The Various Read Online Free PDF Page A

to turn her into a bundle of rags. She was terrified of him. The sly and roguish hens that lurked, forever hopeful, around the front door, had become the Deputation from Rhode Island (‘There’s a Deputation from Rhode Island, waiting to see you ma’am.’ ‘Tell them I can’t be bothered with them at present.’ ‘Very good, ma’am.’) Her bedroom had, of course, become My Lady’s Chamber. The dense wood, which dominated the horizon, was now the Royal Forest, and the Mistress of Mill Farm – whose position in the world seemed to have suddenly risen to that of royalty – was considering whether she might go there to hunt the hart. It didn’t seem a very realistic proposition though, what with the brambles and everything. It was also far too hot to be chasing anything.
    Part way up the hill to the Royal Forest sat a low farm building, almost white in the bright sunshine, though slightly obscured by the curve of the land. It reminded her of a picture she’d used as part of a homework project on India – something to do with the British Army and how officers’ wives had travelled up into the hills during the hot season. Or was it the rainy season? Either way, they had headed for the hills. Midge looked at the little low farm building, high up in the distance, and decided that she would appreciate a short break in a cooler climate herself, and so the building became the Summer Palace.
    ‘Uncle Brian, what’s that little barn up on the hill for?’ Midge had wandered back into the farmhouse where her uncle was sitting at the kitchen table, dismantling an adaptor plug. ‘Oh, I built it for the pigsh,’ said Uncle Brian. He had a small metal spring between his lips and so the words were indistinct. ‘Ushed to keep pigsh, for a while.’
    Midge watched the thick clumsy hands struggling with the delicate internal workings of the adaptor plug, and wished that she could have a go. She was good at things like that. Anything mechanical, she loved. Design and Technology was her absolute favourite subject at school, and she was resentful of the fact that a lot of people saw it as a ‘boy’ thing. She was better at it than any boy
she
knew. She had even managed to mend the old clock that her grandad had left to her mum – just by taking bits of it apart, seeing how it worked, cleaning it, and putting it back together again. Now it chimed and everything.
    ‘What’s in the barn now that the pigs have gone?’ she asked.
    ‘Lord knowsh. More junk probably. No, actually, the Fergie’sh in there. Forgot.’
    ‘The Fergie?’
    ‘Little grey Fergie. Fergushon tractor. I think there’sh a shide-rake in there too. Why?’
    ‘I just wondered. Could I have a look?’
    ‘If you like. Blasht! Losht the shpring now – oh no, had it here all the time. Forget my own name sometimes.’ He gingerly placed the spring somewhere down in the white plastic adaptor plug, held it in place with a stubby fingertip, and looked about in exasperation. ‘Where’ve I put the screwdriver?’
    ‘It’s by your elbow,’ said Midge. ‘Your other elbow.’
    ‘I knew that,’ said Uncle Brian, good-humouredly. He reached slowly for the screwdriver, and then laughed as the spring suddenly shot across the table and pinged against the side of the fruit bowl. ‘Why don’t I just buy a new adaptor?’ he sighed. ‘Anyway, you were saying. Can you look at the pig barn? Yes, you can. Just be careful, as always. I want to be able to give you back to your mother in one piece. Oh, and something else I should have warned you about – stay away from the lagoon.’
    ‘Lagoon?’ Midge had a vision of some tropical paradise, some secret aspect of Mill Farm yet to be revealed.
    ‘It’s what we call the old slurry pit – where all the animal muck used to go years back. It hasn’t been used for ages now, and, to be honest, it may even be safe enough to walk on. But it was deep enough, and we were always warned against it as kids. Also, you have to