Midnight is a Place by Joan Aiken Page B

dark, and made his way through the kitchens and the servants' quarters—now mostly empty and bare—to the stableyard.
    Emerging from the woodshed with his bundle of twigs, he was accosted by Garridge, who was just dismounting from a flea-bitten gray, one of the last horses in the stables. Horse and man were caked with snow.
    "Eh, Mester Lucas! The very lad! Ye can run an errand for me to Sir Randolph, if ye will."
    "Why should I?" inquired Lucas rather coldly. Garridge had never shown him any particular kindness; indeed he was usually rather surly and disagreeable.
    "I can hardly go into t'master's study like this, can I? An' it'll save t'poor owd nag standing in t'snow. 'Tis only to deliver a message—I'm nobbut joost coom back from town."
    "What happened there? Did they go on strike at the Mill?" demanded Lucas, his dislike of Garridge overborne by curiosity.
    "Nay, there'll be no strike. Not this time, leastways. The sodjers arrived an' drove 'em all out, and they've stook a coople o' th' ringleaders in the pokey. All's quiet enow."
    "Scatcherd? Did they put him in jail?"
    "Aye, him an' anither o' his cullies."
    "Oh well, Sir Randolph will be relieved to hear that."
    "Ay, an' joost as well, for my t'oother message is like to leave him flaysome enow."
    "What's that?"
    "Tell him the white cock lost," Garridge said, swung a leg back over the gray and kicked him into a reluctant trot.
    "Is that
all?
"
    Garridge made no answer, but Lucas heard him grunt to himself with satisfaction, "An' that's saved me a bang on the lug, if I knaw owt aboot t'master. I'll gan off home now."
    "The white cock lost," Lucas repeated, somewhat mystified, as he carried his wood to the schoolroom.
    The front hall was empty once more, when he climbed the main staircase. How strange it was, he thought, that until yesterday he had hardly set foot here above three times, and now he seemed to be continually going up and down this way. For some reason the change made him uneasy. The white cock lost. What could that mean? It had an unchancy sound, he thought. Drat old Garridge and his haste to get away—riding Sir Randolph's horse, too!
    He knocked at the study door.
    "What now—who is it?" a voice said sharply, and Lucas had half a mind to retreat, for the voice was that of Mr. Oakapple, not Sir Randolph, and Lucas had a guilty feeling about his unfinished composition on Industry. Also, Mr. Oakapple might be annoyed, for all he knew, at his having been a witness to the fight with Mr. Gobthorpe and Sir Randolph's drunkenness. He was still hesitating when the door was flung open.
    Mr. Oakapple stood in the doorway, looking impatient. Glancing past him, Lucas could see Sir Randolph seated at his desk, leaning forward with his head on his arms and evidently asleep, for he was snoring loudly.
    "Oh, it's you," Mr. Oakapple said. "Why are you here? What do you want?"
    "I have a message from Garridge, sir."
    "He's no business to give you his messages. He should bring them himself. Well, what was it, then?"
    "First, that the strike is off and that Scatcherd and another man have been put in jail."
    "Oh. Well, I daresay Sir Randolph will be glad enough to hear that, when he wakes. What else?"
    "And, sir, Garridge said to say that the white cock lost."
    Mr. Oakapple had been absently looking through a leather portfolio of papers, as they spoke; Lucas had noticed that a bureau which stood against the wall was open, and that an untidy heap of documents lay on its front flap. Now, with a furious exclamation, the tutor flung the portfolio down onto Sir Randolph's desk.
    "Damned old fool! Miserable old sot! I suppose that's where the fifty pounds went!"
    "What fifty pounds?" Lucas asked, bewildered.
    "Dear knows he gets little enough in the way of rents. Most of the farms were sold off long ago. But the Artingstalls at High Wick still pay rent faithfully, and I had reckoned that would do to give the servants their wages and buy a few provisions—no