Miss Hargreaves Read Online Free

and caught Henry’s arm. ‘Let’s get on to Dungannon,’ I said.

    The rest of that evening we spent at Dungannon. Miss Hargreaves was the topic of conversation all the time. We found, after several glasses of sherry, that she was a far more widely travelled and more accomplished lady than we had originally supposed.
    ‘Of course,’ said Henry, ‘she always winters in the South of France.’
    ‘Wonderful,’ I said, ‘how she takes her cockatoo about. It’s gone with her everywhere.’
    ‘You mean Hector?’
    ‘Dr Pepusch,’ I corrected. ‘Hector, you remember, died of psittacosis.’
    Henry wrinkled his brow. ‘Dr Pepusch?’
    ‘M’m,’ I said. ‘Dr Pepusch, you remember–who wrote the
Beggar’s Opera
– had a parrot who used to sing an air from one of Handel’s operas. Miss Hargreaves named her bird after him. She’s a keen musician.’
    ‘I should like to know who this dame is you two keep talking about,’ said the girl behind the bar.
    ‘No dame about her,’ said Henry. ‘This is a niece of the Duke of Grosvenor. So kindly be careful what you say.’
    The girl seemed rather impressed.
    Henry drained his glass. ‘Horsy?’ he murmured.
    ‘No. Doggy,’ I said. ‘She keeps a Bedlington; a lady Bedlington by the name of Sarah. Don’t you remember how she forgot herself in one of the Duke’s grandfather clocks?’
    ‘What beautiful little water-colours those were that she used to paint,’ mused Henry, tipping his glass up and holding it out to the girl to be filled.
    ‘She is more of a poet than a painter,’ I reminded him. ‘Some of her lyrics–do you remember
Wayside Bundle
?–bid fair to rival the immortal Ella.’
    ‘You mean Wheeler W.?’
    ‘Just so. Another sherry, please, miss.’
    ‘She has more than a mere taste for music, eh?’
    ‘Oh, yes! A born musician. It occurs to me, incidentally,’ I added, ‘that it was perhaps a mistake to give the sexton her home address.’
    ‘Oh? Is she away from home, then?’
    ‘Undoubtedly. She will just have left for the Three Choirs Festival. She has never been known to miss it.’
    ‘How stupid of me to forget!’
    Henry asked the girl to fetch him an A.A. Guide.
    ‘Where is the Festival being held this year?’ he asked me.
    ‘Hereford.’
    I turned over the pages of the guide, then snapped it to with an air of finality.
    ‘I suppose, as usual,’ I remarked, ‘she will be staying at the Manor Court Hotel?’
    ‘Oh, it’s almost a second home to her,’ he agreed. ‘Any mention made, by the way, of charges for dogs?’
    ‘M’m. Two-and-six a day.’
    ‘How many stars?’
    ‘Five.’
    ‘Pity. Ought to be six. Cockatoos mentioned?’
    ‘Not mentioned. But of course she has had a special arrangement with the management for a great many years.’
    We were silent for a little while. I think we were impressed with ourselves and each other; but most especially we were impressed by Miss Hargreaves.
    ‘I suppose,’ I mused, ‘she will go on to Bath as usual?’
    ‘I see nothing to prevent her,’ said Henry.
    Neither did I.

    Just as I was drawing the sheets over my head, feeling a bit hazy, Henry–who never can leave a good joke where it is–poked his head round the door.
    ‘You ought to write to her,’ he said, ‘and tell her we’ve at last seen Mr Archer’s church. She’d be so pleased.’
    ‘Of course,’ I murmured. ‘I’ll do it to-morrow.’

    ‘As from 38 London Road, Cornford, Bucks.
    September 2nd
    ‘DEAR MISS HARGREAVES,
    ‘I’m afraid it is some time since I wrote you, but now that I am on the point of returning from a holiday in Northern Ireland, I feel that I must send you a line from a place so intimately bound up with memories of your old friend Mr Archer. You have told me so much about him that I almost felt, when I stood in Lusk church yesterday, that I had known him myself. The sexton was overjoyed to hear news of you, although he did not actually remember your name.
    ‘What of you, my