Read Online The Witch of Clatteringshaws by Joan Aiken - Free Book Online
Authors: Joan Aiken
Ads: Link
lying underfoot and hindering a’ the work?” she said sharply. “Pit him back i’ the cogie room!”
“He was freezing in there,” said Dido. “And nothing had been done for his hurt foot. And he has a black eye—”
Mrs. McClan looked as if she had plenty to say about this, but a bell rang from above and she whisked away, snapping, “The Eagles is no’ Holyrood Palace, I’ll have ye remember!”
Dido had no idea what Holyrood Palace was, but she certainly found no resemblance between the Eagles and Saint James’s Palace.
When Mrs. McClan reappeared she was so moithered that she paid no heed to Fred, who had packed himself into a niche with the brooms and brushes.
“Anither of the Residents is in poor skin … and I must away for a converse with the Reverend about Mr. McClan’s funeral on Thursday.…”
“What if somebody rings a bell?”
“They must wait, that’s all. Any case, all their doors are lockit.”
“Hadn’t I better have a key?”
“Och, guide us, no! What next?—If my son Desmond should ring, ye can take him up some deener. He’s the bell number twenty-one. His door’s no’ lockit.”
“What about the Residents’ dinner?”
“Oh, don’t fash me, girl! They can e’en manage without for a while.”
And Mrs. McClan wrapped herself in a voluminous tartan cloak with a hood and left the house.
Dido gave the small boy Fred a bowl of oatcake and hot milk.
“How old are ye, Fred?”
He shook his head.
“I’m a foundling. Left on a doorstep wrapped in a napkin as a babby. No one knows for sure how old I am.”
Dido looked at Fred very keenly indeed.
“You were just a baby? Nothing to show where you came from?”
“Nary a thing.”
“Where is that napkin now?”
“Dear knows. Mrs. McClan probably used it for a floorcloth.”
“Have you always lived with the McClans?”
“Always,” he sighed.
“Have they been kind to ye?”
“Yes”—faintly.
Dido found this fairly hard to believe.
“So how did you get that black eye? And the cut on your cheek?”
“A log fell on me!” he gasped. “Logs are aye falling on me. Don’t say owt about the black eye to Missus—or—or to Desmond—
don’t!
”
Piers had come in. He and Dido looked at one another over Fred’s head. Neither said a word.
At this moment a loud angry bell pealed. Dido looked at the bell indicator on the kitchen wall and saw that number twenty-one was twitching.
“Reckon that’s son Desmond,” she said. “I’ll go. You keep stirring the stew, Woodlouse, and don’t let it bubble. Maybe our friend would eat a bit more oat-and-milk.”
The stairs led up from the entrance hall. At the foot was a table and under it lay a bunch of keys. Mrs McClan had either forgotten or dropped them.
“Guess I’ll take a peek at some of those Residents,” muttered Dido, and scooped up the keys. She raced up the stairs two at a time and was faced with a choice of twopassages, one straight ahead, one leading to the right. Rooms entered from the right-hand passages would have windows facing the waterfront; the passage straight ahead would have rooms looking back on to the hill.
“Those’ll be the Residents’,” Dido reckoned. “There’s ten on each side. Croopus, what a long passage!”
The keys and the doors were numbered. She found number one on her right, gently opened it, and peered in. The room, nearly dark, very small, just held a bed, a chair, and a washstand. The figure on the bed was snoring.
“So I’ll leave ye in peace,” whispered Dido, and closed the door.
Several more rooms had sleeping occupants. But in one room there was an angry old man whose lack of teeth did not prevent his loosing a stream of reproaches on Dido.
“I’m ee-ing for me ee-er—arvin—ee-ing—ang ye!”
“Won’t be long, won’t be long,” Dido promised.
Two or three old ladies wailed that they were “sair, sair hungry, fair famished!”
And one, with a very bad cough, clung piteously to
“He was freezing in there,” said Dido. “And nothing had been done for his hurt foot. And he has a black eye—”
Mrs. McClan looked as if she had plenty to say about this, but a bell rang from above and she whisked away, snapping, “The Eagles is no’ Holyrood Palace, I’ll have ye remember!”
Dido had no idea what Holyrood Palace was, but she certainly found no resemblance between the Eagles and Saint James’s Palace.
When Mrs. McClan reappeared she was so moithered that she paid no heed to Fred, who had packed himself into a niche with the brooms and brushes.
“Anither of the Residents is in poor skin … and I must away for a converse with the Reverend about Mr. McClan’s funeral on Thursday.…”
“What if somebody rings a bell?”
“They must wait, that’s all. Any case, all their doors are lockit.”
“Hadn’t I better have a key?”
“Och, guide us, no! What next?—If my son Desmond should ring, ye can take him up some deener. He’s the bell number twenty-one. His door’s no’ lockit.”
“What about the Residents’ dinner?”
“Oh, don’t fash me, girl! They can e’en manage without for a while.”
And Mrs. McClan wrapped herself in a voluminous tartan cloak with a hood and left the house.
Dido gave the small boy Fred a bowl of oatcake and hot milk.
“How old are ye, Fred?”
He shook his head.
“I’m a foundling. Left on a doorstep wrapped in a napkin as a babby. No one knows for sure how old I am.”
Dido looked at Fred very keenly indeed.
“You were just a baby? Nothing to show where you came from?”
“Nary a thing.”
“Where is that napkin now?”
“Dear knows. Mrs. McClan probably used it for a floorcloth.”
“Have you always lived with the McClans?”
“Always,” he sighed.
“Have they been kind to ye?”
“Yes”—faintly.
Dido found this fairly hard to believe.
“So how did you get that black eye? And the cut on your cheek?”
“A log fell on me!” he gasped. “Logs are aye falling on me. Don’t say owt about the black eye to Missus—or—or to Desmond—
don’t!
”
Piers had come in. He and Dido looked at one another over Fred’s head. Neither said a word.
At this moment a loud angry bell pealed. Dido looked at the bell indicator on the kitchen wall and saw that number twenty-one was twitching.
“Reckon that’s son Desmond,” she said. “I’ll go. You keep stirring the stew, Woodlouse, and don’t let it bubble. Maybe our friend would eat a bit more oat-and-milk.”
The stairs led up from the entrance hall. At the foot was a table and under it lay a bunch of keys. Mrs McClan had either forgotten or dropped them.
“Guess I’ll take a peek at some of those Residents,” muttered Dido, and scooped up the keys. She raced up the stairs two at a time and was faced with a choice of twopassages, one straight ahead, one leading to the right. Rooms entered from the right-hand passages would have windows facing the waterfront; the passage straight ahead would have rooms looking back on to the hill.
“Those’ll be the Residents’,” Dido reckoned. “There’s ten on each side. Croopus, what a long passage!”
The keys and the doors were numbered. She found number one on her right, gently opened it, and peered in. The room, nearly dark, very small, just held a bed, a chair, and a washstand. The figure on the bed was snoring.
“So I’ll leave ye in peace,” whispered Dido, and closed the door.
Several more rooms had sleeping occupants. But in one room there was an angry old man whose lack of teeth did not prevent his loosing a stream of reproaches on Dido.
“I’m ee-ing for me ee-er—arvin—ee-ing—ang ye!”
“Won’t be long, won’t be long,” Dido promised.
Two or three old ladies wailed that they were “sair, sair hungry, fair famished!”
And one, with a very bad cough, clung piteously to
Similar Books
