Second Night Read Free Page A

kitchen, the soup pan was empty and he was stuffing the last of the bread into his mouth. A vestige of colour had returned to his cheeks.
    â€˜Is that going to be enough for now?’ Daisy asked anxiously.
    â€˜It’ll do. Where’re the biscuits?’
    She put a bag into his hand. ‘They should see you right until you get down to the lodge. Who’s cooking down there this evening?’
    â€˜Jem,’ he mumbled, between mouthfuls.
    â€˜Will she have it ready in time?’
    â€˜She’d better.’
    Daisy peered up at him over her silver-rimmed spectacles. ‘Have you told her anything about this?’ She pointed to the empty pan.
    He laughed, his voice suddenly harsh, grating uncomfortably on her ears.
    â€˜What could I tell her?’ he demanded. ‘What could she know? What can any of you know?’
    Daisy folded her lips. Tears don’t help anyone, she told herself, struggling with the prickling behind her eyes. She gestured in the direction of the cellar door. ‘Is there anything you’ll be needing to do downstairs?’
    He shrugged. ‘Don’t worry, you can lock up. I’ve got my keys.’
    She picked up the empty pan. ‘Don’t bother with the washing up. I’m in early tomorrow. I’ll do it then.’
    Her husband found her a few minutes later, furiously scrubbing too much scouring powder around the already spotlessly clean sink.
    â€˜So the boy’s been in,’ he said. ‘I thought I saw him go haring off down the old drive.’
    She faced him squarely. Her eyes were wet. ‘Boy? What boy? Where’s the young fresh-faced lad that we used to know? What have we done?’
    â€˜What we said we’d do,’ John Flint replied sadly. ‘You know that well enough.’ He picked up a tea cloth and dabbed gently at the tears trickling steadily down her cheeks. ‘Don’t take on so, old Dark-eyes. Fretting won’t help.’
    â€˜But we never dreamed it would come to this, did we?’
    â€˜No, we didn’t.’
    She pushed the cloth angrily aside, speaking through clenched teeth. ‘I can’t stand it, I tell you! I can’t stand it! Night after night, the minute the sun sinks out of the sky, I see the state he gets into and every day I’m sure it’s worse. This business of only eating once a day will kill him! How can he manage so much food at one time? And when does he sleep? He works all day as bright as a button, he goes through heaven only knows what hell at sunset when he finally needs a meal, and then he’s out with the horses all night. All night! I asked Alan and he told me, so don’t you try telling me otherwise, John Flint! And what will it come to in the end? That’s what I want to know!’
    John turned away. ‘None of us knows. Perhaps it’s best we don’t.’
    The bell-call tinkled above the door. Daisy pointed to the loaded supper tray set ready beside the stove.
    â€˜You take it,’ she said bluntly. ‘I don’t think I can bear to set eyes on that old man the way I’m feeling tonight. I might say something I’ll regret.’
    He picked up the tray. ‘I’ll have this along to the study in a jiffy. You fetch your coat, and then we’ll get off home.’
    His wife’s bitter sobbing haunted every one of John’s footsteps echoing down the long passageway. Her reproachful face appeared in each of the empty, glass-fronted display cases stood up against the panelled walls.
    â€˜Integrity and faithfulness, integrity and faithfulness,’ he repeated to himself, reminded of the Pring family motto emblazoned over the great stone fireplace as he crossed the main entrance hall and stepped into the welcome silence in the library. He stood before the portrait of the stern-faced man in a scarlet hunting coat hung over the fireplace at the far end of the enormous room.
    Old Sir Saxon Pring , he