The Declaration

I’ll be off. And perhaps you should take a holiday – you look dreadful. Do they give you holidays here?’
    He smiled affably, but Mrs Pincent didn’t return it. Slowly, she stood up.
    ‘Stephen, what do you know about the boy?’ she asked. ‘The Pending boy who escaped. Peter.’
    Stephen turned round immediately.
    ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. Why?’
    Mrs Pincent scrutinised his face, then walked towards the window behind her desk, which was covered with a thin grey blind, like every other window at Grange Hall. There was something he wasn’t telling her, she just knew it. ‘Do you know his background?’ she asked.
    ‘Of course I don’t. You think I have time to worry about the background of Surpluses?’
    ‘No, just this one. His file is classified.’
    She turned round and saw that Stephen was looking at her irritably now. But she could also see that his eyes had fear in them. That she had asked a question he was afraid to answer.
    He shook his head. ‘The boy’s file is nothing to do with me. I’m sorry, Margaret, but I do have to go now. Perhaps we could discuss this some other time.’
    ‘He was found with a ring, apparently,’ Mrs Pincent continued, her eyes now boring into Stephen’s, which she noticed visibly widen as she spoke. ‘A gold signet ring with a flower engraved on the top and “AF” engraved on the inside. Do you remember a ring like that, Stephen?’
    Stephen’s face went pale.
    ‘There are lots of rings around, Margaret,’ he said quickly, and stood up. ‘I really think it’s time for me to go.’
    Mrs Pincent took a deep breath.
    ‘Stephen, you are not going anywhere until I know the truth.’
    ‘The truth?’ Stephen asked, his face now reddening in anger. ‘Don’t talk to me like that. What does someone like you need with the truth?’
    ‘My grandfather’s initials were AF,’ Mrs Pincent continued, her voice now tense. ‘He had them engraved on a gold signet ring with a flower on it. A ring he gave to me, Stephen.’
    Stephen said nothing.
    Mrs Pincent turned back to the window, pulling back the blind slightly to view the grey landscape outside. It was a fitting place to live, she’d thought to herself when she first arrived at Grange Hall. A fitting place to live out a half-life, taking out her misery on the creatures she hated above all others.
    ‘Stephen, I want to know the truth.’
    Stephen stood up. ‘There’s nothing to say. I’m leaving now.’
    He walked towards the door and grasped the handle, then shook it. He turned back angrily. ‘Margaret, unlock the door,’ he said. ‘Unlock it right now.’
    Mrs Pincent ignored him.
    ‘Sit down, Stephen,’ she said calmly. ‘Our business is not yet finished.’
    ‘Oh yes it is,’ Stephen said angrily, marching over to Mrs Pincent and grabbing her arms. ‘Our business was finished years ago. Give me the key or I will be forced to break this door down.’
    ‘No!’ Margaret spat. ‘No. I will not give you the key. Why should I give you anything, Stephen? Why should I, when you took away the only thing that mattered to me in the whole wide world? When your slut, your treacherous mistress, killed my child.’
    Stephen shook his head. ‘Come on, Margaret. Enough now. It was the rules, you know that. There was nothing I could do. Now give me the key, will you?’
    ‘Nothing you could do?’ Margaret hissed, feeling the bile rising up the back of the throat. ‘You and your slut stole my son’s life.’
    Stephen dropped Mrs Pincent’s arms and slapped her around the face.
    ‘I will not listen to this,’ he shouted. ‘I will not tolerate these words. You will give me the key, or . . . or . . .’
    ‘Or what?’ Mrs Pincent asked again. ‘You’ll kill me like you killed our son?’
    Stephen went white and reached for the desk to steady his feet.
    ‘Sit down, Stephen,’ Mrs Pincent instructed. ‘I want to know the truth, Stephen. I demand to know. So you can tell me the background of this Surplus Peter, or I can go to London and tell the Authorities about our son, the one you murdered. Which would you prefer?’
    Stephen’s face was white and haggard.
    ‘Are you blackmailing me?’ he asked, his face incredulous. ‘You have as much to lose as I do.’
    ‘I have nothing to lose,’ Mrs Pincent said, in a low voice. ‘I lost everything years ago.’
    ‘This is hopeless. You know it’s hopeless,’ Stephen said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. ‘Why can’t you leave this