Langdown Manor by Sue Reid Page A

You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?’
    Only my shoulder, but if I tell you that you’ll never let me out of the house again.
    â€˜I blame George for what happened, but I am disappointed in you, too. You did not tell me the truth, did you? You didn’t have a headache, and I see that you are in your riding habit. I had expected better, Penelope.’
    I made up my mind to apologize. ‘I’m sorry, Aunt.’
    She sighed.
    â€˜We haven’t got off to a very good start, have we, Penelope?’
    I kept my eyes on the paperweight.
    â€˜Look at me while I am talking, Penelope.’ I forced myself to look up. Her eyes were the colour of the sea on a cold day. ‘I know you miss your home. I fully expected it would be hard for you to adjust.’
    You don’t know how hard.
    â€˜I am sure our life here is very different to what you’re used to…’
    Why must she talk as if she’d rescued me from an Indian slum?
    â€˜â€¦which is why I have made allowances… But…’
    It was coming – she would say that I was an ungrateful minx and that she was going to send me home. I felt my palms grow sweaty. Once I’d have been overjoyed. I’d have leaped over the desk and kissed her. But not now.
    â€˜â€¦if by this behaviour you think that I will send you home, I am afraid I must disappoint you. I would be letting my sister down.’
    What? I jerked my head up and looked her full in the face. What was she talking about? How could she even think such a thing?
    â€˜I hope what I tell you now will not hurt you, Penelope, but I think it is important that you know the truth. My parents did not approve of the match your mother made and forbade all contact with your parents. But I wrote to her, against their wishes. I would not abandon my sister.’
    The letters, I thought. The letters Mother had kept hidden in the trunk, and which now lay in a thick bundle locked in a dressing case. ‘And when I learned that it was her wish that you come here, I agreed. I felt I could not go against her dying wish. It was some small amend I could make her.’
    Lies, lies, lies. It was all lies. What had Father written in his letter to my aunt?
    â€˜Mother was sick. She didn’t know what she was doing,’ I muttered.
    Aunt looked angry, but she made an effort to control herself. It was almost the only time I’d seen any strong emotion on that impassive face. ‘I cannot help what you think,’ she said at last calmly, ‘but I can assure you that she wanted the best for you. She did not want you to make the same mistake she had.’
    I felt my throat tighten. How could she say such a thing? How could she? ‘Mother and Father loved each other very much,’ I said.
    â€˜Love is not always enough,’ Aunt said gently. ‘Your mother left behind the comforts she was used to for a dangerous uncertain life. A life cruelly cut short.’
    But it was the life she had chosen. And I would make my own choices, too.
    â€˜Let us start again, Penelope. Soon you will come out into society.’ It felt like a sentence hanging over my head. Aunt was smiling now as if she had handed me a present. I gave the kind of smile I did when I was given a present I didn’t want.
    â€˜I can never replace your mother, Penelope. But I want to be your friend,’ she said.
    No, you don’t. You want to squash the life out of me. But I won’t let you. You’ll fail just as your parents did with Mother.
    I turned my eyes from her and looked away, out of the window. The morning room was at the front of the house and I had a clear view of the drive. George’s car was limping up it. Two boys stood behind it, leaning into it to push it along.
    â€˜Ah, the car,’ I heard Aunt say. Her gaze had followed mine. ‘Perhaps we should talk about that, too.’
    I wasn’t listening. My eyes were still fixed on the car. A third boy,