No Mercy (7 page)

Paula looked at Michael to see if that had penetrated. She
decided it hadn't. He was staring at her with the same glazed blank look in his eyes. She had the uncomfortable feeling he
was staring through her at the wall behind her.

At the end of the meal Paula stood up and started to clear the plates to take them into the kitchen. Maybe Mrs Brogan
would respond to a little help.

'Not a good idea,' Larry warned. 'Kitchen is the holy of
holies.'

'We'll see . . .'

She had collected a tray from a sideboard and piled it with
the dishes. She used her shoulder to push open the swing
door into the kitchen. Once she was inside, it closed behind
her and she was alone with the housekeeper. Placing the tray
on a metal drainer, she stood with her back to it, arms
folded, feeling more secure with her back to something.

'My, oh my.' Mrs Brogan stared in amazement at her.
'You is the first visitor who's ever given me an 'and.'

'I'm surprised.'

'This be a good time to warn you.' The large woman
moved closer. 'About the cult.'

'Cult?' Paula's flesh began to crawl.

'Goes back 'undreds of years, they say. A secret lot, they
is. They 'old rituals in middle of night. Horrible, they is.
Make sacrifices to some god they calls Wrangel. Use the
church, they do, sacrifice someone, then eat them.'

'Cannibalism, you mean?' Paula asked in a low voice.

A vision flashed into her mind. The skeleton with frozen
remnants of flesh below the shoulder. Immediately she got a grip on herself, imagination running wild. Mrs Brogan
nodded in reply to her question. She moved closer,
whispering in her throaty voice.

'Reverend Stenhouse Darkfield, vicar, turns nasty if you
mention cult to 'im. Mixed up in it, is my suspicion.'

'How long has he been vicar?'

'Ages. He was 'ere when I came - two years back. Folk in
this part of the world gets told about the cult at their
mothers' knees. That's 'ow it's passed down the centuries, is my belief. Other folk lives round 'ere and 'as no idea what's
goin' on. Thought you should know.'

Her lips were moist now, her piercing eyes half closed. She
struck Paula as a deceptive curmurdgeon, that in her eyes
really was a streak of evil. Mrs Brogan turned away and
swept a glance over the large pile of dirty dishes. She
grunted.

'Plenty more in the dining room. No, you've done
enough. Time for Tarvin to come.' As she spoke a closed door on the far side of the kitchen began to swing inward
very slowly. A man appeared.

'Here he is,' Mrs Brogan said. 'Tarvin, time to clear up the
dishes. Fetch them from the dining room. Not the dishwasher for this mess. Clean by hand.'

Paula stared. She couldn't help it. Tarvin was of medium
height; plump beneath the white coat he wore. He had a
large head, heavy eyelids half closed over froglike eyes, a pug
nose, a round deep jaw. He moved slowly, almost like a
robot. Paula found him disturbing, had an instinct to get out of the kitchen quickly, which was unlike her.

'I'll go now . . .'

She felt relieved to get out of the atmosphere. What was
it about Tarvin that bothered her? The only person left in
the dining room was Larry, who stood up with a warm
smile.

'The others have gone into my study. I thought I'd wait for
you. I get the impression something has bothered you. Mrs
Brogan?'

'No. Tarvin,' she said impulsively, immediately regretting
what she'd said.

'He's peculiar.'

He put his arm round her shoulders as they walked into
the hall, halted her. He lit a cigarette extracted from a silver
case. He offered her one. She shook her head.

'We have a problem here,' he explained. 'Staff. Difficult to
impossible to find people who'll stay. That's why Mrs
Brogan is so important. She's capable, runs the whole place
and is a good cook.'

'She's first-rate. I should have told her so but something
cropped up and I got diverted,' Paula remarked.

'She brings in a couple of local girls, often from Post
Lacey. They last
a
few months, then rush off to Exeter. En
route to London, I suspect.'

'They feel isolated,' Paula suggested.

'Exactly. That's why I let Mrs B bring in Tarvin. I find him peculiar; don't like him. Bit like something out of a
horror film. But I can't risk upsetting Mrs Brogan. She likes
Tarvin, gets on with him, anyway. Which is more than I do.
Then there are a couple more local girls. This is their
evening off. They won't last. Enough of domestic chitchat.
Let's join the others.'

Paula had a shock. Tweed was perched in a secluded nook beyond the fireplace. Larry whispered to Paula that Tweed
wanted to talk to him privately. Michael had gone back up
to his room. The shock was a glamorous blonde, the colour
not out of a bottle, who came running up to Paula after jumping out of her seat by the fire.

