Blackthorn Winter (4 page)

"Wait till you see your sunroom studio," I told her. "You'll die."

"The conservatory?" The red-haired cutie spun away from the bookshelf, his voice sharp. He was frowning at Quent. "You're letting
her
have it?"

"It's a perfect place to work, Dunk," Quent said mildly. "You know that."

"I know Mum certainly thought so!" His voice rose.

Quent walked over and rested a hand on Dunk-o's shoulder. "And your mum did some of her best work in it, didn't she?" he said soothingly. "I'm hoping that Hedda will find it just as inspiring for her own work." He turned back to Mom. "It'll be good to have the sunroom in use again."

I wasn't so sure that Dunk-o agreed, but at least he'd stopped glowering. I wanted to say something to him, but the only thing that came to mind just then was "I love your accent." I caught myself in time, thankfully, because
I
was the one with the accent here, not him.

Now he was just looking fixedly out the window. I glanced at the window to see what was so fascinating, but it was dark. I didn't know what the story was about his mum, but my mom obviously did because she spoke gently to him. "Your mum's death came as very sad news to me, Duncan," she said. "I knew your mum back when Liza and I were art students in London, you know, years ago. Nora was such a sweetheart. And such a vibrant person. We just knew that she would be the one of us to hit the big time first"

Duncan,
I thought, glad to know his name wasn't really Dunk-o. I gave him a sympathetic glance, but he wouldn't look over at me, just kept his eyes fixed on the window.

"And she did," Quent said. "Nora was really moving up in the art world before the accident. Getting a real name for herself. We were so proud of her, weren't we, Dunk?"

Duncan nodded, looking away. I wondered if he was trying not to cry.

"Such a tragedy," Liza said, moving over to slip her arm through Quent's. "Cut down in her prime. Hard to believe it's already been two years ... But that's always the
way it is with death, isn't it? You never know when your number's up."

"We shared a flat back in the old days," Mom said hastily, smiling over at Duncan. "We were like three eccentric artists in our garret."

He spoke up shyly, warming to Mom as people always did, eventually. "She showed me where that flat was once, when we were in London together."

"Not that we were in our garret all that much, Hedda," Liza corrected her with a giggle. "We had our classes, of course, and studio work, but don't forget our home away from home ... the Dark Horse!"

"Our little pub on the corner!" Mom was giggling, too. Edmund and Ivy were hanging over the banister, all ears.

"I can imagine," said Quentin, smiling at Mom. "Now, speaking of pubs, Hedda, I'd like to invite you and your children to dinner at the Old Ship. They do a very good meal—not just your basic pies and chips but a really good roast as well. My treat, of course, to celebrate your first night in Blackthorn."

"Why, thank you so much," said Mom. "But you really don't need to—"

"I want to. Duncan and I both do, eh lad?"

"Right," said Duncan. He slanted his shy smile at me then looked quickly away.

So he wasn't entirely hopeless! And he had such a sweet smile, and such a nice, warm English accent—plus all that lovely red hair! I slanted a glance back at him, but he wasn't looking.

Ivy and Edmund cheered from the stairs.
Food and plenty of it
was their motto. They came clattering down and then had to be introduced.

After Quent had shaken hands with the Goops, Liza linked her arms through his. "I think a meal at the Ship sounds lovely," she trilled.

But Quent unlinked his arm from hers. "I saw Oliver at the Emporium and he told me to tell you to hurry on home if you were still here when I got back. Said he hadn't seen you all day and he could use you in the shop now that Veronica isn't working there anymore."

"Oh, bother." Liza wrinkled her brow. "He can run the shop much better on his own, especially since I sacked the little thief! And he is capable of making his own tea, too, you know. He likes to play helpless about anything more complicated than cheese on toast, but it's just a ruse to cover up that he's bone-lazy." She turned to Mom with a toss of her head. "Husbands!"

Mom rolled her eyes as if she agreed, which I thought was being totally unfair and disloyal to Dad. "We'll have to make this a quick meal, though, I'm afraid," Mom said. "The jet lag is really starting to get to me, and the kids must be ready to collapse."

"No we're not!" cried Edmund and Ivy.

I felt pretty near to collapsing, just as Mom had said, and not really a bit hungry. But Duncan was suddenly chattering away to the Goops as if he were their long-lost friend. And yet he'd said barely two words to me! What did they have that I didn't?

