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Random head poppings:



"Carstairs!" I called again, my voice reflecting the agitation I felt. At last he responded, appearing in the kitchen doorway with a tea kettle and the better part of one of Mrs Winters' excellent scones.

"Is there really any need for such histrionics?"

My fear replaced in some small part by a measure of exasperation, I wordlessly gestured towards the cadaverous hand still inching its way across the floor towards me.

"Ah," he said, and disappeared back into the kitchen. I hoped he was in search of something to be used as a weapon, but I would not have bet against his merely wishing to finish his scone in peace; one could never tell, with Carstairs.


______________________




"The Lord and Saints preserve us," she breathed, "we're all of us going to Hell."

"That is entirely possible," my companion answered, a disquieting smile on his face. "I shouldn't worry though, my dear Mrs Winters," he continued bracingly, "it's where all the best people are going, this season."
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