Kingdom Lost by Patricia Wentworth

angry?”
    Timothy started the car.
    â€œI think she was frightened. She’ll be all right by the time you get back.”
    She gave a sigh and snuggled down into Lil’s coat. They were turning and going back along the river’s edge. The little picture-book cottage was being left behind. She leaned out to look at it.
    â€œI thought you lived there. I was watching to see if you would come into the garden.”
    â€œThat’s old Trent’s cottage. Pretty—isn’t it!”
    â€œI wish you lived there. I wish I lived there. I don’t think I want to live at Holt.”
    â€œHolt belongs to you, Valentine,” said Timothy seriously.
    She said “No,” saw his look of surprise, and found troubled, stumbling words of explanation: “It doesn’t belong to me—I don’t see how it could. It belongs to all those other people, it doesn’t belong to me.”
    â€œWhat people?”
    Did she mean Helena and Eustace?
    â€œAll the old people. After you went away and Eustace, Aunt Helena showed me their pictures and told me stories about them.”
    He thought, “Funny child—but rather nice.”
    â€œWhat’s bothering you?” he said.
    She looked startled.
    â€œWhy does that bother you?”
    â€œIt doesn’t—bother.”
    â€œSomething does.”
    He took a quick sidelong glance and saw her flush and look away.
    â€œThere isn’t room for me,” she said in a very low voice.
    There was a silence.
    Yesterday Timothy had been sorry for her. Today he did not feel exactly sorry. He had been angry and bored—fed up. And then, with extraordinary suddenness, he had stopped being angry and bored. He wondered shrewdly whether it was Holt that gave her the crowded feeling, or Helena. Helena had a way of making one feel crowded.
    â€œTimothy—” said Valentine.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œWhy did you say that Lil would lend me some clothes to go home in?”
    â€œWell—”
    â€œAren’t these proper clothes?”
    â€œThey’re very wet.”
    â€œThat’s not what you meant.” She fingered the hem of her smock where the coat fell away. “It’s what I wore on the island. I didn’t want to spoil the dress that Barclay gave me. He gave me some lovely dresses. But they all got dirty on the yacht except the one I had on yesterday. So I thought—I was afraid—”
    Her flush had deepened. He saw to his horror that her eyes were wet.
    â€œI say—it doesn’t matter.”
    He heard a little woe-begone sniff.
    â€œEdward said I should have to be so very careful when I came to England. He said it was folly to run counter to the established conditions of English society. He said—” Her voice wobbled.
    Timothy fairly shouted.
    â€œI say, I’m awfully sorry—but it did sound so funny!”
    He looked round at her apologetically and found her laughing too.
    â€œOh, Timothy, you are nice!”
    â€œAm I?”
    He wondered a little what her standard was.
    The road began to leave the river. It took an upward slope. The fields on either side of it were Timothy’s fields. Now they bent towards the river again. A tall holly hedge rose like a black wall on their left.
    Timothy turned in between grey stone pillars.
    â€œIs this your house?”
    He nodded.
    The drive was like a green tunnel. Under yesterday’s rain it would have been black. To-day the sun shone through the crowding foliage like light coming through a stained glass window.
    The car came out of the tunnel and stopped in front of a low white house with a thatched roof. The walls were almost hidden by climbing roses, and a very large lavender bush bloomed on either side of the front door.
    Timothy Brand had inherited from his father one of those old small manor houses which are fairly plentiful in the south of England. The land that went with it had steadily dwindled in