Notebooks of the Young Wife by Tara Black Page B

desirable asset, it was rather important that the contents of the study be spirited away before that date.
    ‘Mr Wilkes, who is handling the estate, an admirable man who shares an interest in such materials finding a good home, is contriving to make the items appear to have been sold while Monty was still with us. They will be identified simply as the, ah, Rare Books Collection, but naturally, the details of what exactly it consisted of will prove to have been lost.’
    I chuckled at the nod to my own department at the BL, and was still smiling when I replaced the receiver on its stand a few moments later. For a practicing domina of a severe disposition, the Archive’s Director had a remarkable way with the pillars of middle English society. And thanks to her information, my principal duty was all but accomplished: I needed simply to phone Tamsin in the morning and arrange for the books and papers to be picked up. If I knew my organisation, the fact that a substantial free acquisition could be at risk in situ would have the job done by the weekend. However, I’d taken on a personal mission in my short time at the house: to obtain for myself the records made by the self-styled uxor studiosa . And that aim was no further forward.
    Then there was a tap on the door and Molly’s head appeared. ‘Er, Jane,’ she said diffidently, ‘I don’t mean to disturb you—’
    ‘Please do. It’s exactly what I need. What’s up, sweetie?’ The pretty face was wearing a rather downcast expression.
    ‘I just got a big lecture from old Jencks. “Telling tales out of school” she calls it – that’s me telling you about that college woman visiting.’ Obviously the housekeeper had not been impressed with Tamsin’s questions on the subject. But how did she know the informant was Molly? The maid looked sheepish.
    ‘I don’t reckon she did know, but I gave it away. Never was much good at porkies.’
    ‘Being an accomplished liar can be useful, but the best people often can’t hack it. You’re in good company.’ When I didn’t manage to raise a smile, I guessed that telling off wasn’t the end of the matter. ‘So I get the impression there’s more?’
    ‘Too right. I’ve been sent to the woods, the part where all the birch trees grow. And I don’t have to explain that to you, do I?’
    I was outraged. ‘That’s just not right, Molly. She’s the one up to the funny business, not you. I ought to go and—’
    ‘And she’s the one who either puts in a word with the new master or she doesn’t. So just leave it, Jane, or you’ll make things worse. But if you wanted to come and keep me company that would be nice, and you can learn how the things are put together too.’
    It wasn’t going to help to say anything about who the new employer might be, so I kept mum and followed Molly to get kitted out with a pair of wellington boots.
     
    The afternoon sun was warm as we walked up the slope at the back of the house, but among the trees there was a dank carpet of dead leaves underfoot. Not much was yet in leaf and the slender birch wands Molly began to cut were full-budded. I thought, I’m afraid with a degree of schadenfreude , that she would in due course be stinging just as much as I’d been the day before. After watching the curved blades of the large secateurs at work, I chipped in that I’d heard the inclusion of an ash plant of a similar thickness gave the whole thing an extra bite.
    ‘Very likely true, Jane, but I can do without suggestions like that when it’s my bum that’s to be on the block.’ She was looking at me in a kind of playful pique that sent shivers through me. I moved in close and squeezed the article in question.
    ‘And a very tasty bum it is too. Will it be a private affair, or can I sit in?’ Molly stuck out her tongue.
    ‘You’re just one of them – what’s the word? – sadists. Like that Marquis fellow. You want to see a poor girl get a good hiding.’
    ‘Oh yes, please. Especially