12
“Mr Gillespie!” I tapped at the side door. “Mr Gillespie, are you in?”
Pushing open the door, I stepped inside. Somebody had cleaned the corridor and removed the cobwebs to make it more presentable.
You are learning, Mr Landowner, I approved.
“Mr Gillespie! I have brought some food for you.”
I stepped upstairs and cautiously opened the door to the master bedroom. The bed sat in lonely splendour, with Mr Gillespie’s simple bedclothes neatly rolled up on top.
“Well,” I told myself, “It seems as if Mr Gillespie’s ankle has got better.” I was unsure how I felt about that, for part of me had quite enjoyed caring for an invalid.
Hearing the clopping of a horse’s hooves, I looked out the window in time to see Mr Gillespie riding past the house to the stables at the back.
“Mr Gillespie!
