meet the sort of young men your father would want you to meet and no doubt one of them will teach you.’
‘But I want to learn to swim now,’ Alice had said obstinately. ‘I often play by the beck near the bottomless pool, the one where the blacksmith’s daughter drowned. Suppose I were to slip and fall into the water?’
Her uncle had taken her seriously, and an hour after they had returned to Windhover Hall he had called his niece into his study. ‘My new chauffeur has a son a little older than you,’ he had said. ‘I want you to promise me, my dear, that you won’t go near the beck unless you are in his company. I know you’ve befriended young Madeleine, but should the worst happen she would be of little assistance, I imagine.’
Alice had agreed, and now, having selected her plainest cotton smock and a pair of well-worn sandals, she hurried down to the breakfast parlour, anxious to get the meal over so that she could go down to the beck to meet Tom. The swimming lessons had never materialised but he was teaching her to ride his bicycle, though she had not proved an apt pupil, being so anxious not to fall that she clung to her teacher, only letting go when he insisted that she would never learn whilst hanging on to him. Naturally they never bicycled down by the beck, but they usually met there since Tom was a keen fisherman and normally spent the hour or so before she joined him casting a fly over the waters of the bottomless pool, where they both knew the grandfather of all trouts lurked.
‘You’re in a hurry this morning, my dear. I hope you and your friend are not up to mischief.’
Miss Spender’s mild voice cut across Alice’s thoughts. Alice smiled at her governess. Miss Spender was tall and slim with light brown hair which she wore in a bun from which strands were perpetually escaping. She had a thin, aristocratic face, a high-ridged nose and gold-rimmed spectacles perched over light brown eyes, and she wore long, limp dresses in a variety of dark shades and dark court shoes on her narrow feet. Alice had once asked her why all her dresses were so similar, to which she had replied: ‘I suppose it’s because I feel it marks me out as a governess, my dear.’
But now Alice did not answer her companion but merely asked politely if her teacher would care for another piece of toast or a hot cup of coffee to replace the one she had poured herself earlier and not yet touched.
‘No thank you, dear. I mean to go up to the schoolroom and write a letter to my sister. Are you going into the village this morning? If so, I’ve some other letters I would like you to post.’
It was on the tip of Alice’s tongue to say she was not, but then her conscience stabbed her. She had been forgetful of both Miss Spender and Maddy, had not even sent them a postcard from the seaside, and she could easily persuade Tom to give her a seater into the village. She smiled. ‘Yes, of course I’ll take your letters for posting. Tom is teaching me to ride his bicycle and Uncle John has said that when I can do so safely he will buy me a machine of my own, so riding into the village will be good practice. Can you ride a bicycle, Miss Spender?’
The governess looked alarmed. ‘Well, I can ride a lady’s cycle,’ she said cautiously. ‘But young Tom has a man’s model, I presume?’
Alice looked as perplexed as she felt. ‘Man’s model?’ she repeated. ‘What’s the difference, Miss Spender? It’s a nice bicycle, green with gold writing. I think it’s called a Raleigh . . .’
‘And you’ve been learning to ride on it?’ Miss Spender squeaked. ‘What on earth was Mr Thwaite thinking of to let you do something so unladylike?’ She lowered her voice to a hissing whisper. ‘You must have been showing your – your petticoat . . . oh, Alice my dear, possibly even your knickers! You see, the crossbar, as they call it, means you have to elevate one leg and swing it over the saddle.’
Alice gave a squawk
‘But I want to learn to swim now,’ Alice had said obstinately. ‘I often play by the beck near the bottomless pool, the one where the blacksmith’s daughter drowned. Suppose I were to slip and fall into the water?’
Her uncle had taken her seriously, and an hour after they had returned to Windhover Hall he had called his niece into his study. ‘My new chauffeur has a son a little older than you,’ he had said. ‘I want you to promise me, my dear, that you won’t go near the beck unless you are in his company. I know you’ve befriended young Madeleine, but should the worst happen she would be of little assistance, I imagine.’
Alice had agreed, and now, having selected her plainest cotton smock and a pair of well-worn sandals, she hurried down to the breakfast parlour, anxious to get the meal over so that she could go down to the beck to meet Tom. The swimming lessons had never materialised but he was teaching her to ride his bicycle, though she had not proved an apt pupil, being so anxious not to fall that she clung to her teacher, only letting go when he insisted that she would never learn whilst hanging on to him. Naturally they never bicycled down by the beck, but they usually met there since Tom was a keen fisherman and normally spent the hour or so before she joined him casting a fly over the waters of the bottomless pool, where they both knew the grandfather of all trouts lurked.
‘You’re in a hurry this morning, my dear. I hope you and your friend are not up to mischief.’
Miss Spender’s mild voice cut across Alice’s thoughts. Alice smiled at her governess. Miss Spender was tall and slim with light brown hair which she wore in a bun from which strands were perpetually escaping. She had a thin, aristocratic face, a high-ridged nose and gold-rimmed spectacles perched over light brown eyes, and she wore long, limp dresses in a variety of dark shades and dark court shoes on her narrow feet. Alice had once asked her why all her dresses were so similar, to which she had replied: ‘I suppose it’s because I feel it marks me out as a governess, my dear.’
But now Alice did not answer her companion but merely asked politely if her teacher would care for another piece of toast or a hot cup of coffee to replace the one she had poured herself earlier and not yet touched.
‘No thank you, dear. I mean to go up to the schoolroom and write a letter to my sister. Are you going into the village this morning? If so, I’ve some other letters I would like you to post.’
It was on the tip of Alice’s tongue to say she was not, but then her conscience stabbed her. She had been forgetful of both Miss Spender and Maddy, had not even sent them a postcard from the seaside, and she could easily persuade Tom to give her a seater into the village. She smiled. ‘Yes, of course I’ll take your letters for posting. Tom is teaching me to ride his bicycle and Uncle John has said that when I can do so safely he will buy me a machine of my own, so riding into the village will be good practice. Can you ride a bicycle, Miss Spender?’
The governess looked alarmed. ‘Well, I can ride a lady’s cycle,’ she said cautiously. ‘But young Tom has a man’s model, I presume?’
Alice looked as perplexed as she felt. ‘Man’s model?’ she repeated. ‘What’s the difference, Miss Spender? It’s a nice bicycle, green with gold writing. I think it’s called a Raleigh . . .’
‘And you’ve been learning to ride on it?’ Miss Spender squeaked. ‘What on earth was Mr Thwaite thinking of to let you do something so unladylike?’ She lowered her voice to a hissing whisper. ‘You must have been showing your – your petticoat . . . oh, Alice my dear, possibly even your knickers! You see, the crossbar, as they call it, means you have to elevate one leg and swing it over the saddle.’
Alice gave a squawk
Similar Books
