The House of the Wolf by Basil Copper Read Free Book Online Page B

minutes, tasting the coffee, his eyes occasionally catching those of the deferential servants who passed and repassed, or staring into the roseate flames of the fire with his mind agreeably blank of any specific thought, when there came the muffled sound of footsteps from the flagged corridor outside the room door.
    It was still only ten minutes to nine, and familiar faces were advancing down the length of the room toward him. His host was in the forefront, leading a party of Coleridge’s fellow delegates from the Congress, but there was no sign of the women for the moment. Coleridge made as though to rise from the table, but Homolky pressed him back.
    ‘You are early abroad, Professor, particularly after your late night and journeyings of yesterday. I trust my people have made you comfortable?’
    ‘Everything is admirable, Count.’
    Coleridge acknowledged the smiling greetings of the six other men as they ranged themselves round one end of the huge refectory table, their host dropping into a rudely carved wooden chair which had a boar’s-head motif engraved on its back.
    ‘The ladies are not joining us, then?’
    It was the black-bearded man nearest to Coleridge, reaching out for the silver-plated coffeepot. The servants were coming back en masse now, bearing the main breakfast.
    The Count shrugged. He wore a hunting jacket with deep-flapped pockets this morning, and a red silk handkerchief made a splash of scarlet as it peeped from his breast pocket.
    ‘Alas, no. They are taking breakfast in their rooms and begged to be excused.’
    Coleridge himself was wearing a thick tweed country suit, and as he leaned back in his chair and waited for the meal to be served he felt a good deal more comfortable and at his ease than yesterday.
    A young man with a clipped black moustache, who was sitting almost opposite Coleridge, caught the other’s eye and made a wry face. Coleridge, with one of his moments of deep penetration, could not resist a slightly waspish comment.
    ‘Delightful ladies, are they not?’
    The Count quietly watched the two men as he reached forward to raise the cover on one of the big dishes a servant-girl had placed in front of him. A familiar and agreeable aroma permeated the room.
    ‘Indeed,’ the dark-haired man mumbled.
    ‘Particularly Miss Homolky,’ put in George Parker, the black-bearded man sitting to Coleridge’s right.
    The Count dabbed fastidiously at his lips with a silk handkerchief as he put his coffee cup down.
    ‘You have made a conquest, Dr. Raglan,’ he told the young man smilingly.
    ‘My daughter was speaking of you only last evening, just before the professor’s arrival.’
    Raglan flushed and bent over his plate to hide his slight confusion. An awkward pause had ensued, and Coleridge, conscious that he had started the conversation on this tack, hastened to make amends.
    ‘What is the programme for today, gentlemen? I realise we have no official business, but I would be glad of a tour of the Castle and perhaps a walk in these agreeable surroundings. Unless the weather is too severe.’
    The Count pushed one of the dishes over toward his companions, the servants hovering in the background and looking slightly anxious to Coleridge’s eye.
    ‘Eggs and bacon, gentlemen,’ Homolky exclaimed with a short laugh. ‘A favourite with the English and the Americans also, is it not?’
    ‘You are too kind,’ Coleridge said.
    Truth to tell, he was exceedingly hungry this morning and he felt he could do justice to the breakfast before them. He took a slice of the coarse-looking brown bread and spread it with butter. It was warm – fresh-baked, in fact – and tasted delicious.
    The Count had taken up the thread of their earlier conversation.
    ‘No, I do not think the weather will be too severe if walking be your pleasure, Professor. Providing you are accompanied by one of the members of my family or my staff. It will not snow, if that is what you meant.’
    A sombre image had again