The Cone Gatherers by Robin Jenkins Read Free Book Online Page A

sparrows have been shot off the tree?’ he asked.
    â€˜I hope not, sir. May I be allowed to wish you a good journey and a safe return?’
    â€˜You are allowed, Duror; you are allowed, as the kids say, with knobs on. But I see Master Roderick glowering at me like a sergeant-major. Jove, he wanted us to start before the frost was off the grass. How glorious to be young! When d’you think the drive will start?’
    â€˜About two o’clock, sir. After I’ve seen her ladyship, I’ll let you know where I think the best place will be.’
    â€˜Thanks, Duror. It’s all in your hands, as far as I’m concerned. Just show me where to stand. I hope I get a kill.’ He smiled wryly. ‘It’s a funny thing, Duror, we moan about the vast amount of killing going on in the world, and here I am thirsting for more.’
    â€˜Deer are vermin, sir. They must be kept down.’
    â€˜I suppose so.’ He hesitated, and cast a glance at Duror which seemed to the gamekeeper to be a prelude to a rebuke about his unshavenness; there had already been several of these glances. But he was wrong.
    â€˜And Mrs Duror? How’s she keeping?’
    Duror smiled. ‘Not too well, sir.’ He flicked his chin. ‘I’m afraid we had a disturbed night. I see I’ve forgotten to shave.’
    Embarrassed, Forgan looked away: he had never seen Mrs Duror, but had heard about her from his sister. He remembered he had said he envied Duror. He remembered too unshavenness was a military offence.
    â€˜Don’t worry about that, Duror,’ he said. ‘Well, I’ll get back to my cricket.’
    â€˜Thank you, sir.’
    Touching his cap, Duror walked on. His dogs followed, glad to escape from the tyranny of Monty.
    As he made for the servants’ entrance at the back of the house, he realised that by lying to the captain about Peggy he had in some way involved him; and in a few minutes, by persuading Lady Runcie-Campbell to conscript the cone-gatherers, he would involve her too. His tragedy was now to be played in public: it must there-fore have a crisis, and an end.
    Out of sight round the corner of the house, he paused. They were talking about him on the lawn. Roderick had said something shrill and petulant.
    â€˜Be quiet, Roddy,’ cried his sister. ‘He’ll hear you.’
    â€˜I suggest we get on with this manly game of cricket,’ called their uncle.
    â€˜Oh, all right, I’m sorry,’ said Roderick.
    â€˜That’s more like you, old chap,’ said his uncle. ‘Now I think it’s my turn to bat.’
    â€˜But I’m not out yet,’ protested the boy.
    Smiling, Duror walked along to the door, tied up his dogs, and entered.
    Mrs Morton, the cook-housekeeper, was alone in the kitchen, preparing the silver tray for the family’s morning coffee. She was a widow of about his own age, cheerful, shrewd, pink-faced, bonny and buxom. She was one of the few regular visitors to his wife. His mother-in-law had recently insinuated that the housekeeper’s interest was in him, not in Peggy. He had dismissed the insinuation, but later had found himself wondering whether he wished it was true. To a man she liked, she could no doubt bring joy and oblivion; but, though neither religious nor prudish, she had a sense of fairness and a quick reliable judgment. He knew she was attracted by him, but she was genuinely sorry for Peggy and would not readily betray her.
    This morning, as she welcomed him into the sunny kitchen, he thought that surely the next step in the drama should be his involvement of her.
    She had no apprehensions of evil. Round her plumpneck, indeed, like a talisman protecting her, was a gold locket on a chain: it contained the picture of her twenty-year-old son Alec, who was in the Merchant Navy.
    â€˜You’re just in time for a cup of tea,’ she said.
    â€˜Thanks, Effie.’ He sat down, smiling at her deft