Midnight is a Place Read Online Free PDF Page A

had addressed as Mrs. Braithwaite remained outside. She was sitting on a milestone by the roadside, rocking herself back and forth, repeating the same words over and over. "They got my Jean; they got my Nance; they got my Jinny. But they shan't get Sue; they shan't get Betsy—I'd sooner see them starve. I'd sooner see them starve."
    One of the men returned from the graveyard. "Coom along, then, missis?" he said awkwardly. "Doesn't tha want to be there?"
    "Coom on, Emma lass," said another woman, putting a hand on her friend's shoulder. But Mrs. Braithwaite shook her head.
    "I seen it three times. I know what happens," she said. "I said my good-bye to Jinny the day she went through the Mill gates." And she returned to her rocking and murmuring.
    Mr. Oakapple whirled the reins sharply and slapped them against the mare's withers. She had been going slowly but broke into a trot, and soon the cemetery gates were left behind.
    Neither of the passengers in the cart said anything more until they were back in the stableyard where Garridge, the head groom, was waiting to take the mare and rub her down.
    "Sir Randolph wants Mester Lucas in t'stoody," he said briefly.
    Lucas felt his spirits, already lowered by the evening's happenings, decline still further. Would Sir Randolph be waiting for an account, a report of all they had seen? Would Lucas now be obliged to answer a whole series of questions on the carpet-manufacturing process? He tried in vain to assemble his thoughts and to recall the sequence of actions that turned wool into carpets. All he could think of was the snatcher, dashing out from under the murderous weight of the press, and Airs. Braithwaite, sitting huddled in her shawl by the graveyard gate.
    "Well, bustle along then, boy," Mr. Oakapple snapped with a sudden return to his usual impatient manner, which had not been evident during their visit to the Mill. "You know Sir Randolph can't abide being kept waiting. Here—I'll take your hat and coat. You may go up the front stair, it's quicker."
    Lucas nodded, with a dry mouth, and made his way to the main hall. His heart had begun thudding uncomfortably in his chest. Slowly climbing the marble stair he was weighed down by the whole burden of the day, which seemed to have been going on for about twenty hours already. For a moment he stood outside the study door, reluctant to knock. He had not entered this room above three times during the year he had spent at Midnight Court, and on none of these occasions had his guardian appeared at all friendly or pleased to see him. There seemed little chance of any difference on the present occasion.
    It must be very late—nearly midnight. But Sir Randolph kept late hours, everybody knew: he was a poor sleeper; often throughout the hours of dark, his lamp could be seen shining out over the blackened grass of Midnight Park.
    No sound came from behind the door, and Lucas tapped softly with a stifled hope that perhaps his guardian had dozed off since issuing the summons, but the high irascible voice called, "Come in—come in. Don't dawdle on the threshold, damn you!"
    Lucas quickly opened the door and walked in.
    The study—a room almost as bare and shabby as the schoolroom—was lit by only one candle, which had burned down to a stub. A couple of red coals glowed faintly on the hearth. An almost empty decanter and tumbler stood on the desk by the guttering candle. There was a powerful smell of brandy in the room.
    Sir Randolph, with all his face and body in shadow, sat half curled, half crouched, in the big leather chair by the desk, with the folds of a plaid rug wrapped round his shoulders and spread over his knees. His two knobbed canes leaned against the arm of the chair.
    "Well—don't just stand there. Come forward, boy!" he ordered sharply in his high voice that was like the croak of some angry bird.
    "Shan't I put some more coal on the fire, sir?"
    "No, rot you! Coal costs money—perhaps you hadn't