Amanderella and the Punctual Ghost Chapter 7.

Chapter 7.

 

Von Vroom calls.

 

After breakfast, Amanderella put on her coat and announced, in her usual composed way, that she would walk down to the village to see whether the replacement cable had arrived.

Honoria approved. “A good idea. Joe Pye will know if anything has come in.”

Cassiana added, “If he says it hasn’t, it hasn’t.”

Avarine handed Amanderella her gloves. “Mind the stile. It wobbles.”

Amanderella set off down the lane, the morning cool and clear. The village lay quiet under a thin veil of chimney smoke. A dog barked. A curtain twitched in a window, the village's own semaphore system, broadcasting her arrival before she’d even reached the pump.

Joe Pye was outside his garage, polishing the same patch of his petrol pump he had been polishing for the last twenty years. He looked up as she approached.

“Morning,” he said. “Cable’s not here.”

Amanderella accepted this without disappointment. “I thought as much.”

Joe Pye nodded, satisfied at having been right before being asked. He returned to his polishing, then added, as though it were an afterthought, “Had that gentleman with the motor‑car in last night.”

Amanderella waited.

Joe Pye did not need encouragement.

“He spent an hour at the Arms trying to cross‑examine the landlord about straight lines and hollow ground,” he said. “Landlord told him the only straight line in Nether Bramblewick is the one leading to the door. He didn’t take the hint.”

Amanderella smiled.

“He asked whether the floorboards dipped because of Roman activity,” Joe Pye went on. “Landlord said they dipped because the pub was built in a hurry and never improved.”

Amanderella allowed herself a small breath.

“Then he wanted to know if the beer cellar counted as ‘hollow ground’,” Joe Pye said. “Landlord told him it counted as private.”

Amanderella said nothing.

“He tried to take a photograph of the square,” Joe Pye continued. “Got his own thumb. Sheep wandered in. Sheep looked better than he did.”

Amanderella kept her expression neutral.

“He knocked on Mrs Bracknell’s door asking if she had any ancient masonry in her scullery. She set the dog on him. Dog’s still pleased with itself.”

Amanderella nodded once.

“And he asked the butcher if he’d ever found a Roman coin in a sausage. Butcher told him to mind his own business. He wrote that down too. He’ll be trouble. Not dangerous trouble. Just the sort that falls over things.”

Amanderella thanked him and turned back up the lane, filing von Vroom’s behaviour under matters requiring management.

Joe Pye nodded. “He’ll not give up. People like that always come back. They think the village is hiding something.  Usually, it’s just hiding from them.”

She was halfway back to The Boddals when she heard it: a loud, discordant motor‑horn, the sort of sound made by a man who believed noise was necessary when driving on country lanes.

Amanderella paused.

A moment later, the big car appeared at the bend, skidding slightly as it attempted to negotiate the gravel. St. John von Vroom was at the wheel, hat on back to front, coat flapping, expression set in the determined misery of a man who had spent the night in a draught.

He saw her, brightened, and attempted a wave. The car lurched. He lifted one hand to wave, a gesture that required more attention than he had to spare, and the car drifted perilously toward the hedge. He jerked the wheel, braked too sharply, and shot past her by several yards.

There was a moment of silence.

Then the grinding, unhappy sound of a motor‑car being reversed by someone who had only a theoretical understanding of the process. The car came back in a crooked line, stopped slightly askew, and finally settled with a shudder.

Von Vroom leaned out of the window, attempting a look of effortless command.

It did not succeed.

“Lady Amanderella!” he declared, as though announcing a discovery. “What extraordinary good fortune. Twice in two days, the fates are clearly at work.”

Amanderella watched him with the patient focus of a scientist observing a particularly large beetle. “Good morning, Mr von Vroom.”

“Sinjin,” he corrected, with the weary dignity of a man who had corrected the world many times.

“Of course.”

He beamed. “I am on my way to continue my investigations. Your local antiquarian has put forward a most intriguing theory. A lost Roman installation, quite possibly of national importance.”

Amanderella inclined her head. “Yes. Dr Wocal‑Eardew mentioned your interest.”

Von Vroom looked gratified, as though this confirmed his significance. “Indeed! I intend to verify his hypothesis. I have already made several promising observations.”

Amanderella thought of Joe Pye’s report: the thumb‑photograph, the sheep, the dogs, the butcher, the lecture on privacy.

