Human Traces by Sebastian Faulks Read Free Book Online Page B

anywhere near that bottle of Madeira." May giggled as Sonia went out through the far door, down a dim, panelled passage and out into the bright side of the house. Though well lit by the tall windows that overlooked the drive, the main hall was cold, and Sonia put some logs on to the mean flame that flickered in the fireplace. A circular table in the middle of the space held a vase of winter blooms in icy water, which she rearranged to look more welcoming. What now? She wiped her hands down the front of her dress and looked into the dining room to make sure the places were properly set. May was only fifteen years old and was learning the job as she went along, from what gruff hints she could squeeze from Miss Brigstocke. Sonia straightened a setting on the table. For years she had considered Miss Brigstocke only as she presented herself a bossy, disappointed servant of the kind you might find in any cold house in Lincolnshire; then one day Sonia had discovered a lascivious and private part of her life, far from regular, involving the lamp man Jenkins, and, she suspected, other men as well. As Sonia went back into the hall, the double front doors opened noisily and her father appeared, banging the snow from his hat, then using it to drive a dancing Dalmatian away from him. "Where is your mother, Sonia? They'll be here at any minute. Is that what you're wearing? Never mind. Is Fisher here yet? Get off, Dido!" Mr. Midwinter went up the front stairs, calling to his wife. A carriage arrived, bringing Edgar and his pale young wife, Lucy. Fisher, the occasional butler, walked up the frosty path through the kitchen garden and let himself in at a back door. May came scurrying through from the kitchen with a message from Miss Brigstocke asking how long she was supposed to wait before sending the lunch through. "Oh, yes please," said Mr. Richard Prendergast. "A man can't have too much caper sauce, that's what I always say. And what's sauce for the goose..." He looked at Mrs. Midwinter, then at Sonia, and winked, as he helped himself from the silver jug that Fisher held at his shoulder. "Nice bit of mutton, Midwinter," said Mr. Prendergast the elder, wiping his mouth on a white napkin and settling back in his chair with a glass of claret. "Keep your own sheep, do you?" "There's a small farm, a house, a few cottages. I let the tenants do what they please. I have too much to do in town to give it much attention." Mrs. Prendergast, a tall woman with a high colour who had spoken very little, said, "I suppose you have ever such a large staff here." "Yes," said Mr. and Mrs. Midwinter together. She retreated. "Of course," he went on, 'it's not as easy to get the servants you want these days, but we have to look after the place. It's ours in trust, that's how I see it, to hand on to the next generation. And we have to make sure our daughter's well cared for, don't we?" ' Yes, Papa." Sonia wondered whether he was implying that she had a maid of her own. "And has the house been in the family for long?" said Mrs. Prendergast. "It's only a hundred years old," said Mr. Midwinter. "Completed in the year of American Independence. There's a date carved above the door. I'll show you afterwards, if you like." "And do you live in Nottingham itself?" said Mrs. Midwinter, helping herself to sauce. Sonia noticed the way she had saved her husband from having to make any more ancestral claims. Mrs. Prendergast stretched her long back a little further up in her seat. "We have two houses, as a matter of fact." "Oh." Mrs. Midwinter deflated visibly, but only for a moment. "And are they both in the town?" "No fear!" said Richard Prendergast. "Pater's a great one for the fresh air. Riding to hounds, all that sort of thing. Pass me a bit more of the wine, will you, Fisher, there's a good chap." Fisher stiffened, but managed to extend a yellowish, chorea tic hand to the decanter on the sideboard and pour another glassful for the guest. Richard Prendergast had fair curly