the gate-house – fashioned like a little Scottish castle, gaunt and black, with the rusty spikes of a pretend portcullis poking down into the dark archway – a pretty little house could be glimpsed through a thick plantation of trees to my right. This, I thought, must be my Lady’s former home, the Dower House, where Madame had told me my mistress had lived with her widowed father, Mr Paul Carteret, until his untimely death.
I stopped for a moment to take in the scene.
The house reminded me of nothing so much as the doll’s-house that Mr Thornhaugh had caused to be made for my eighth birthday. It was a gift of such size and magnificence that it had astonished even Madame; but he said that every little girl should have a doll’s-house, even clever ones who loved their books almost more than their dolls, and had smilingly shrugged off Madame’s protestations that it must have cost a great deal of money, which he might not have been able to afford.
It entranced me from the moment Mr Thornhaugh removed the canvas cover in which it had been wrapped, and told me that I could open my eyes – which I had closed as tightly as I could at his request, to heighten the anticipation.
How I had longed to become small enough, by some temporary act of sorcery (for I had always been accounted tall for my age), to push open the tiny front door and go exploring through all the rooms! I particularly wished to be able to look out of its windows, with their curtains of sprigged muslin, at the Brobdingnagian world outside, and then scamper up the beautiful curving staircase, to skip and dance through the upper rooms, and curl up at last in one of the miniature beds.
The Dower House had the same delicious perfection of form as my doll’s-house; and I found myself experiencing something of the same childhood desire to peep inside it. But, mindful of Lady Tansor’s strict instructions, I proceeded instead through the archway of the gloomy gate-house, and out into the road.
As I entered the village, the church clock began to strike half past nine. At the corner of the lane that led down to the church and its adjoining Rectory, I noticed a familiar figure come out of one of the cottages and begin scurrying, like a little mouse, down the lane.
‘Sukie!’ I cried out.
She stopped, turned, and began running back towards me.
‘Miss Alice! What are you doing here?’
I explained that I was on my way to Easton, to take a letter from Lady Tansor to a person staying at the Duport Arms.
‘Who can that be, I wonder?’ she said. ‘And why would they be staying in Easton, and not in the great house?’
‘Is that where you live?’ I asked, looking towards the cottage from which she had just emerged.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘The doctor has been to see Mother, and Mrs Battersby allowed me half an hour to come down while he was here.’
I said I hoped her mother’s condition was not serious.
‘No – thank you – not serious, as far as we know. She’ll be seventy-two soon, which is a grand age, I think, though of course it brings its troubles.’
At the mention of Mrs Battersby, I was about to ask Sukie whether she could tell me a little more concerning the housekeeper, in whom I had begun to take a decided interest; but I knew that I must get to Easton as soon as I could, before beginning the various tasks my mistress had set me. Sukie, too, was anxious to return to the great house, in order not to risk Mrs Battersby’s displeasure. So we parted, and I watched Sukie’s little figure run back down the lane, her curls flopping and bouncing as she went.
ONCE OUT OF the village, and having passed through the hamlets of Upper Thornbrook and Duck End, I took the road that climbed the gentle wooded escarpment on which the town of Easton stands, the trees on either side forming a most pleasant canopy of branches, through which the early-autumn sunlight was now streaming.
The Market Square was already crowded when I reached the town, for it was market
I stopped for a moment to take in the scene.
The house reminded me of nothing so much as the doll’s-house that Mr Thornhaugh had caused to be made for my eighth birthday. It was a gift of such size and magnificence that it had astonished even Madame; but he said that every little girl should have a doll’s-house, even clever ones who loved their books almost more than their dolls, and had smilingly shrugged off Madame’s protestations that it must have cost a great deal of money, which he might not have been able to afford.
It entranced me from the moment Mr Thornhaugh removed the canvas cover in which it had been wrapped, and told me that I could open my eyes – which I had closed as tightly as I could at his request, to heighten the anticipation.
How I had longed to become small enough, by some temporary act of sorcery (for I had always been accounted tall for my age), to push open the tiny front door and go exploring through all the rooms! I particularly wished to be able to look out of its windows, with their curtains of sprigged muslin, at the Brobdingnagian world outside, and then scamper up the beautiful curving staircase, to skip and dance through the upper rooms, and curl up at last in one of the miniature beds.
The Dower House had the same delicious perfection of form as my doll’s-house; and I found myself experiencing something of the same childhood desire to peep inside it. But, mindful of Lady Tansor’s strict instructions, I proceeded instead through the archway of the gloomy gate-house, and out into the road.
As I entered the village, the church clock began to strike half past nine. At the corner of the lane that led down to the church and its adjoining Rectory, I noticed a familiar figure come out of one of the cottages and begin scurrying, like a little mouse, down the lane.
‘Sukie!’ I cried out.
She stopped, turned, and began running back towards me.
‘Miss Alice! What are you doing here?’
I explained that I was on my way to Easton, to take a letter from Lady Tansor to a person staying at the Duport Arms.
‘Who can that be, I wonder?’ she said. ‘And why would they be staying in Easton, and not in the great house?’
‘Is that where you live?’ I asked, looking towards the cottage from which she had just emerged.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘The doctor has been to see Mother, and Mrs Battersby allowed me half an hour to come down while he was here.’
I said I hoped her mother’s condition was not serious.
‘No – thank you – not serious, as far as we know. She’ll be seventy-two soon, which is a grand age, I think, though of course it brings its troubles.’
At the mention of Mrs Battersby, I was about to ask Sukie whether she could tell me a little more concerning the housekeeper, in whom I had begun to take a decided interest; but I knew that I must get to Easton as soon as I could, before beginning the various tasks my mistress had set me. Sukie, too, was anxious to return to the great house, in order not to risk Mrs Battersby’s displeasure. So we parted, and I watched Sukie’s little figure run back down the lane, her curls flopping and bouncing as she went.
ONCE OUT OF the village, and having passed through the hamlets of Upper Thornbrook and Duck End, I took the road that climbed the gentle wooded escarpment on which the town of Easton stands, the trees on either side forming a most pleasant canopy of branches, through which the early-autumn sunlight was now streaming.
The Market Square was already crowded when I reached the town, for it was market
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