The Long Gallery, Chapter Ten & Eleven (standard:drama, 2312 words) [6/6] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Oct 02 2015	Views/Reads: 1813/1455	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Young Daisy Truman has inherited a country estate, Harvest Hall. But within its walls lie valuables that a crooked consortium is bent on discovering.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


‘So this is it.' Jane Lafarge directed her gaze away from William,
focusing on the scene for what seemed several minutes. ‘Idyllic 
setting; such an impressive backdrop.' 

‘You think so?' William's smooth cheek dimpled – a half smile. ‘As close
as we're going to get I'm afraid, now that Daisy owns the Hall.' 

‘There it is again, humble acceptance,' Jane said, her eyes remaining
locked on the scene below. ‘Although secretly, I suspect you're 
disgruntled at being passed over for the Hall ...' 

‘Not at all,' William fired back, his contracting brows emphasising his
irritation, ‘Jane will you let it drop? First of all I'm supposed to 
have this affection for Daisy, and now the Hall. And as for secrets, I 
have none as far as you're concerned.' William sniffed, drew breath, 
‘Well, I've shown it to you in all its grandeur below, driven an hour 
and a half to get here, perhaps now you'll be satisfied, though I can 
see in your eyes there's more.' 

Jane said nothing, merely pressing her body closer to the hedge as a car
roared past. Her stare continued to be directed down the hill, at 
Harvest Hall. 

William sighed, bowed and slipped his arm around her waist. ‘You seem in
a pensive mood today, darling.' 

Jane's eyes hardened; turning to him she complained, ‘You've told me
precious little about that great big place and all the history which 
must go with it. I practically had to beg to get you to come out here. 
It's as though the place is wrapped in your own personal cloak of 
mystery. Your grandfather for instance – what became of him?' ‘I saw 
less of him, after Father died.' William exhaled through his nose. ‘You 
understand that it's not the easiest place to visit when you're young 
and reliant on others. Let's just say he passed away,' William said 
quietly, transferring his arm to Jane's shoulder as he looked down on 
the Hall. 

‘Tell me something I don't know.' Jane's violet eyed stare remained on
him. ‘Okay, this is obviously a taboo subject as far as you're 
concerned.' 

‘I'll tell you, but not right now.' William's reply had been curt and
his gaze vacant, though remaining fixed on the Hall. ‘Very well.' Jane 
shrugged, freed herself from his arm. ‘Although for some reason you 
seem unwilling to share any memories of the place with me.' 

If Jane was expecting a reply from her fiancé, none was forthcoming. And
that fact paved the way for an uncomfortable silence which accompanied 
their return to London. 

*** 

Shortly after the couple's departure, Daisy arrived at Harvest Hall, and
within a few minutes Frobisher-French followed. 

‘Well, here it is then, dear lady – our document containing a full
account of our services, plus of course, our fees.' 

‘Of course.' Daisy Truman, unsmiling, received the envelope from
Frobisher-French's outstretched hand and slit it open. ‘You didn't take 
long drawing this up, or arriving here with it for that matter. I've 
barely got in.' Looking up from her study desk, she said, ‘And please 
refrain from addressing me as “dear lady,” I find all that crap 
condescending.' 

‘Of course, madam.' French fingered his dark suit, lowered his long,
slim frame towards her. ‘Merely an expression of politeness. And may I 
also say that my speed at preparing the document and delivering it to 
you is merely a sign of efficiency.” 

‘We'll, see about that, won't we?' Daisy held Frobisher-French's gaze
and added, ‘Miss Truman will serve us fine.' Daisy ran her eyes over 
the four page document, all the while feeling Frobisher French's 
towering presence alongside her. She regretted not asking him to wait 
in a separate room. ‘You understand I shall only sign to an initial 
three month period – I can find no mention of that here.' 

‘As you will see, Miss Truman, our charges are calculated monthly.'
French stooped over Daisy, his finger touching the paper. ‘During the 
first year, you are free to dispense with our services at any time.' 

‘Well, let's hope I don't have to.' Daisy sighed, even the study seemed
huge and having this man looming over her didn't help. It was going to 
take some time adjusting – being Lady of the Manor, so to speak. 

‘As agreed,' French said cordially, ‘we will supply two staff inside the
Hall and two outside, on a Monday to Friday basis, thus allowing you 
privacy at weekends. The staff will have impeccable references, of 
course, and ...' 

‘Stop there, please, Mr. Frobisher-French.' Daisy sat back in the
elegant Queen Anne chair she had positioned behind the desk. 
‘Impeccable references they may well have, but I shall need to see them 
personally before allowing them to work within my house and grounds.' 

