Next of Kin Read Online Free PDF Page B

not knowing what to say about the guests. They were all perfectly content, drinking and eating, even the men who were forgetting themselves and playing billiards during a wake. After all, everyone—she knew—enjoyed a funeral.
    â€˜Thank you, Margaret,’ came the voice from within.
    The acknowledgement was also a dismissal and she nodded and went back downstairs, pausing halfway to rearrange a bouquet of flowers on the window sill, the better to give her more time to know what to do or where to go when she got there. She had been proud of her Owen that day, more proud than she had been of him in ten years when her love for him had changed so suddenly. What he had said in the church had moved and surprised her. Was there ever a boy who loved his uncle so? This boy that I raised , she thought. As much mine as theirs. This boy who I saved . She stood stock still, her eyes focused on nothing but the past, the childhoods, the finger paintings, the hugs, her babies.
    A lady whose husband was the former Home Secretary from the billiard room emerged from the drawing room and touched her arm with the tip of a velvet-gloved finger, as if a servant was potentially riddled with disease and should be approached with caution.
    â€˜It’s Miss Richmond, isn’t it?’ she asked.
    â€˜Yes, ma’am.’
    â€˜I wonder, would it be too much trouble to ask for some more tea? I asked one of those young girls but really, she looked right through me as if I was trouble personified.’
    â€˜Right away, ma’am,’ said Margaret, happy to have a task again, happy to be of use. ‘Sorry, ma’am. I’ll see to it immediately.’
    *   *   *
    IN THE SMALL PARLOUR to the right of the kitchen Annie the cook was relaxing. Most of the food had been prepared the night before and the fresh sandwiches had been made that morning; there was little for her to do now but wait for the guests to leave and instruct the hired help about the cleaning arrangements afterwards, although she knew that Margaret Richmond would likely look after that too. Annie’s niece, a local girl called Millie, brought her a cup of tea. Millie was one of the girls who had been hired for the day but was hoping for a more permanent residency.
    â€˜Precious little chance of that now, my girl,’ said Annie, shaking her head. ‘I can’t see me lasting here very much longer myself if I’m honest.’
    â€˜But you’ve been here for years,’ said Millie.
    â€˜Only eight years. That’s just a blow-in to an old family like this. And with just the two of them left now, what need do they have of a cook? That Owen hardly spends any time here as it is, he’s always gadding about in London, getting up to Lord knows what. And as for Stella…’ She rolled her eyes for she had disapproved of modern girls ever since her arms had turned flabby and her waistline had disappeared. ‘She’s no better than she ought to be. No, I wouldn’t be surprised if I got my marching orders soon enough too.’
    Millie frowned. She would have to look elsewhere for employment then, and there were precious few opportunities to be found anywhere. ‘What was he like anyway?’ she asked, settling on a chair beside her aunt.
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜Mr Montignac. Him as was buried today.’
    Annie shrugged. ‘He was all right, I suppose,’ she said. ‘I’ve known worse. Not very friendly but not deliberately rude either. They say he was a lot different in the old days, before his first son died. His only son, I should say, as that Owen’s not his. But I didn’t know him well to tell you the truth. It was a shock, though, him going like he did.’
    â€˜Really?’
    â€˜Well he never seemed like he was on death’s door,’ said Annie. ‘Oh he had his problems of course. Heart problems. Stomach problems. Every kind of ailment known to mankind