Midnight is a Place by Joan Aiken Page A

waistcoat, gray smallclothes and stockings, very white ruffles, and a very crisp gray wig. "What's to do, pray?"
    There was a clatter of hoofs from outside as Mr. Gobthorpe the tax man made off up the drive. Sir Randolph sat down furiously on the third step of the stairway, and growled, "Fetch me a glass of brandy!"
    "Ought he to have any more?" said Mr. Throgmorton, giving the baronet a sharp look.
    "He has had only one bottle, this afternoon, I think," said Mr. Oakapple.
    "Then he may as well have a glass—it may calm him. Boy, fetch the brandy."
    After looking to Mr. Oakapple, who nodded, Lucas hurried into the huge dining room, in which no furniture now remained save for one tiny round table, a chair, and a small cupboard containing bottles and glasses. Returning with the cognac and a glass, Lucas heard Mr. Oakapple saying, "Would you not wish to return to your study, sir?"
    "I don't budge from this spot until I've had a drink," growled Sir Randolph.
    Taking the bottle and glass from Lucas, he poured himself a large tumblerful, spilling some, and drank it down.
    No one ordered Lucas to leave, and so he remained, wondering what would happen next.
    "Well? What did the tax officer say?" inquired Mr. Throgmorton, when Sir Randolph had drunk the brandy.
    Lucas observed that Mr. Throgmorton, although so small and pinch-faced, did not seem to be at all in awe of Sir Randolph, but spoke very shortly, as if his patience had been tried greatly and often.
    "Filthy ravening brutes! Yapping jackals! Blister them all." Sir Randolph stared furiously about, as if the hall were full of tax collectors. He made no attempt to return to his study, but poured himself a second tumblerful of spirit. "You're my lawyer, Throgmorton, why don't you pr'tect me from those vampires? Eh?"
    "What did Mr. Gobthorpe say?"
    "He said that either the Mill or this house would have to be sold to pay off twenty years' accumulation of unpaid taxes," Mr. Oakapple said in a low voice.
    Happening to glance at Mr. Throgmorton as Mr. Oakapple said these words, Lucas observed a very sharp gleam in the lawyer's eye as if the news had some personal interest for him.
    "Almost the moment for Holdernesse to make his offer," Lucas heard him mutter. "Brought so low, Grimsby will be obliged to accept. A year from now, I may be taking my ease in Monte Carlo!"
    Nobody but Lucas caught this muttered remark.
    "Vultures! Hyenas!" shouted Sir Randolph, thumping his brandy glass down on the stairs so violently that it shivered into fragments. "My own house, m'own place that I won in—in fair play. Give it up t'those gnawing rats? Never!"
    "Then I suppose it is the Mill that must be sold," said Air. Throgmorton calmly.
    "Are you mad, man? 'Ve you taken leave 'f your wits? Mill's m'only soursh—source 'f income—almosht only source," protested Sir Randolph. He spoke complainingly, but there was a cunning gleam in his eye. "If Mill goes, what'll I live on? What'll I shup—s'port dependents on?" His eye roved about and fixed on Lucas. "Pack 'f brats in th'house—mouths t'feed. Be off, you, whelp!" he suddenly shouted at Lucas. "This's none 'f your affairs. No, stay, 'fore you go, fetch me 'nother glass."
    "No more—you have had enough to drink, Sir Randolph—quite enough," interposed Mr. Throgmorton. "Come, you had best go to your study and rest. Run along, boy, there is no need for you to remain."
    Mr. Oakapple also jerked his head in dismissal, and Lucas began to walk away, feeling unfairly used. None of his business, indeed! Surely, if his father had been Sir Randolph's partner, and if he was supposed to inherit a half share of the Mill when he came of age, then the sale of it should be considered his business. But apparently neither the lawyer nor Mr. Oakapple thought so.
    He was halfway to the schoolroom when he recollected that he had intended to fetch in a new supply of kindling for his fire. He decided to go out to the woodshed before it was too