'I'd better introduce myself. Larry wouldn't. I'm
Lucinda, his sister. I've been chatting to your boss. Now he
is one of the most remarkable men I've ever met. Come and
sit with me by the fire. There, now we're comfortable. I
prefer older men - the young ones these days have only one
idea when meeting a woman, and no intellect. May I call you Paula? Mr Tweed has been talking about you. Oh God! Here
comes that awful man with the coffee.'

Tarvin was approaching them with cups and a silver pot. He moved slowly in his white coat, a
spotless cloth folded
over his arm. He padded towards them, eyes down, with a
deliberate tread. Paula found his way of moving disturbing,
more like an animal prowling.

'Black for me, please,' Paula said before he could speak.

'Me too,' chimed in Lucinda in her clear musical voice.

As he poured the coffee Tarvin's eyes suddenly gazed
straight down at Paula. He gave her a
cold searching look
as though he were staring at a brick wall, the eyes weighing
her up for some future purpose. Lucinda produced a gold
cigarette case, inserted a cigarette in a long black holder,
lit it with a jewelled lighter, avoiding giving Tarvin a
glance.

'I find that man creepy,' she said when they were alone
again. 'In fact I find the whole staff here strange. I've asked Larry to change them but he simply waves a hand, says the
servant problem is not one he's involving himself in.'

As she sipped her coffee Paula was studying Lucinda. In her early thirties, she had a good figure, emphasized by the
close-fitting gold evening dress, the wide belt round her slim
waist. Her eyes were almost lapis-lazuli, which made her
even more striking. But it was her vitality that intrigued
Paula most.

'I don't like Tarvin either,' Paula commented. 'Do you live
here, then?'

'Heavens no. I have a flat near Baker Street.' She sat
back and her personality changed dramatically. She held
her neck high, her expression became serious. 'I have a job
with Gantia's plant near Basingstoke. I'm the security
director. This is just a flying visit.'

Paula realized she had misjudged Lucinda. Thinking she
was talking to a socialite whose main interest was probably an
endless programme of night-time parties, she was instead
facing a formidable woman who wouldn't stand any nonsense.

'I'm impressed,' Paula said.

'No, you're surprised. You thought I was a playgirl. Well,
I like to enjoy myself now and again, but my job conies first.
Drago, Uncle that is, laughed aloud when I applied to him
for the post which had become vacant. So I told him for a year I'd worked my back off training at Medford's. As I'm
sure you know, Paula, Medford's is the top security outfit in London. I produced a glowing reference from their director,
shoved it into Drago's hand and said, "Read that, then
-
and
I'm not the sort of person who appreciates ridicule." To cut
a long story short, he hired me on six months' probation.
That was two years ago.'

'Good for you. I've had the impression Drago is rather an
overwhelming sort of person.'

'He is. If you let him be. I don't.'

Tweed, who had been talking to Larry in the secluded
nook, appeared. He laid a hand on Lucinda's bare shoulder.
She looked up, smiled.

'Yes?'

'We've exchanged cards so we know how to get in touch.
As soon as I can after returning to London.'

'Do that thing,' Lucinda replied crisply.

'I think it might be as well if Paula got to bed. She's had a rather unusual day. See you, Lucinda.'

Larry came over to say goodnight. 'You each have a room
at the front overlooking the moor. Mr Tweed has the
numbers. Sleep well.'

'Does Larry accept that Michael has amnesia?' Paula
asked as they walked together into a deserted hall. 'And does
Lucinda know?'

'Wait until we get upstairs. Larry's insisted we stay here for
the night.'

'And what are you up to - with Lucinda? Or shouldn't I
ask?'

'Wait until we get to our rooms. I'm very worried about
this whole Dartmoor business.'

7

At the top of the stairs they turned right, as Larry had told
Tweed. The wide hall was long, ill-lit by
a few lanterns
attached to the walls. A gloomy atmosphere. Tweed gave
Paula a large key, holding another in the other hand.

'We're rooms 16 and 17. Next to each other. I'm glad
both rooms overlook the moor. We can see what's going on.'

'Chilly up here.'

As they arrived at the door to Paula's room, a stout
wooden affair with iron studs, it opened, Mrs Brogan walked
out. Her expression was blank as she addressed them.

'Just put 'ot water bottles in both rooms. He won't 'ave
central 'eating up 'ere. Wants to keep the feeling of the old
monastery. Lord knows why.'

She padded away down the hall, turned a corner to her left and disappeared. Tweed gestured with his hand to the
left.

'There's another wing projecting out - as it was hundreds
of years ago. Servants' quarters.'

'You realize,' Paula said as they walked inside, 'we'll have
to sleep in what we've got on. We left the cases in the car.
No. Look. My case is at the foot of that enormous bed. How
did that get here?'