actually. I’ve been moved to a much better room. It’s much warmer there.’
‘ Wow. You must have done something to please Mr Mansfield. Because I know damn well Mrs Calder wouldn’t have moved you unless she had to. Well you enjoy it doll. Eggs?’
‘Please.’
‘I’ll get you a plate ready.’
I notice a breakfast plate of muesli and fruit all made up by Vicky’s stove.
‘Is that for Mrs Calder ?’ I ask, nodding at the plate.
‘No,’ says Vicky. ‘That’s for … well actually I’m never sure who eats it. But Patrick orders an extra breakfast each morning. Then he comes and collects it, and takes it god knows where. It’s not for him. He always has steak and eggs, or sausage or something like that.’
‘Oh.’ I frown. ‘That’s strange.’
‘I guess it is a little. But you’ll get used to strange if you’re staying here.’
I’m just forking up my scrambled eggs, when Agnes Calder glides into the hall.
‘So. You’re up on time.’ She eyes me meanly. ‘Not so hard, is it?’
‘It’s not hard at all when your alarm goes off,’ I say, trying to keep things light.
‘You have a free day today. Bertie is visiting his mother. The driver has already taken him.’
‘What?’ I nearly choke on my eggs. ‘Why didn’t anyone tell me?’
‘It’s not your business how we run things here,’ says Agnes. ‘You’re here to do as you’re told.’
‘It is my business,’ I say, leaping to my feet. ‘Bertie is my business. I’m trying to build up a relationship with him. And I can’t do that if I have no idea where he is from one moment to the next.’
Agnes thins h er lips. ‘I’d advise you to rein in your temper. Or you’re going to find yourself on the train back home before the day is out. You’ll just have to amuse yourself today. Most girls would be grateful to get a day off.’
She marches to the serving ha tch. ‘Victoria! Where’s my muesli and tea?’
‘Here Mrs Calder,’ says Vicky, placing a tray on the serving hatch.
Mrs Calder takes the tray and storms out of the hall.
I bite my teeth together, fuming.
Just as things were going well with Bertie, now we’re going to spend a day apart.
How can the poor boy get to know anyone if he’s whisked away like this?
Vicky comes through the swing door by the kitchen. ‘Are you okay hen? You look fit to explode.’
I push my plate away. ‘Oh, just Mrs Calder. I’m so sorry Vicky. I need to go.’ I stand up.
‘No worries . Where are you off to now?’
‘For a run. I need to clear my head.’
‘Oh.’ Vicky nods. ‘An athlete, eh?’
I manage a s mile. ‘Hardly. But I jog when I can. It helps keep me calm. And it’ll be nice to go running without traffic everywhere.’
‘You enjoy it pet. But watch the ice. It’s slippery out there.’
When I get to my room, I pace around for a few minutes, thinking of all the things I wish I’d said to Agnes Calder.
Then I strip off and put on my running gear – baggy grey sweatpants, a loose black t-shirt and shoes.
My running shoes aren’t really running shoes. They’re basketball boots and they pinch my feet sometimes. But proper jogging trainers are a luxury I’ve never been able to afford.
I tie my hair into a high ponytail and head out into the grounds, jogging along the lawn and then out into the woods.
There’s still a little snow around the edges of the trees, and the ground is crunchy with frost as I run along. But I remember Vicky’s advice and tread carefully.
I breathe in out and out, sucking in the cool, fresh air, trying to pound out my frustration with every step.
My wet hair swings around, but running warms me up and I’m not cold.
Before I know it, I’ve run dee p into the woods, past a frozen strip of water and a craggy rock face that looks like it has an old man’s face carved into it.
On I run, far into the trees .
And then I reali ze.
Oh god. That strip of frozen water … I guess before it froze it was a
‘ Wow. You must have done something to please Mr Mansfield. Because I know damn well Mrs Calder wouldn’t have moved you unless she had to. Well you enjoy it doll. Eggs?’
‘Please.’
‘I’ll get you a plate ready.’
I notice a breakfast plate of muesli and fruit all made up by Vicky’s stove.
‘Is that for Mrs Calder ?’ I ask, nodding at the plate.
‘No,’ says Vicky. ‘That’s for … well actually I’m never sure who eats it. But Patrick orders an extra breakfast each morning. Then he comes and collects it, and takes it god knows where. It’s not for him. He always has steak and eggs, or sausage or something like that.’
‘Oh.’ I frown. ‘That’s strange.’
‘I guess it is a little. But you’ll get used to strange if you’re staying here.’
I’m just forking up my scrambled eggs, when Agnes Calder glides into the hall.
‘So. You’re up on time.’ She eyes me meanly. ‘Not so hard, is it?’
‘It’s not hard at all when your alarm goes off,’ I say, trying to keep things light.
‘You have a free day today. Bertie is visiting his mother. The driver has already taken him.’
‘What?’ I nearly choke on my eggs. ‘Why didn’t anyone tell me?’
‘It’s not your business how we run things here,’ says Agnes. ‘You’re here to do as you’re told.’
‘It is my business,’ I say, leaping to my feet. ‘Bertie is my business. I’m trying to build up a relationship with him. And I can’t do that if I have no idea where he is from one moment to the next.’
Agnes thins h er lips. ‘I’d advise you to rein in your temper. Or you’re going to find yourself on the train back home before the day is out. You’ll just have to amuse yourself today. Most girls would be grateful to get a day off.’
She marches to the serving ha tch. ‘Victoria! Where’s my muesli and tea?’
‘Here Mrs Calder,’ says Vicky, placing a tray on the serving hatch.
Mrs Calder takes the tray and storms out of the hall.
I bite my teeth together, fuming.
Just as things were going well with Bertie, now we’re going to spend a day apart.
How can the poor boy get to know anyone if he’s whisked away like this?
Vicky comes through the swing door by the kitchen. ‘Are you okay hen? You look fit to explode.’
I push my plate away. ‘Oh, just Mrs Calder. I’m so sorry Vicky. I need to go.’ I stand up.
‘No worries . Where are you off to now?’
‘For a run. I need to clear my head.’
‘Oh.’ Vicky nods. ‘An athlete, eh?’
I manage a s mile. ‘Hardly. But I jog when I can. It helps keep me calm. And it’ll be nice to go running without traffic everywhere.’
‘You enjoy it pet. But watch the ice. It’s slippery out there.’
When I get to my room, I pace around for a few minutes, thinking of all the things I wish I’d said to Agnes Calder.
Then I strip off and put on my running gear – baggy grey sweatpants, a loose black t-shirt and shoes.
My running shoes aren’t really running shoes. They’re basketball boots and they pinch my feet sometimes. But proper jogging trainers are a luxury I’ve never been able to afford.
I tie my hair into a high ponytail and head out into the grounds, jogging along the lawn and then out into the woods.
There’s still a little snow around the edges of the trees, and the ground is crunchy with frost as I run along. But I remember Vicky’s advice and tread carefully.
I breathe in out and out, sucking in the cool, fresh air, trying to pound out my frustration with every step.
My wet hair swings around, but running warms me up and I’m not cold.
Before I know it, I’ve run dee p into the woods, past a frozen strip of water and a craggy rock face that looks like it has an old man’s face carved into it.
On I run, far into the trees .
And then I reali ze.
Oh god. That strip of frozen water … I guess before it froze it was a
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