Read Online A Traveller in Time by Alison Uttley - Free Book Online Page B

the dough into a great creamy-brown bolster, not white like the dough I had seen before. Then she lifted the whole trough down to the floor and set it by the fire for the bread to rise. The young boy moved aside from his place on the hearth. His eyes were fixed upon me, never for a moment did he look away, so that I felt as if a savage beast were watching my movements, ready to spring.
    The custard was poured out into a shallow dish and the girl stirred it with slow, even motion, murmuring a rhyme to keep the eggs from curdling. The second maid gathered up the broken shells and put them in a tub, and crushed them into fragments.
    â€œThem’s ready for washing-day, Penelope,” smiled Dame Cicely. “We uses up all our egg shells for whitening Mistress Babington’s linen. But get ye gone and gather some herbs for the possets.”
    â€œWhere from?” I asked faintly, and my voice sounded husky and dim. “Where from, Aunt Cicely?”
    â€œHark ’ee now! Where from! And where should they be from? Herbs for beer in the fields and hedgerows, but for possets you mun go to the herbgarden, beyond the yew hedge. Pick fennel for the fish, and rue and borage for Mistress Foljambe’s health and a pinch of lemon balm for young Mistress Babington who likes it spread on her pillows. Get aplenty of comfrey and strewing herbs and some bay for the venison stewing in the pot over the fire. Here, Tabitha will go with you and help. She’ll like to get a breath of fresh air and a peep at Tom Snowball who’s trimming the hedges this morning.”
    Tabitha blushed and drew a ruddy curl from under the edge of her cap. I liked Tabitha’s cheerful face. Her arms were as brown as nuts, her skin freckled where the sleeves were rolled back, and her face was good-natured, although she seemed quick-tempered. She lifted a lidded basket from the wall and took my hand in hers, and then we ran out of the white porch into the sunshine. Hens clucked and pecked in the sweepings from the stables, and cocks strolled lazily across the yard. Scents of sweetbriar came from the little hedge by the door, and the spaces of the stones of the path were filled with yellow musk. I looked up at the house, to seek for my room and others, which I had forgotten. The house was larger, another wing was there. There were many windows with small leaded panes in squares and hexagons and tiny casements through which I got a glimpse of striped woollen curtains and brightly woven stuffs. Some of the farm buildings had gone or were part of the house, but the church was the same. Then I noticed that the shields around the tower were clean and fresh with the carvings distinct. A mason was chiselling one of the shields, and Tabitha stopped and looked up at him.
    â€œThou wilt have to be speedy,” she cried, pitching her voice high. “Thou wilt have to hurry with thy carving, Master Stone. Young Master Anthony’s coming home, and he’ll expect to see it finished.”
    Master Stone shouted something which made Tabitha blush.
    â€œImpudent hound!” she exclaimed. Then she pointed out the new emblazon on which the mason was working. “A.B. and M.D. That’s for Anthony Babington and Mary Draycot. Her arms are put alongside his, as the custom is.”
    We passed the oak-studded door of the church, and the yew-trees in the churchyard, and took a path skirting a lawn smooth as green silk with a cedar-tree in the centre. On the border grew an oak-tree which I recognized as the giant tree under which I had rested with Uncle Barnabas. The forking boughs and the horizontal branch were the same, but the girth of the tree was smaller.
    Uncle Barnabas! The memory shot through me and I struggled as in a dream. Where was he? Then he faded from my mind as Tabitha’s warm fingers drew me on. Our path was separated from the green by a yew hedge with peacock and ball trimly cut. Through a wicket I saw a lady pacing under the