"To the Old Ship then," said Quent, ushering us toward the door.

Liza pouted for a moment, then brightened. "Well, I'll walk that way with you," she said cheerfully, "and then be off for home. It's for the best really. I've got a Drama Society meeting later tonight ... I've been elected president of
the society—did I tell you already? And we've just finished tryouts for our new three-act play,
Voyage of the Jumblies!
I've phoned all the cast members to announce their parts, but we're meeting tonight to hand out the scripts. Too bad all characters have been assigned, Hedda, or I'd be asking you to join us!" Liza spoke rapidly, never giving Mom a chance to say that she wouldn't want to be in a play, that she always had stage fright, that even having to approach gallery owners about exhibiting her paintings was an ordeal for her. "But, never mind," Liza was saying, "I'll pop round here again in the morning, Hedda, darling, to take you and your kiddies on a tour of the village. And then, of course, I'll be seeing you tomorrow night at the party as well." She quirked an eyebrow at Quent. "Or wasn't I supposed to tell her about the party yet?"

"Good thing it wasn't meant to be a surprise," he told Mom with a warm smile, shaking his head at Liza. "Yes, I'm hosting a little gathering of the Blackthorn art scene at the house tomorrow. Very informal. Everyone's coming around seven. They're eager to meet you. They've looked at your website and read the reviews, and there's a lot of interest. In fact, the local Art Collective is putting on an exhibition at the end of April—it's a yearly springtime extravaganza—and we've all agreed we'd like to have several of your pieces in it. If you'll agree."

"How kind of you!" exclaimed Mom. "Of course I agree. And won't a party be fun, kids? Juliana, you'll enjoy a party!"

Liza's trilling laugh filled the room again. "Oh, I don't suppose Quent meant it to be a
children's
party, Hedda, darling!"

But Quent quelled her with another impatient shake of his head. "Of course Juliana's most welcome, and Ivy and
Edmund, too. Duncan will be there, won't you, Dunk-o? And I've no doubt Celia Glendenning will be bringing Kate along."

I wasn't sure he'd meant for the party to include kids after all, but at least he'd covered it up gracefully. I wondered who Kate would turn out to be. I liked parties, and going to one at Duncan's house sounded fun to me. Maybe
then
I'd manage to get him to talk to me.

It didn't hurt to dream, I told myself, grabbing my coat off the row of hooks by the door and following my little brother and sister and their cute-but-shy (or possibly indifferent) redheaded pal out into the rainy evening. Maybe if I were very lucky I could get out of going on the village tour with Liza Pethering in the morning, and Duncan would show me around instead. However, it was more likely, I had to admit to myself from the look of things, Duncan would offer to show the Goops around, and I would just end up tagging behind.

 

W
E HURRIED ALONG
the wet streets, huddling together under Quent's and Liza's large, black umbrellas (
brollies,
Quent called them), and soon came to the center of town and the pub called the Old Ship. The Old Ship was built back in 1615 as an inn for travelers along the coast road, Quent informed us, and it was even older than his Old Mill House. It was a gray stone building directly across from the bush-filled traffic island in the middle of the main street. We entered through an archway into a low-ceilinged dining room. "Watch your heads," cautioned Quent. "People were shorter in those days!"

"This place was here even
before
the Pilgrims came to America!" Ivy whispered to me, awed. "King Henry the
Eighth might have come here to eat—or wait, was he dead by then?" She was a bookworm who knew more about history than people twice her age—or at least that's what Dad always said. She danced her way inside the Old Ship now. "Hey, maybe
Shakespeare
ate here!"

The room inside was dimly lit, with a bar lined with stools at one end, and tables at the other end. The air smelled of old oak and smoke—though no one was smoking at the tables. Maybe it was the residue left from centuries of cook fires. The smoky smell mingled with the smells of meat and onions, creating a warm fog, and I was glad because it would mask any other, weirder smell that might try to find me.

