Page 115 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle

The first thing he did was to walk out to the cottage at Ashmore Carr. He found Axe in his yard, sitting on a wooden stool carving a piece of wood. Dolly was lying under the stool, her forepaws crossed, the picture of ease now her pups were gone. One of the cats that had been sitting nearby unfurled itself and stalked delicately across to pat a curl of wood-shaving that had just fallen. Then Dolly gave her warning bark, and the cat scooted as though blown by a gust of wind.

Axe looked up, and smiled. Crooks thought his smile the most beautiful thing God had ever created.

‘I heard you was back,’ Axe said. ‘Our Josh said they’d had orders to get the horses in because her ladyship and all would be back today. Didn’t think I’d see you this soon, though. Thought there’d be some settling in to do.’

‘I only had to unpack Mr Sebastian’s things. But we’ll be busy soon. His lordship and her new ladyship will be home the day after tomorrow, so I thought I’d come out and see you while I can. What are you making?’

‘Oh, just whittling,’ he said. ‘I like to do a bit. Hands get stiff and stupid, blacksmithing.’

‘May I see?’

‘’Fyou like. I’ll go and get you a chair – unless you want to go inside?’

‘No, it’s pleasant out here. I don’t get out of doors often enough.’

Axe handed the piece of wood to Crooks and went inside. Crooks turned it over in his hands, fascinated. It was obviously going to be a doll, or a figure of that sort, about eight inches high, with arms and legs all of a piece with the body. But there was a neck, and the head had curly hair, and already the features of the face were emerging.

Axe came back, and Crooks sat down, still turning the figure round in his hands. Axe watched him for a moment, then said, ‘’Twas an old chair leg. Too broke to mend, so I took the legs for my carving – the rest’ll burn. Probably burn that, too.’ He nodded at the figure. ‘’Tis only practising.’

Crooks looked up. ‘No, you mustn’t burn it. It’s amazingly fine work. The way you’ve done the hair! There are marble busts up at the Castle that don’t have the hair as well done as this.’

‘It’s hard working that small,’ Axe admitted. ‘One little slip, and you’ve spoiled it. One I did previous, I’d just got the face all nice and I went and knocked the nose right off.’

Crooks handed it back, and watched the big hand take up the knife again, and go delicately to work. Axe tilted his face down, concentrating, thick golden lashes fanning his cheeks. Such a fair face. Someone ought to use him as a model, Crooks thought. That straight nose, the rounded chin and the sculpted lips would make him perfect for any Greek hero. He wished he could paint. Or even draw. Beauty was so evanescent that man was always driven to try to preserve it in some form – paint, charcoal, marble. Wood. Axe said he was exercising his hands, but wasn’t he also trying to capture something, some fragment of beauty his soul perceived, though his education had no words for the concept?

Suddenly Axe lifted his head, the blue eyes looking frankly into his, faintly questioning. Crooks was scalded with embarrassment to be caught staring. ‘I – er – I did bring something,’ he said, glad to have an excuse to advance. ‘A new book for you to tackle.’

‘That’s nice of you, sir,’ said Axe.

‘You don’t need to call me “sir”,’ Crooks said, not for the first time. He drew the book out of his pocket. ‘It’s by Mr Wells, H. G. Wells – have you heard of him?’ A shake of the head. ‘Well, he writes a lot of scientific books, but this one is a piece of fiction, something quite different. I thought you’d enjoy it.’ He passed it over. Axe put down the wood and the knife and wiped his palms on his trouser legs. He always handled books reverently, as though they had been blessed by a priest. ‘I think it’s important, when helping an adult to read,’ Crooks went on, ‘that the book is interesting. You can’t be expected at your age to read from a child’s primer.’

‘The Time Machine.’ Axe read the title. ‘Is it about a clock, then?’

‘No, it’s about a machine that lets people travel into the past, so that they can see what things were really like.’

‘History?’ He opened it and read a few words. ‘It looks difficult.’

‘We’ll tackle it together. I think once you get interested, you’ll fly through it. That’s what I want for you – to be so involved with the story you don’t notice you’re reading.’

‘That would be fine,’ Axe said shyly. ‘I think I know what you mean. There were times with old Gulliver when it was almost like I could see him, like I was there.’

‘Yes, exactly! Would you like to get started now?’

‘Have you got time?’

‘We can do a little, just to get you off the mark, and you can go on on your own when you’ve time.’

‘Better go inside,’ Axe said. ‘Don’t want to get the book dirty. It looks like new.’

It was new. Crooks had bought it specially on one of his afternoons off in Henley. But he didn’t tell Axe that.

‘We s’d have a cup of tea,’ Axe said. ‘You must be dry after walking over. I’ll put the kettle on.’

Inside, Crooks sat down at the table, and his eye jumped at once to another book lying there. ‘What’s this?’ he said. ‘Ah, good old Sindbad! Have you been reading it?’

Axe turned sharply. ‘Doing a bit of practice, while you were away, sir.’

‘Where did you get it from?’ Crooks said, picking it up.