The Golden Maze Read Online Free Page A

remembered, and yet it was different, not less beautiful or exciting, but sadly shabby as if no one had bothered about it for years. It was clean, the beautiful antique furniture well polished, so Mrs. Stone was not to be blamed. It was as if the owner of the castle had either ceased to care—or had given it up as hopeless, knowing he had not the money needed to revive it. Another favourite expression of Mr. Jenkins', Cindy thought with a smile, wondering how he and Maggie, who was relieving for her, were getting on.
    Wandering round the castle, it was difficult for Cindy not to feel some dismay. She now understood what Keith Ayres had meant when he talked of money. It would need thousands of pounds to bring the castle back to what it once was. And where could she find thousands of pounds? Perhaps the antiques could be sold and the money raised could be spent
     
    on new curtains and carpets, as well as repairs to the cracks in some of the walls.
    Coming to an open door, Cindy stepped outside. The crisp cold air stung her cheeks, but she stood still, breathing deeply. There must be a way ... there had to be. But where was she to find it?
    Walking round the garden, she decided that Paul Stone was not the hard worker his mother was, nor as conscientious. Cindy knew little about gardening, but it seemed to her that this garden was in a shocking state. Long tough grass, weeds everywhere, trees and bushes that needed pruning. Surely Uncle Robert must have noticed.
    Glancing at her watch, Cindy had to hurry, for she didn't want to give Mrs. Stone more reason for her hostility.
    The lunch was delicious, well cooked and served. Cindy congratulated Mrs. Stone and was repaid with an angry glare.
    "So I ought to be—a good cook, I mean. The years I've cooked should have taught me. Ever since Paul's father died I've cooked for others, I have," Mrs. Stone said angrily, almost as if she blamed Cindy for it.
    "I'm sure Mr. Baxter appreciated your cooking," Cindy told her.
    "I don't think he ever noticed anything much. A sad man brokenhearted by his wicked son," Mrs. Stone said as she whipped off the plates.
    "Was he wicked?" Cindy ventured to ask.
    Mrs. Stone scowled. "Of course he was wicked—ungrateful, cruel. Lets his father give him a good education and then walks out—just when his father needed help because he wasn't well. This was before
     
    I came, of course. Never came back—the son, I mean. Just walked out. Proper broke the old man's heart. He could never forgive the boy. And quite right, too ! Well, I must be getting on with my work now. Dinner at seven. Will you be wanting tea now?"
    Cindy hesitated. She had just had coffee ! Then she realised it was just Mrs. Stone's habit of adding the word now on to most sentences.
    "No, thank you." She stood up. "I thought I'd drive around."
    "Better to do so while the sun is out. 'Tisn't often sunny, here. Fearful lot of rain for weeks on end," Mrs. Stone said depressingly as she lifted the tray and disappeared.
    Cindy wandered round the dining-room with its long walnut table. She wondered how long it was since a dinner party had been held there. In the big glass-fronted sideboard she could see beautiful glasses of every shape and size. Once upon a time this must have been a beautiful room. Now it was sad—sad for the loss of beauty that time and lack of money had caused. But it could be put right. If the drab walls were repainted and cheap curtain material bought...
    Upstairs, she put on her thick coat and a scarf round her head. Where should she go? Maybe just wander around. No, perhaps the local village at the bottom of the hill was a good place to start.
    She drove through the wide open gates slowly, then ignored the track by which she had come and drove down a track that seemed to be going straight down the hillside. It wasn't, of course, instead it went sideways in a series of twists, rather like the way a snake moved, Cindy was thinking as she glanced about. Far
     
    below she