French's smile waned, it seemed to imply that she was testing his
patience. ‘Miss Truman, it is normal for our clients to take us at our 
word, but if you seek prior introduction, I will hasten to arrange it.' 


Daisy smiled, the corners of her mouth raised angelically. ‘Spiffing.
That's the sort of adjective one uses in these places, isn't it?' 

French's complexion developed an autumnal look. ‘When would you like the
introduction? I can arrange ...' 

‘This afternoon would be fine – if you would arrange it. And then if
they meet with my approval, I'll sign on the dotted line as they say.' 
French fingered his brow; Daisy's lively eyes following his motions. 
‘I'll certainly endeavour to comply with your request, Miss Truman, 
though it is somewhat short notice.' 

Daisy rose to her feet, pausing at the library door. ‘I'm a working
girl, Mr Frobisher-French. I don't have oodles of time at my disposal – 
unlike some of your other clients, I would venture.' 

‘Quite.' French bowed his head and took his leave, his super-smooth
exterior somewhat ruffled, Daisy thought. 

She saw French out, and with a deep breath drawing the Hall's musty air
into her lungs, commenced a stroll through its interior. Passing 
through the stately main drawing room with her late uncle's portrait 
dominating the wall above the fireplace, she contemplated her future. 
Tomorrow would see their move into the Hall against the broody Adam's 
advice, and in the face of Jeffries' attempts to meddle in her affairs. 
Why he was so intent on doing so was beyond her, but he would learn, as 
indeed would everyone else, that she was capable of charting her own 
destiny. In truth, Daisy didn't reckon on outside help in the shape of 
Frobisher-French's Anchor Investments lasting the year. 

Her own experience of managing the nature reserve would provide a solid
base for overall running of the Estate and closer personal involvement 
in day-to-day activities than perhaps the management company expected 
would complete her education. 

Could this have been the reason why Uncle had passed over William and
his absent sister Clarissa, leaving the Hall in her hands? Or was it 
more to do with the untimely death of her father and the subsequent 
effects it seemed to have on Uncle Joshua? 

But thinking about Clarissa, where was she? What had happened to her?
She seemed to have disappeared without a trace. Daisy tried to harp 
back to when she'd last seen her, but her memories just seemed to 
evaporate amongst the mists of time. In any case, however, 
communication with William's side of the family had become markedly 
thin over recent years. Perhaps there was no great surprise in her 
inability to recall. 

Daisy climbed the broad staircase to the Gallery, for so long a meeting
place of Uncle and his friends. And again memories of that day, when 
she'd run inside through fear of the stone statues in the magic garden 
came back to haunt her. Her father and uncle, locked in bitter, heated 
argument; father pinned against the wall, his face ashen through the 
gloom, and then those words she couldn't recall. 

The same chairs still lined the walls of the gallery, fine gilt-edged
and high backed, placed perhaps twenty feet apart, and between them, 
the doors that led to the anti-chambers and bedrooms of the old house. 
And then something made her start – at the gallery's western end, a 
figure – gaunt and grey. Its face bore a mouth so wide it seemed a 
crater between its cheeks, almost like a Halloween joke – only this was 
no Halloween and no joke. It creased into a smile, or perhaps a leer or 
sneer, and tiny fissures seemed to open in every wrinkle from forehead 
to neck. Daisy's heart, normally as steady and regular as any, sped up 
and fluttered. She shook her head, trying to rattle some logic into it, 
to make sense of what she'd seen. She closed her eyes for a split 
second, and then when she re-opened them there was nothing – nothing at 
all. 

It had all been her stupid imagination – just like the stone statues –
she might have felt grown up, but here was a stark introduction to 
reality. 

Her confidence sank like a badly baked cake. 

*** 

Daisy was still suffering the effects to her confidence when
Frobisher-French arrived early that afternoon. Two cars had progressed 
down the arced drive and were now parked in the crescent at the western 
wing. French had four others in his company and duly introduced them. 
There were two estate workers, Robert and Martin, and two in-house 
caretakers – Michelle Poynton, a short, sturdy middle-aged woman and 
Sue Atkinson, a younger, lithe brunette. 

Despite Daisy's lingering reservations, first impressions were
favourable, it had to be said, and that being the case, the deal was 
sealed, along with arrangements for a party the following Saturday. Not 
an idea that Daisy would have gone along with had it not been for the 
enthusiasm of Alison and Penny.   


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