Read Online The Shadow in the North by Philip Pullman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Philip Pullman
Tags: General, Historical, Action & Adventure, Juvenile Fiction, Europe, Mysteries & Detective Stories, Lockhart, Sally (Fictitious character)
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up from her seat at the front and held a whispered consultation with an elderly man, possibly her husband.
Frederick tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, and then made up his mind.
"Charlie," he said quiedy. "That fellow by the door—fair hair, big build. Find out who he is, could you? Name, rank, number, everything you can."
Charles nodded. "But what are you—"
"I'm going detecting," said Frederick.
He left his seat and made his way to Lady Harborough. She was standing by the piano with the elderly man at her side, and she looked as if she was about to
summon a servant. The rest of the audience—most of them—^were poHtely looking the other way and talking to each other as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"My lady?" Frederick said. "I don't like to interrupt, but I'm a doctor, and if Mr. Mackinnon's indisposed, it might be helpful if I saw him."
"Oh! What a relief!" she said. "I was about to send out for a physician. Do go with the footman, Doctor . . ."
"Garland," said Frederick.
A stiff footman, hair powdered white, calves bulging in his white stockings, blinked impassively and gave a slight bow. As Frederick followed him out of the ballroom, he heard Lady Harborough give orders for the orchestra to be brought back in, and he saw Charles Bertram in conversation with someone in the row behind.
The footman led Frederick through the hall and along a corridor to a door near the library.
"Mr. Mackinnon was using this as a dressing room, sir," he said.
He knocked at the door, but there was no reply. Frederick stepped past him and turned the handle. The room was empty.
"Wasn't there a footman in the hall?" said Frederick.
"Yes, sir."
"Would you go and ask him if he saw Mr. Mackinnon coming out of the ballroom?"
"Certainly, sir. But he wouldn't have come that way, if you don't mind me pointing it out, sir. He'd've more likely gone through the drawing room, coming out the back of the stage like what he did, sir."
"Yes, I see. But if Mr. Mackinnon wanted to step outside for a breath of air, he'd have gone through the hall, wouldn't he?"
"I daresay he would, sir, yes. Should I go and ask?"
"Yes, do."
While the footman was out of sight, Frederick quickly glanced through the room. It was a small sitting room of some kind, with one gaslight glowing by the mantelpiece, and Mackinnon's cloak and hat flung over the back of an armchair near the fire. There was a wicker case standing open by the table, and a tin of grease paints next to a small hand mirror—but there was no Mackinnon.
After a minute or so, the footman knocked at the door behind Frederick.
"Seems as if you were right, sir," he said. "Mr. Mackinnon ran to the front door and went straight out."
"I daresay he'll be back when he feels better," said Frederick. "Well, there's nothing to be done here. Could you show me the way back?"
In the ballroom, the servants were removing the chairs while the orchestra reassembled on the stage. Footmen were passing through the crowd with more champagne; it was as if time had jumped backward an
hour and Mackinnon had never started his performance.
Frederick looked around for the blond man, but he was nowhere in sight. Nor was Charles. Frederick took a glass from the nearest footman and wandered through the room, watching the faces of the guests. Pretty insipid lot, by the look of 'em, he thought. Smooth and bland and superior ... He wondered what the time was and then remembered that Mackinnon had his watch. If it still was a watch, and not a rabbit or a cricket bat, he thought morosely.
Then he saw Lady Mary Wytham and stopped to look at her. She was sitting not far from the piano, and her mother was beside her, and they were both smiling politely at someone Frederick couldn't quite see; there was a potted palm in the way. He moved to one side, then looked again, casually, and saw the blond man.
He was sitting opposite them, with his back to Frederick, talking easily. Frederick couldn't
Frederick tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, and then made up his mind.
"Charlie," he said quiedy. "That fellow by the door—fair hair, big build. Find out who he is, could you? Name, rank, number, everything you can."
Charles nodded. "But what are you—"
"I'm going detecting," said Frederick.
He left his seat and made his way to Lady Harborough. She was standing by the piano with the elderly man at her side, and she looked as if she was about to
summon a servant. The rest of the audience—most of them—^were poHtely looking the other way and talking to each other as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"My lady?" Frederick said. "I don't like to interrupt, but I'm a doctor, and if Mr. Mackinnon's indisposed, it might be helpful if I saw him."
"Oh! What a relief!" she said. "I was about to send out for a physician. Do go with the footman, Doctor . . ."
"Garland," said Frederick.
A stiff footman, hair powdered white, calves bulging in his white stockings, blinked impassively and gave a slight bow. As Frederick followed him out of the ballroom, he heard Lady Harborough give orders for the orchestra to be brought back in, and he saw Charles Bertram in conversation with someone in the row behind.
The footman led Frederick through the hall and along a corridor to a door near the library.
"Mr. Mackinnon was using this as a dressing room, sir," he said.
He knocked at the door, but there was no reply. Frederick stepped past him and turned the handle. The room was empty.
"Wasn't there a footman in the hall?" said Frederick.
"Yes, sir."
"Would you go and ask him if he saw Mr. Mackinnon coming out of the ballroom?"
"Certainly, sir. But he wouldn't have come that way, if you don't mind me pointing it out, sir. He'd've more likely gone through the drawing room, coming out the back of the stage like what he did, sir."
"Yes, I see. But if Mr. Mackinnon wanted to step outside for a breath of air, he'd have gone through the hall, wouldn't he?"
"I daresay he would, sir, yes. Should I go and ask?"
"Yes, do."
While the footman was out of sight, Frederick quickly glanced through the room. It was a small sitting room of some kind, with one gaslight glowing by the mantelpiece, and Mackinnon's cloak and hat flung over the back of an armchair near the fire. There was a wicker case standing open by the table, and a tin of grease paints next to a small hand mirror—but there was no Mackinnon.
After a minute or so, the footman knocked at the door behind Frederick.
"Seems as if you were right, sir," he said. "Mr. Mackinnon ran to the front door and went straight out."
"I daresay he'll be back when he feels better," said Frederick. "Well, there's nothing to be done here. Could you show me the way back?"
In the ballroom, the servants were removing the chairs while the orchestra reassembled on the stage. Footmen were passing through the crowd with more champagne; it was as if time had jumped backward an
hour and Mackinnon had never started his performance.
Frederick looked around for the blond man, but he was nowhere in sight. Nor was Charles. Frederick took a glass from the nearest footman and wandered through the room, watching the faces of the guests. Pretty insipid lot, by the look of 'em, he thought. Smooth and bland and superior ... He wondered what the time was and then remembered that Mackinnon had his watch. If it still was a watch, and not a rabbit or a cricket bat, he thought morosely.
Then he saw Lady Mary Wytham and stopped to look at her. She was sitting not far from the piano, and her mother was beside her, and they were both smiling politely at someone Frederick couldn't quite see; there was a potted palm in the way. He moved to one side, then looked again, casually, and saw the blond man.
He was sitting opposite them, with his back to Frederick, talking easily. Frederick couldn't
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