Read Online The Fox in the Attic by Richard Hughes - Free Book Online

two keepers and a water-bailiff: an estate carpenter: six men in the Gardens still—and three (even not counting the exiled Trivett) in Stables! Only Indoors was so depleted, that’s what was so unfair.
    Mean! The Master ought to bear in mind what was due from a Wadamy of Mellton Chase ...
    As Wantage fitted the links into Augustine’s white shirt ready for the evening he heaved a deep sigh that turned to a hiccup and left a nasty taste of heartburn in his mouth. Dead Sea Fruit! That’s all his promotions had amounted to ever since he entered Service, from first to last.
14
    When at last Wantage was free to relax it was the Housekeeper’s Room he went to that afternoon, not his own Pantry; and he slumped into a comfortable basket chair there as near as possible to a breezy window.
    Mrs. Winter was sitting bolt upright before the fire on a straight-backed hard chair loose-covered in a flowered chintz. Her hands were folded in her lap. Mrs. Winter never slumped—never appeared to wish to, even if her whalebone would have let her. Wantage studied her. Nowadays she looked like something poured into a mould: just brimming over the rim a little but not enough to slop. She didn’t seem to possess a Shape of her own any more. It was hard to believe that once “Mrs. Winter” had been Maggie the lithe, long-legged young under-housemaid game as any for a spot of slap-and-tickle.
    That was at Stumfort Castle, when he himself was a half-grown young footman—years before they had met again at Mellton Chase. Wantage licked his lips at certain recollections. Jimminey! He’d gone a bit too far with her that one time! Might both have lost their places only they were lucky and she didn’t have it after all ...
    He’d happened on her sudden, up the Tower—in the Feather-room, sitting on the floor refilling a featherbed and herself half drowned in feathers ... with her ankles showing. Her ankles—and the sight of her Shape sunk in all that sea of soft feathers—had been too much for him. Too much for both of them, seemingly.
    But after ! Picking hundreds of downy little feathers off his livery against time before going on duty in the Front Hall, sweating he’d miss some and they’d find him out ...
    â€œA penny for your thoughts, Mr. Wantage,” said Mrs. Winter sweetly.
    â€œDead Sea Fruit, Maggie,” he answered hollowly.
    He hadn’t called her “Maggie” for years! Mrs. Winter lifted both white plump hands slightly from her lap, fitting the tips of the fingers together and contemplating them in silence. Then:
    â€œTimes have certainly changed,” she said.
    Mr. Wantage closed his eyes.
    Suddenly he opened them again: Polly was climbing into his lap. Polly was the only person in the whole house Front Stairs as well as Back who dared wander informally into the sacred “Room” like that. “I’ve come!” she said unnecessarily, and added: “That Jimmy’s got a crown!”
    â€œCareful, Duck,” said Mr. Wantage: “Mind my poor leg.”
    â€œWhat’s the matter with it?” she asked.
    â€œGot a bone in it!” he answered dramatically. “Minta’ll be looking for you,” he went on, with quite a wicked look in his bulging eyes.
    â€œYes she will!” said Polly, equally delighted: “Looking everywhere !”
    â€œHunting all over!” echoed Mr. Wantage: “You won’t half cop it if she finds you here!”
    But he knew, and she knew, that this was a sanctuary where even Minta’d never dare.
    Mrs. Winter’s thoughts were browsing very gently on the visitor, Mr. Augustine. For a brother and sister, how unlike in their ways he and the Mistress were! And yet, so fond. A pity to see him willfully living so strange: no good could come of it, you can’t cut loose from your Station, no one can ... yet he had proved the soul of kindness about Nellie’s