Liza Pethering had walked with us as far as the Old Ship. She came inside, but was now saying further goodbyes and arranging with Mom what time she'd come over in the morning. While they were talking, a girl about my age turned from the bar and walked over to us with a smile that faded away. I thought at first she was mad because she thought I was with Duncan or something—but then I saw she was glaring at Liza. The girl's eyes were made up with heavy dark liner, and her hair was a deep royal purple. Very cool—though not my style. She had loads of earrings dangling from her ears, and over her very tight jeans she wore a neat white apron with a picture of a ship on it. "How many for dinner, then?" she asked Quent sullenly. Her voice was high and clipped. She gathered our coats and umbrellas and tossed them onto the coatrack in the corner.

"Just six, Veronica," Quent told her. "Mrs. Pethering won't be eating with us."

"Good," replied the girl, turning back and making a face. "Because I couldn't promise not to slip some poison into her beer if she sat herself in here." Quent chuckled at
that, as if Veronica had made a joke, but I noticed the girl with the purple hair wasn't laughing.

"Well, good evening to you, too, Veronica, dear," gushed Liza. "So you're employed again, are you? How long do you think it will last this time, hmmm?" She laughed heartily and turned to Mom, adding in a confiding tone, "Our little Miss Pimms isn't exactly the most reliable of employees, shall we say? But she's old friends with Duncan, so when Quent suggested we hire her at the Emporium, we wanted to oblige. Bad move in the end, though. Isn't that right, dear?"

The girl shot her a killer look, but Liza remained undaunted.

"Hullo, Ronnie." To my surprise, it was Duncan who spoke up affably. But he left it to Quent to introduce us. Mom, always tactful, shook Veronica Pimms's hand and tried to find something to chat with her about.

"So you're in school with Duncan, Veronica? Well, I hope you'll get to know Juliana, too, even though she'll still be doing homeschool, for a while at least. Maybe you can interest her in going to your school, and show her around a bit—"

But Liza Pethering broke in again with a little derisive laugh before Veronica could reply. "Veronica Pimms at school?" Liza snorted. "Now there's a concept! She left ages ago, didn't you, dear? Or did they kick you out?" She gave Veronica a withering glance, then waved good-bye to the rest of us and left through the archway. "Ta-ra! See you tomorrow!"

Veronica tossed her purple hair and led us over to a long table by the windows. "Someone ought to kill that bitch," she muttered darkly. "If you want my humble,
uneducated
opinion."

While we ate, Quentin Carrington chatted with Mom about Blackthorn's art scene and all the people she'd be meeting the next night at his party. Ivy and Edmund played hangman with Duncan, who wrote letters on the paper place mat as they tried to guess the word he was thinking. I sat watching everyone, my head buzzing with tiredness, actually sort of glad that Duncan was too shy or too uninterested to talk to me. The way I was feeling, I doubted I could hold a sensible conversation. Everybody ordered fish and chips or chicken pie and chips or roast pork with chips—but I just asked for the chips on their own. They turned out not even to be potato chips at all but big, greasy, yummy, salty fries. Not the best diet choice, but I felt I deserved some comfort food after this very long day. Ivy pretended her drink was mead instead of Coke. Edmund was shocked that there weren't free refills.

Just before we left, two guys stumbled into the Old Ship. They were a little older than me, maybe late teens or early twenties, and they were loud and demanding. They sat at the bar and the older one called for beer, pounding on the wooden surface. "Two pints of lager and make it quick, luv, if you know what's good for ya." His accent was entirely different from any I'd heard so far. I was getting the
idea that there were as many different kinds of English spoken around here as there were people.

Veronica Pimms scowled at them but hurriedly set two tall glasses on the bar. One by one she filled them from the tap. The younger guy, who looked about eighteen, sipped at the head of foam, watching the other guy intently with a fixed, silly sort of grin on his face. That other one, who might have been his brother because they shared the same stocky build, same sandy crew cut, and pale watery blue eyes, had a fierce frown. He sucked his foam right off the top in one gulp, drained the glass in seconds, and pounded on the bar for more.

"Keep your shirt on, Simon," snapped Veronica. "I've got other customers, haven't I?"

His reply was a low growl.

Quent Carrington chuckled. "Well, there you have them: Blackthorn's criminal element. Simon and Henry Jukes. On-the-dole layabouts and lager louts if ever there were any. I suppose, to be fair, we should say it's really only Simon who's the bad 'un. Henry is far too simple to plan a break and entry or postal scam. But Simon uses his poor brother as a cover whenever he can. They're both going to land in prison if they're not careful. That Simon—he's already done a stint, thanks to our Liza."