Lincoln responded by way of a coughing fit that threatened to empty the entire frame of his
body of any liquid contents. When the cough had racked his body into submission, Fenby
spoke again.
“My brother-in-law, Ned Ashcroft and I have put in a tender for the building of a gardener’s
house by the weir of the Chalk River on the Huntley Estate. We are worried by the prospect
of flooding and would value the involvement, knowledge and experience of a man such as
yourself. We have sought you out because of your good name.”
Little of this statement bore any truth. For a start no tender had as yet been submitted. Nor
had mention been made of flooding between Ashcroft and Fenby, and finally the involvement
of Lincoln was pure chance. Fenby happened to see him when he had visited the pub for a
“Didn’t the feller over there used to be an architect?” he had asked landlord Bertram Jones.
“You’re talking a good 15 years ago, Mr Fenby.”
“But he was a good draughtsman, was he not?”
“They say he was the very best. He designed the Millers Arms out at Everly, you know.”
That was indeed a testimony to Lincoln’s skills. The Millers Arms was mainly a summer pub
frequented by the well-off and demanding a horse and trap for the journey.
Following his proposal, Fenby waited a good five minutes, but no response was forthcoming
from Lincoln. He decided to jolly him along.
“So what say you that you attend a meeting tomorrow at my house on Hungate? Let us set it
Lincoln made a light moaning noise and then caught himself falling forward. Neither ‘yea’
“So, three’o’clock tomorrow. I expect to see you at 14 Hungate, Mr Lincoln,” Fenby repeated
more in hope than expectation.
Fenby went home circuitously by way of his brother-in-law’s house. He excitedly told him
that his mission was complete – an architect had been found – and that all three of them were
to have a meeting the following day.
