Kingdom Lost by Patricia Wentworth Page B

rather dark because the old panelling drank up the light and the ceiling was low and crossed by three black beams. There were two little windows with diamond panes, and Timothy’s grandfather had cut through the wall to make a rather incongruous French window which opened on the garden. All through the summer this window stood wide open to a path paved in the middle and edged with cobble stones. On either side of the path was a wide border ablaze with flowers, and the path, with its brilliant borders, ran down a gentle slope to the river’s edge.
    Valentine ate brown bread and honey, slice after slice, and talked about the island. She told them how Edward had planted maize and rice, and how hard it was at first to get them to grow.
    â€œWas that all you had to live on?” It was Lil who asked the questions.
    â€œAt first—oh, at first there were the things on the ship. And afterwards there were cocoanuts—and of course we had the hens—and we caught fish.”
    â€œHow did you have cocoanuts when you were coming from New Zealand?”
    Valentine sucked a sticky finger.
    â€œEveryone asks that. They were on the ship. Edward said they came from Honolulu. The ship touched there and came to New Zealand, and she was going back again. And there were still some cocoanuts left, so Edward planted them, and they grew.”
    Lil continued to look at her with an interest that sharpened her features and gave her an air of being rather hungry.
    â€œWhat did you do all that time you were alone on the island? I’m sure I should have gone out of my mind. Three months and nobody to speak to. It must have been too awful! Wasn’t it?”
    Timothy saw the colour go out of Valentine’s face. She looked out of the window at the bright flowers. She seemed to have become in one moment too remote to reach. He scowled at Lil, kicked her under the table, and said the first thing that came into his head.
    â€œLil can’t imagine anyone being able to go for half an hour without talking.”
    He wanted to change the subject, but he could not think of anything to say.
    Valentine turned her head slowly. Her eyes were dark and mournful. She spoke to him, not to Lil.
    â€œI don’t like to talk about being alone.” Her lip quivered. “Why does she ask me about it? Everyone does. But why do they? If it had happened to them, they wouldn’t want to talk about it.” There was no anger in her voice; it was just slow and sad.
    â€œYou shan’t talk about anything you don’t want to,” said Timothy. “Shall she, Lil?”
    He kicked her again, and she coloured high but did not speak.
    A little wavering smile curved Valentine’s mouth. She drew a long sighing breath.
    â€œI do wish I could eat more honey—but I can’t.”
    Timothy burst out laughing; it came so suddenly, and was said with so much earnestness.
    â€œI’ve got to take you home.”
    â€œCan’t I stay here?”
    â€œNot to-day. Colonel Gray is coming to see you.”
    â€œWho is Colonel Gray?”
    â€œHe’s your trustee. He has charge of your money, you know.”
    â€œHave I got money?”
    â€œYes—a great deal.” He found her eyes fixed on him with a hesitating question in them. He went on quickly, “Colonel Gray will explain it all to you. That’s why he wants to see you.”
    Valentine sprang up and ran to the open window. The air was full of warmth and light. There was a scent of lavender in it, and a scent of roses. The borders were full of flowers whose names she did not know. She would have liked to walk in the garden and learn the names of all the flowers. She turned back regretfully.
    â€œI like your house much better than Holt,” she said.

CHAPTER XII
    Colonel Gray could not have said what he expected Maurice Ryven’s daughter to be like; but vague alarming visions came and went in the recesses of his mind, whilst