short slinky dress – most sophisticated. Mildred’s all frilly and coy.’
‘She still is. Well, if they have her here, let’s hope it’s while we’re at school. Are you glad to be going back?’
‘Extremely glad,’ said Prue without hesitation.
‘Me, too. That’s odd, considering we both of us like our families. And no one could say they were bossy or possessive.’
‘Less than ever, down here. They seem completely occupied with their own affairs.’
‘I must say their interests seem a trifle narrow,’ said Dickon. ‘Mother cooks, Father eats what Mother cooks. Your father only thinks about writing his novel. What’s your mother’s particular line, I wonder?’
‘I don’t think she’s ever had one. But I do notice she seems specially happy here. Perhaps it’s the relief of not having Baggy in the house.’
‘Was he a nuisance? I don’t seem to notice him much.’
‘I did. Oh, I’m fond of Baggy but I did sometimes wish he didn’t have to be with us every evening.’
‘Now he usually goes to his own room.’
‘I wonder if he feels he ought?’ said Prue thoughtfully. ‘Oh, gosh, I suddenly feel guilty. I haven’t done a thing about Baggy, all these holidays. I used to make an effort to be kind to him – well, talk to him, anyway.’
‘We could ask him to come for a walk with us this afternoon. But I think he takes a nap after lunch. Let’s go along to his room with him after dinner. I’ve barely been inside it.’
‘Me, neither. Yes, let’s do that. Shall we go into the woods?’
‘Not yet. I like them better higher up.’
They skirted the Hall, on their way to the wooded slope beyond it. Dickon, after a glance towards the Palladian portico, said, ‘What do you make of Sarah Strange?’
‘Practically nothing,’ said Prue. ‘Oh, I don’t dislike her; I just don’t get her. To me, she’s a beautiful blankness.’
‘I agree she’s not quite us. But she doesn’t strike me as altogether unintelligent. Hugh and Corinna get on with her.’
‘Well, Hugh gets on with everyone. And Corinna’s more used to Society girls than we are.’
‘Is Sarah a Society girl?’ said Dickon. ‘If so, she’s a Society girl without any Society, poor brute.’
‘I dare say. But that doesn’t stop her from being what she is. It’s a question of… well, social status. And don’t tell me that sort of thing’s out of date. Of course it is. But it still exists.’
‘Does Sarah make you feel inferior?’
‘Quite the reverse, I’m afraid,’ said Prue. They turned into the wood and walked in single file until they reached a clearing, on the crown of the hill, where they sat on the grass. From here theycould look down on the roofs of the Hall, the Dower House and the cottage.
‘Father ought to see this view of the Hall,’ said Prue. ‘It might get him started on his Gothic novel. Rooftops are highly romantic.’
‘Not that rooftop. It appears to be a rubbish dump. Look at the iron bedsteads. And good God, there are seven enamel potties.’
‘Potties? What a coy word.’
‘Well, they were still called that when I last met one,’ said Dickon. ‘Who would put them on a roof?’
‘Servants – too lazy to carry them downstairs. I suppose they just chucked them out of the attics.’
‘Why bother? The attics can’t be needed now. They’ve only got some old woman and a man who looks after Sarah’s grandfather.’
‘That junk’s probably been there since the house was teeming with servants. Your potties may be valuable antiques. The cottage looks nice from here. You wouldn’t think a black house could look so cheerful.’
‘It’s all the white paint,’ said Dickon. ‘I rather fear the word for it is “cute”. There’s a lot of yellow moss on the Dower House roof. I suppose that’s all right?’
‘I expect old tiles can stand a lot of moss. It’s lichen, really. Looks lovely. Is your mother ever going to tackle the conservatory?’
‘She still hasn’t
‘She still is. Well, if they have her here, let’s hope it’s while we’re at school. Are you glad to be going back?’
‘Extremely glad,’ said Prue without hesitation.
‘Me, too. That’s odd, considering we both of us like our families. And no one could say they were bossy or possessive.’
‘Less than ever, down here. They seem completely occupied with their own affairs.’
‘I must say their interests seem a trifle narrow,’ said Dickon. ‘Mother cooks, Father eats what Mother cooks. Your father only thinks about writing his novel. What’s your mother’s particular line, I wonder?’
‘I don’t think she’s ever had one. But I do notice she seems specially happy here. Perhaps it’s the relief of not having Baggy in the house.’
‘Was he a nuisance? I don’t seem to notice him much.’
‘I did. Oh, I’m fond of Baggy but I did sometimes wish he didn’t have to be with us every evening.’
‘Now he usually goes to his own room.’
‘I wonder if he feels he ought?’ said Prue thoughtfully. ‘Oh, gosh, I suddenly feel guilty. I haven’t done a thing about Baggy, all these holidays. I used to make an effort to be kind to him – well, talk to him, anyway.’
‘We could ask him to come for a walk with us this afternoon. But I think he takes a nap after lunch. Let’s go along to his room with him after dinner. I’ve barely been inside it.’
‘Me, neither. Yes, let’s do that. Shall we go into the woods?’
‘Not yet. I like them better higher up.’
They skirted the Hall, on their way to the wooded slope beyond it. Dickon, after a glance towards the Palladian portico, said, ‘What do you make of Sarah Strange?’
‘Practically nothing,’ said Prue. ‘Oh, I don’t dislike her; I just don’t get her. To me, she’s a beautiful blankness.’
‘I agree she’s not quite us. But she doesn’t strike me as altogether unintelligent. Hugh and Corinna get on with her.’
‘Well, Hugh gets on with everyone. And Corinna’s more used to Society girls than we are.’
‘Is Sarah a Society girl?’ said Dickon. ‘If so, she’s a Society girl without any Society, poor brute.’
‘I dare say. But that doesn’t stop her from being what she is. It’s a question of… well, social status. And don’t tell me that sort of thing’s out of date. Of course it is. But it still exists.’
‘Does Sarah make you feel inferior?’
‘Quite the reverse, I’m afraid,’ said Prue. They turned into the wood and walked in single file until they reached a clearing, on the crown of the hill, where they sat on the grass. From here theycould look down on the roofs of the Hall, the Dower House and the cottage.
‘Father ought to see this view of the Hall,’ said Prue. ‘It might get him started on his Gothic novel. Rooftops are highly romantic.’
‘Not that rooftop. It appears to be a rubbish dump. Look at the iron bedsteads. And good God, there are seven enamel potties.’
‘Potties? What a coy word.’
‘Well, they were still called that when I last met one,’ said Dickon. ‘Who would put them on a roof?’
‘Servants – too lazy to carry them downstairs. I suppose they just chucked them out of the attics.’
‘Why bother? The attics can’t be needed now. They’ve only got some old woman and a man who looks after Sarah’s grandfather.’
‘That junk’s probably been there since the house was teeming with servants. Your potties may be valuable antiques. The cottage looks nice from here. You wouldn’t think a black house could look so cheerful.’
‘It’s all the white paint,’ said Dickon. ‘I rather fear the word for it is “cute”. There’s a lot of yellow moss on the Dower House roof. I suppose that’s all right?’
‘I expect old tiles can stand a lot of moss. It’s lichen, really. Looks lovely. Is your mother ever going to tackle the conservatory?’
‘She still hasn’t
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