Read Online Daisy's Secret by Freda Lightfoot - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Freda Lightfoot
Ads: Link
again if they didn’t find her.
‘She has got a bit odd lately,’ one woman admitted. ‘Taken to walking them dogs for hour upon hour on the hills. But she loves her garden and her hens. She’ll be back soon, I’m sure.’
Eventually, one kindly shopkeeper took pity on them and suggested they take the bus into Penrith and try the Town Hall. ‘T’isn’t right, you children wandering about the place with nobody to look after you,’ she said, quite outraged at the very idea. Daisy could only agree.
‘How much is a bottle of milk?’ she politely enquired, counting out the few pennies her mother had given her for the journey.
‘Oh lord, don’t tell me you haven’t even any milk? I always knew Miss Pratt was a bit eccentric, and she’s been going more and more peculiar lately, but this takes the biscuit. Ah, that’s a thought. Biscuits. Now, I’ve some nice garibaldi biscuits somewhere.’ The kindly woman began to rummage on her shelves and soon handed over a packet, together with the milk, waving away the six pennies Daisy had managed to get together. ‘I’ll put it on her bill. Anything else you need? Bit of bacon? Slab of cheese? Dab of butter?’
All further searches for their missing hostess were postponed as the three gleefully watched the shopkeeper fill a brown paper bag with these goodies and gathering up their prize, scampered back to the kitchen. Afterwards, stomachs stuffed with food, they lay down on their beds and fell into a sweet, dreamless sleep.
As she drove back to the farm, Laura railed over why she’d never thought to ask questions when Daisy was alive, or paid more attention to what little her grandmother had told her. Why had she allowed herself to remain happily ignorant of the facts until now, when suddenly it seemed vitally important that she discover them. Laura no more believed that Daisy had cheated on her husband than she herself would cheat on Felix, despite being given plenty of provocation. Daisy simply wasn’t the type.
And why should she give up her quest to find about more about her?
Laura found herself drawn like a magnet to Daisy’s bureau but the little desk produced nothing more exciting than a drawer stuffed with bills, most of them fortunately paid, as well as old accounts from when the farm was fully functional during the war. She was bitterly disappointed. She’d been banking on some sort of diary, however small, to reveal more about the woman who had occupied this house before her.
Even so, she spent the next two days going through it with meticulous care, obstinately refusing to give up. There were several smaller drawers tucked beneath the roll top, and a number of pigeon holes, all filled with a detritus of paperwork: auction details, programmes for the County Show, orders for hen pellets. Laura felt a burst of excitement as her hands closed over a bundle of letters. Tucked right at the back they were tied up neatly with pink string, the kind farmers call binder twine. She smiled at this practical touch, so typical of Daisy but which also seemed to indicate that the letters had been read recently, since such material surely hadn’t been available during the war. Perhaps Gran had put her affairs into some sort of order before her death.
Laura pulled out the first one. It was short, but clearly a love letter, and was addressed to a mother and baby home. It was the one from Percy and had clearly been read many times for it was coming apart at the folds and the paper had gone brown with age. Laura slipped it carefully back inside its envelope.
Tucked behind, interleaved between this envelope and the next were two or three sheets of blue lined paper pinned together at one corner with a rusty pin, each filled with closely written handwriting which Laura recognised as Daisy’s own.
The first was headed with the somewhat outmoded phrase - To whom it may concern - The way things were!!! Laura was enchanted, particularly by the exclamation marks
‘She has got a bit odd lately,’ one woman admitted. ‘Taken to walking them dogs for hour upon hour on the hills. But she loves her garden and her hens. She’ll be back soon, I’m sure.’
Eventually, one kindly shopkeeper took pity on them and suggested they take the bus into Penrith and try the Town Hall. ‘T’isn’t right, you children wandering about the place with nobody to look after you,’ she said, quite outraged at the very idea. Daisy could only agree.
‘How much is a bottle of milk?’ she politely enquired, counting out the few pennies her mother had given her for the journey.
‘Oh lord, don’t tell me you haven’t even any milk? I always knew Miss Pratt was a bit eccentric, and she’s been going more and more peculiar lately, but this takes the biscuit. Ah, that’s a thought. Biscuits. Now, I’ve some nice garibaldi biscuits somewhere.’ The kindly woman began to rummage on her shelves and soon handed over a packet, together with the milk, waving away the six pennies Daisy had managed to get together. ‘I’ll put it on her bill. Anything else you need? Bit of bacon? Slab of cheese? Dab of butter?’
All further searches for their missing hostess were postponed as the three gleefully watched the shopkeeper fill a brown paper bag with these goodies and gathering up their prize, scampered back to the kitchen. Afterwards, stomachs stuffed with food, they lay down on their beds and fell into a sweet, dreamless sleep.
As she drove back to the farm, Laura railed over why she’d never thought to ask questions when Daisy was alive, or paid more attention to what little her grandmother had told her. Why had she allowed herself to remain happily ignorant of the facts until now, when suddenly it seemed vitally important that she discover them. Laura no more believed that Daisy had cheated on her husband than she herself would cheat on Felix, despite being given plenty of provocation. Daisy simply wasn’t the type.
And why should she give up her quest to find about more about her?
Laura found herself drawn like a magnet to Daisy’s bureau but the little desk produced nothing more exciting than a drawer stuffed with bills, most of them fortunately paid, as well as old accounts from when the farm was fully functional during the war. She was bitterly disappointed. She’d been banking on some sort of diary, however small, to reveal more about the woman who had occupied this house before her.
Even so, she spent the next two days going through it with meticulous care, obstinately refusing to give up. There were several smaller drawers tucked beneath the roll top, and a number of pigeon holes, all filled with a detritus of paperwork: auction details, programmes for the County Show, orders for hen pellets. Laura felt a burst of excitement as her hands closed over a bundle of letters. Tucked right at the back they were tied up neatly with pink string, the kind farmers call binder twine. She smiled at this practical touch, so typical of Daisy but which also seemed to indicate that the letters had been read recently, since such material surely hadn’t been available during the war. Perhaps Gran had put her affairs into some sort of order before her death.
Laura pulled out the first one. It was short, but clearly a love letter, and was addressed to a mother and baby home. It was the one from Percy and had clearly been read many times for it was coming apart at the folds and the paper had gone brown with age. Laura slipped it carefully back inside its envelope.
Tucked behind, interleaved between this envelope and the next were two or three sheets of blue lined paper pinned together at one corner with a rusty pin, each filled with closely written handwriting which Laura recognised as Daisy’s own.
The first was headed with the somewhat outmoded phrase - To whom it may concern - The way things were!!! Laura was enchanted, particularly by the exclamation marks
Similar Books
