A Great Deliverance - By Elizabeth George Page 0,69

is that correct?"

Parrish nodded. "Huntington's chorea. At the end he didn't even recognise his wife. It was horrible. For everyone. Changed everyone's life to see him die that way." He blinked several times and gave his attention to his cigarette and then to his fingernails. They were well manicured, Lynley noted. The man went on with another bright smile. It was his defensive weapon, his way of denying any emotion that might seep through the surface of his thin-shelled indifference. "I suppose the next question is where was

I on the fatal night? I'd love to trot out an alibi for you, Inspector. In bed with the village tart would be nice. But I'm afraid that I didn't know our blessed William would encounter an axe that evening, so I sat here playing my organ.

Quite alone. But I must clear myself, mustn't I? So I suppose I should say that anyone who heard me could verify the story."

"Like today perhaps?"

Parrish ignored the question and finished off his drink. "Then when I was done, I skipped off to bed. Again, unfortunately, very much alone."

"How long have you lived in Keldale, Mr. Parrish?"

"Ah. Back to the original thought, are we? Let me see. It must be nearly seven years."

"Before that?"

"Before that, Inspector, I lived in York. I was a music teacher at a prep school. And no, if you're going to go delving into my past for tasty little items, I was not dismissed. I left by choice. I wanted the country. I wanted some peace." His voice rose slightly on the last word.

Lynley got to his feet. "Let me give you some now. Good evening to you."

As he left the cottage, the music resumed - muted this time - but not before the discordant noise of glass breaking on stone told him the manner in which Nigel Parrish celebrated his departure.

"I hope you don't mind, but I've booked you into Keldale Hall for dinner," Stepha Odell said. She cocked her bright head to one side and regarded Lynley thoughtfully. "Yes, I think I did just the right thing. You look as if you need that tonight."

"Am I becoming gaunt before your eyes?"

She closed a ledger and shelved it behind the reception desk. "Not at all. The food's excellent, of course, but that isn't why I've booked you there. The hall is one of our biggest diversions. It's run by the local eccentric."

"You have everything here, don't you?"

She laughed. "All the pleasures that life affords, Inspector. Would you like a drink, or are you still on duty?"

"I wouldn't say no to a pint of Odell's."

"Good." She led him into the lounge and busied herself behind the bar. "Keldale Hall is run by the Burton-Thomas family. I use that last word quite loosely, of course. Mrs.

Bur-ton-Thomas has half a dozen or more young people working for her, and she stubbornly insists that they all call her auntie. It's part of the cloud of eccentricity in which she likes to move, I should imagine."

"Sounds a Dickensian group," Lynley remarked.

She pushed his ale across the bar and pulled a smaller one for herself. "Just wait till you meet them. And meet them you shall, for Mrs. Burton-Thomas always takes dinner with her guests. When I rang her to book you in, she was beside herself with the idea of Scotland Yard dining at her table. No doubt she'll poison someone just to see you at work. The pickings are going to be rather slim, however. She said she has only two couples there now: an American dentist and two "hoochie-smoochie types,' to use her expression."

"It sounds just the kind of evening I'm longing for." He walked to the window, glass in hand, and looked down the winding lane that was Keldale Abbey Road. He couldn't see much of it, for it curved to the right and disappeared into the dusk.

Stepha came to join him. They didn't speak for some moments. "I expect you've seen Roberta," she said gently at last.

He turned, thinking to find her watching him, but she wasn't. Instead her eyes were on the glass of ale she held. She turned it slowly in the palm of her hand, as if all her concentration were centred on its balance and the total necessity of not spilling a drop. "How did you know?"

"She was quite tall as a child, I remember. Almost as tall as Gillian. A big girl." With a hand dampened by the moisture of the glass, she brushed a few hairs