The Witch's Daughter Read Online Free

compensate. ‘So you didn’t mean to be a naughty spy, then? You’re a good little girl, are you? Are you a little girl who can keep secrets, I wonder?’
    â€˜She doesn’t carry tales,’ Mr Smith said. ‘I told you.’
    Frog Face looked at him. ‘You never said there was a kid. Taking a chance, weren’t you?’
    â€˜Not so much as might appear,’ Mr Smith said. ‘And, anyway , chances have to be taken. You took a chance on me, didn’t you?’
    Still looking at him, Frog Face nodded, slowly. ‘I reckon I did,’ he said. He smiled again, more naturally this time, andsettled back in his chair. ‘After the shock, a spot of liquid refreshment wouldn’t come amiss,’ he remarked, unwrapped another toffee, and put it in his mouth.
    Mr Smith poured whisky. ‘Take the glass over to the gentleman , Perdita,’ he said, ‘and introduce yourself. This is Mr Jones. Mr Jones,’ he repeated, smiling to himself suddenly, as if Mr Jones’s name was an exceedingly funny joke.
    Hesitantly, Perdita did as she was told. Mr Jones took the whisky with one hand, with the other he caught Perdita’s wrist and drew her close to his fat knee.
    â€˜Perdita,’ he said, mumbling his toffee, ‘That’s pretty. Unusual , too. How old are you, Perdita?’
    â€˜Ten. Going on eleven,’ Perdita said, disliking the feel of his clammy hand on her wrist, but not daring to pull away.
    Mr Jones looked surprised. ‘You don’t look that old to me. I’ve got two girls. One nine, one ten. The nine year old is a good bit bigger than you.’
    â€˜She’s small for her age,’ Mr Smith said.
    â€˜Small? Skinny, I’d say. Looks underfed to me,’ Mr Jones answered.
    He lifted his glass and took a long swallow. His Adam’s apple wobbled up and down. He set his empty glass down on the table and nodded solemnly while Mr Smith re-filled it. ‘Kids need a lot of nourishment, you know Smithie. Milk. Vitamins. Orange juice. My word—it’s quite an expense, feeding a child.’ He picked up his whisky glass and cradled it lovingly to his chest. ‘Expense and worry. Worry and expense. That’s what children mean. I was saying to the wife, only the other day …’
    Mr Smith interrupted him. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked Perdita.
    She turned, slipping her hand gently out of Frog Face’s grasp. Now she had stopped being frightened, she had begun to notice her empty stomach again.
    â€˜You’d better have something to eat, then.’ Mr Smith stoodup and went over to the table. ‘There’s lobster left. Would you like that? And a glass of wine?’
    â€˜Poison to a child,’ Mr Jones said loudly from his chair. ‘Milk, Smithie, milk. That’s what she needs. Good, fresh milk. And no lobster. Positively no lobster. Unsuitable for a young stomach.’
    â€˜Cheese?’ Mr Smith asked tentatively. Frog Face seemed to have fallen into a doze and he raised his voice. ‘Come on—tell me what to give her. You’re the family man.’
    Frog Face blew out through his lips. ‘Cheese in moderation. Not at night, though. It lies heavy.’
    Mr Smith sighed. ‘There doesn’t seem much else. What does Annie give you, Perdita?’
    â€˜Porridge,’ Perdita said. ‘Potatoes. And bits of other things. What you leave over.’ Annie MacLaren had told her that Mr Smith had been good to them and it would be wrong to repay him by eating him out of house and home.
    Frog Face laughed from his chair. ‘Keeping the servants short, eh? Shame on you, Smithie …’
    Mr Smith looked worried. ‘I’ve never had anything to do with children. I’d have thought the old woman would have had more sense …’ He cut a good piece of cheese and several slices of bread, buttering them thickly. Then he wiped out a used glass with