The Good Provider Read Online Free PDF Page B

said.
    Craig bit his lip. His father’s guile, and the lie, took the wind out of Clegg’s sails. He stopped waving his arms and stuck the documents into his jacket again, puffed and huffed for a moment, then said, ‘Where else would she go but your place?’
    Craig said, ‘Has she run away, then?’
    ‘Aye, is that what you’re tryin’ to tell us, Mr Clegg?’
    ‘She’s a wilful, spiteful, ungrateful bitch .’
    ‘Perhaps she went back to the Baird Home,’ said Craig.
    ‘Or if she felt she had a grievance against you, for some daft reason or another, perhaps she went to the constable,’ said Bob Nicholson.
    ‘The constable?’
    ‘At Dunnet.’
    Clegg cocked his head, scowled. ‘I think you’ve got her hid.’
    ‘Are you callin’ me a liar, Mr Clegg?’
    ‘I think – well, she might be hidin’ at your place.’
    ‘Craig, walk back to Dalnavert wi’ Mr Clegg,’ said Bob. ‘Let him look through the barns an’ the sheds.’
    Clegg’s mouth opened, closed.
    Craig said, ‘Aye, come on wi’ me, Mr Clegg. You can ask my mam if we’re tellin’ lies.’
    ‘Your mam?’
    ‘Search the cottage too, if you feel you must.’
    ‘Nah, nah. That’ll not be necessary.’
    Bob Nicholson nodded. ‘Very well, Mr Clegg. If I were you I’d bide at home for a day or two. If your lass has run off she’ll not get far on her own.’
    ‘Aye, perhaps you’re right.’
    ‘Did she steal from you?’ Bob asked.
    ‘Nah, nah.’
    ‘Did she take her belongin’s?’
    ‘Nah.’
    ‘When did she go missin’?’
    ‘Last night.’
    ‘Oh, so you saw her go, did you?’
    ‘I – I found her gone,’ said Clegg.
    ‘I see, so you found her bed empty this mornin’, is that it?’
    ‘It’s none o’ your damned business, Bob Nicholson.’
    ‘It was yourself made it my business, Mr Clegg.’
    Clegg huffed and puffed again, then he capitulated. ‘I’ll wait a day or two, as you suggest, then I’ll consult the folk at the Baird Home.’
    ‘Wise,’ Bob Nicholson agreed.
    Craig said, ‘Perhaps she’s down at Bankhead, Mr Clegg. She’s a favourite wi’ the Sandersons, after all.’
    ‘Aye, well, I’ll just wait.’ Obviously Duncan Clegg did not want to confront Mr Sanderson and have to explain why it was that Kirsty had run off. ‘I’ll away home now. I’ve got ploughin’ to do.’
    ‘Lassies can be flighty,’ said Bob Nicholson. ‘She’ll come back when she’s hungry, you’ll see.’
    Clegg scowled. His outrage had been replaced by guilt, however, and undermined by Bob Nicholson’s questions. He turned and, without bidding his neighbours farewell, trudged off uphill towards the crown of the ridge.
    Craig and his father watched his departure.
    ‘Nasty wee bugger,’ Bob murmured.
    ‘Will those papers really allow him to take Kirsty back?’
    ‘Who can say?’ Bob shrugged. ‘But I’d take no chances if I were you, son.’
    ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
    Bob took the pipe from his mouth and cradled it in his palm. He rubbed the side of his nose with a knuckle. ‘Look, I’d best get down to Bankhead. Mr Sanderson’ll—’
    ‘Take no chances?’ Craig gripped his father’s arm. ‘What the hell d’you mean?’
    ‘I mean,’ Bob Nicholson said, ‘you should marry Kirsty Barnes just as soon as you bloody well can.’
     
    She felt awkward at breakfast. It might have been different if Craig had been there but she had been so late asleep that she had not wakened at her usual early hour and was obliged to share the table with Lorna and Mrs Nicholson.
    There was porridge, bacon and fried bread; bannocks too, fresh butter, even a pot of jam, a symbol of luxury as far as Kirsty was concerned. Whatever fate was in store for her she certainly would not starve while she was a ‘guest’ in Madge Nicholson’s house. She did not eat her fill, however, in case the woman thought her scrounging and greedy. She was quick to help clear the table and carry dishes into the little kitchenette where a