Beyond The Blue Mountains - Plaidy Jean (бесплатные онлайн книги читаем полные .TXT) 📗
She was frantic, thinking of it, and by the time they arrived home she had decided she must go to her mother and beg her to see that her bed was not moved away from Margaret’s room. It was not often that one could talk to grownups of one’s troubles; everyone realized that. Even people like Everard, who was almost grownup, knew that incidents like that of this afternoon must never be communicated to the grownups. But this time she could not help it; she would have to ask her mother to save her from the dark.
As soon as she was in the house she ran to her mother’s room. She knocked. Therese opened the door, and when she saw who it was, lifted her shoulders.
“Ah! The little one. There is no time this hour for the little one.”
But Carolan ran past Therese, for she had seen her mother sitting by the mirror. She wore a satin petticoat, and her hair was hanging about her shoulders. Carolan took a deep breath at the sight of so much beauty, and was very proud of having such a lovely mother. Now she would turn and say, “Hello, darling, tell me all about this afternoon.” Then she would notice that Carolan’s eyes were red-rimmed, and she would put her arms round her and kiss her and say: “What happened to my little Carolan?” Then, without saying anything about the afternoon’s adventure which was too horrible to be discussed with anyone, Carolan would ask that her bed should never, never be moved from Margaret’s room. That was how she planned it.
But it did not happen like that. Kitty saw her own lovely face vividly reflected in the mirror; Carolan was vague as a shadow standing beside her.
“Hello, darling,” she said. Then: “Therese, I will have the mauve ribbons in my hair, I think.”
She held the ribbons up to her hair.
“Do you like them, Carolan?”
Carolan nodded.
“They match my dress, darling, you see; there it is on the bed. You may go and look at it. You can feel how soft and silky it is … Are your hands clean, darling? Show. Yes, you go and feel it.”
Carolan felt the stuff of the dress. It was very soft and lovely, and would match the mauve ribbons beautifully. Carolan forgot to be frightened. Dark rooms and Jennifer’s anger seemed nonexistent when you were in this room, so full of bustle, the bustle of Therese and her mother; and Carolan, quick to catch a mood and share it, listened to the discussion as to whether it should be mauve or pale pink ribbons for Kitty’s hair, and it seemed as breathlessly important to her as the request she had come to make.
“And now,” said Therese, ‘the little one must fly away. There is much to be done, and so little time to do it in!”
“Did you hear that, Carolan? Therese is mistress here!”
Therese smiled; so did Kitty; so Carolan smiled too, and it was only when she was outside the door that she remembered she had not asked that which she had come to ask. She went back to the nursery and hid herself in a quiet corner, but nobody spoke to her, so she went over the adventure with Everard again and again, beginning at that part where Everard put the key in the door and let in the sunshine. Everard was her special friend, she kept reminding herself; he had talked to her as though she were older than five; and he liked her, she believed, better than he liked Margaret and Charles-which was a triumph.
She went to bed, and her bed was still in the room which she shared with Margaret; and when the candle was out and Margaret was sleeping and it really was rather frightening even though she could hear Margaret’s breathing in the next bed, it was not with her mother that she, after her usual fashion, held a whispered conversation, but with Everard.
The year that Carolan was nine was one of the most eventful of the century. France declared war on England, and Charlotte Corday assassinated Marat in his bath; Louis XVI was executed that January and his queen followed him in October; that year saw the beginning of the Reign of Terror in France and the wave of uneasiness which swept over England because of it. But Carolan was unconcerned with events outside her nursery. She awoke on the morning of her birthday in great excitement. She now had her own room, but she had lost much of her childish fear of the dark. Sometimes, of course, when she had heard an eerie story she had nightmares, but that was not often; then she would dream she was locked up with the dead, and that dream persisted. But it was a dream with a happy ending, and when she awoke, perhaps screaming, trying to fight off queer dark shapes, she would think of Everard’s coming through the door, picking her up and talking to her so kindly. Then she would have a long imaginary conversation with Everard, and picture his face so clearly and hear his voice so distinctly that all fear would leave her. They were friends, she and Everard, and it was extremely exciting to have a friend who was so much older than oneself. It did not matter about being ugly. Her hair had kept its reddish tinge; her eyes had stayed green. Jennifer was for ever saying: “Green eyes for greedy guts! I do declare you grow uglier every day.” Charles took up the refrain: “Greedy guts! Greedy guts!” It was not a very pleasant name. But when she said to Everard: “Everard, how ugly am I? As ugly as old witch Hethers?” Everard had laughed.
“Silly! You are not ugly at all; you are all right as good as most.”
“As good as Margaret?”
“Oh, better than Margaret!” and Margaret, fair-haired, blue-eyed Margaret was the prettiest person Carolan had ever known except Mamma, of course, who was lovely as a picture. But then Everard hated Margaret because she would try to talk to him and be with him; so that was why he thought her ugly, just as Jennifer thought Carolan was ugly, because she did not like her.
What exciting days birthdays were. She imagined what they would all give her; a dress of lace and ribbons from Mamma, because one always thought of lace and ribbons when one thought of Mamma. From Everard a riding whip to be used when she rode Margaret’s pony. From Margaret a saddle of heavenly-smelling leather. She could not lie abed when so many beautiful gifts were awaiting her. She sprang out and danced to the window. What a lovely morning, with an April sun that was so beautiful because it had remained hidden so long, and an April freshness in the air, and the blossom just beginning on the fruit trees, and the daffodils under the oaks, and the birds wild with excitement because it was Carolan’s birthday!
She stood, her head on one side, listening.
“Carolan.” sang the birds.
“Car-o-lan!”
“Here I ami’ she cried.
“Did you know it was my birthday?”
She pressed her nose against the glass, laughing. Then she danced to the cold water jug, poured out some water into the basin, and washed.
When she was dressed, she opened the door and looked out into the corridor. There was no sound from either Margaret’s or Jennifer’s room. She stood uncertainly in the corridor. If Jennifer heard her about so early, there would be trouble. She grimaced at Jennifer’s door and tiptoed past it. Down the flights of stairs she went, to Mamma’s room. How rich it seemed down here, compared with the shabby nursery quarters. Here was her mother’s door, with Therese’s next to it. She turned the handle and stood on the threshold, looking in. Mamma was sleeping, her fair hair in disorder on the pillow. Carolan tiptoed into the room and stood by the bed, watching. Mamma’s lashes were long and gold coloured, and her full lips were parted. Carolan stood for some minutes, watching; then she whispered: “Mamma, I am here.”
Kitty opened her eyes. She had not altered very much in four years; she preserved her beauty with the greatest care, and Therese, with her skin lotions and tonics, was a wonder. True, she had put on flesh, but as Therese assured her, it was in the places where it was well to put it.
