanks to
    the big old-fashioned range—which also burned coke, she
    remembered dismally—on which Elsa produced delectable meals
    when she was in the mood.
    What her mood was like today was anybody's guess. Breakfast and
    lunch had been passable, but there were no noticeable preparations
    for dinner, Morgana noted sinkingly. Instead, Elsa was sitting at
    the kitchen table staring down at a worn pack of cards spread
    there.
    'Come in, maid, and shut the door,' she said absently without
    looking up.
    'We were wondering about tea,' said Morgana, unable to resist a
    curious glance down at the cards as she passed the table.
    ' 'Tes all ready, and the kettle's on the boil.' Elsa was built on
    generous lines, and her dark hair, liberally streaked with grey, was
    pinned back from her face with an incongruous selection of plastic
    hairslides in various colours and designs. Green butterflies and
    pink poodles were in favour that particular day, forming an
    unusual contrast to her bright blue overall, safety-pinned across
    her massive bosom. 'And I've made a batch of scones along with
    the cake,' she added sombrely.
    'They look lovely.'
    Elsa snorted. 'Can't go by looks. They'm sad, same as this 'ouse is
    sad. Same as these cards.' She gestured at them. 'Grief and misery,
    pain and woe, my lover—that's what's in store. And a fair man,'
    she added as something of an afterthought.
    'Well, that's something,' said Morgana. 'At least it won't be Cousin
    Lyall. Pentreath men are always dark.'
    'That's as mebbe,' Elsa said with dignity. 'But there b'ain't no dark
    man coming into your life, maid, not so far as I can see.'
    'Then perhaps he really has driven over the cliff,' Morgana said
    cheerfully. 'Make the tea, Elsa darling, while I put the food on the
    tray.'
    Whatever secret sorrow the scones might be nursing, they looked
    almost sprightly to her, she thought, as she picked up the plate, and
    the saffron cake which was one of Elsa's specialities was golden-
    brown and mouth-watering.
    'About dinner -' she began tentatively.
    'Funny ol' bit of meat the