Unabashed he tried again,” I did offer my help with your motor-cycle problem. I see you are still not mobile.”

“I recall declining your assistance,” Amanderella said mildly.

Von Vroom laughed as though she had made a charming joke. “Ah, but one must persist in the pursuit of knowledge.

Amanderella glanced at the crushed cow parsley behind him. “You are certainly near something.”

He took this as encouragement.

“I see,” she said.

He leaned a little further out of the window. “I should be delighted to escort you back to the house. A lady ought not to walk alone when ancient matters are afoot.”

Amanderella folded her gloves neatly. “I am perfectly capable of walking alone, Mr von Vroom. If you wish to continue to The Boddals, you may follow, slowly.”

Von Vroom attempted a gallant nod, caught his hat on the doorframe, and stalled the engine.

Amanderella continued up the lane at her own pace.

Behind her came the sound of von Vroom wrestling the car back into life, accompanied by a faint smell of singed clutch.

It was, she felt, exactly the sort of morning she had expected.

Amanderella reached the gate just as von Vroom’s car came juddering up the last stretch of lane. Honoria and Avarine were standing in the doorway, watching with the air of people who had already predicted the outcome.

The car slewed, corrected itself, and came to rest with two wheels on the gravel and two in the herb bed.

Avarine said, “He’s crushed the thyme.”

Honoria replied, “Of course he has.”

Von Vroom climbed out, hat askew, coat flapping, and attempted a bow that nearly sent him into the lavender.

“Lady Amanderella,” he said, breathless with self‑importance, “I have arrived to begin my investigations.”

Honoria stepped forward before he could elaborate. “You may not dig here.”

Von Vroom blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“This is my garden,” Honoria said. “It stays as it is.”

Cassiana appeared behind her, notebook in hand. “And the orchard is under cultivation. The paddock is for the geese. The upper field is being reseeded. The ridge is unstable. The bank is dangerous. The lawn is newly rolled.”

Von Vroom looked faintly overwhelmed.

Amanderella said, in her calm, practical tone, “If you are determined to investigate hollow ground, Mr von Vroom, the old sheep field is the only place where you won’t disturb anyone.”

Avarine added, “It’s visible from the pump. People can keep an eye on you.”

Von Vroom brightened, misinterpreting this entirely. “Ah! A vantage point. Excellent. Precisely what I require.”

Osric emerged at that moment, carrying a mug of tea. “The sheep field is very ancient,” he said helpfully. “Full of history. And sheep.”

Von Vroom swelled with satisfaction. “Then that is where I shall begin.”

Honoria nodded once, briskly. “Good. Off you go.”

He hesitated. “I thought perhaps I might take tea first.”

“No,” Honoria said.

Cassiana closed her notebook. “The sheep field is free all day.”

Amanderella folded her gloves. “If you need directions, Mr von Vroom, follow the lane until you see Joe Pye’s pump. You can’t miss it.”

Von Vroom climbed back into his car with the air of a man embarking on a noble expedition. The engine coughed, objected, then caught with a noise that made the sparrows in the eaves reconsider their morning plans.

He reversed in a crooked line, corrected himself, over‑corrected, and finally lurched forward through the gate. The nearside wing clipped the post with a dull, resigned thud.

Avarine said, “He’s taken more paint off.”

Honoria replied, “We’ll deal with it later.”

The car rattled down the lane, scattering gravel and optimism in equal measure. At the bend, von Vroom sounded his horn again ,  a long, triumphant blast that suggested he believed he had just secured permission rather than been politely redirected.

Then he was gone.

The lane settled.  A rook returned to its branch with a disgruntled squawk, as if filing its own complaint.

The herb bed lay flattened in two neat tyre‑shaped arcs.

Cassiana made a small note in her book. “Damage: thyme, lavender, gatepost.”

Honoria turned to Amanderella. “Well. That’s him occupied for the day.”

Amanderella removed her gloves, composed as ever. “Yes. I imagine the village will take an interest.”

Avarine, still watching the empty lane, said, “They already are.”

The three women went back inside, the door closing with the quiet finality of a household returning to its proper rhythm.

Outside, the morning resumed its ordinary shape.

And in the distance, faint, hopeful, and entirely misdirected, came the sound of von Vroom’s motor‑car changing gear with difficulty