Read Online Angel in Scarlet by Jennifer Wilde - Free Book Online Page A

pinched me back. We both burst into titters of laughter then, and Eppie grinned and said I was still her friend even if I was a snob. We sauntered on down the street, full skirts swaying.
    Eppie’s dress was faded pink cotton, mine pale lavender with a ruffled white cotton petticoat beneath. My low-healed soft black leather shoes were scuffed, and I wore no stockings. Hated stockings. Still hated shoes, too, for that matter, but I always wore them now, however reluctantly. My dress was old, the hem too short, revealing my ankles, and it was too tight at the waist, too tight across the bosom, too. That bosom was the bane of my existence, my breasts full and round and, to my way of thinking, much too large. The low cut bodice left a goodly amount of them exposed. It wouldn’t be so bad if the rest of me was rounded, but I was skinny as a rail everywhere else and felt like a freak.
    â€œDon’t you ever think about doin’ it?” Eppie inquired as we approached the square.
    â€œNever,” I lied.
    â€œThat ain’t even natural ,” she protested.
    â€œI’ve more elevating things to think about,” I said airily.
    â€œBosh! You’re lyin’ through your teeth, Angie Howard. I’ll bet you do think about it, too. I’ll bet when you’re alone in bed at night you think about it a lot. Every girl does.”
    â€œNot me.”
    â€œLiar!”
    â€œI don’t happen to be obsessed with boys like some people I could name. There’s more to life than—than wrestling with a sweaty lout in a haystack, letting him kiss you, letting him in vade you.”
    â€œMaybe so,” Eppie retorted, “but I can’t think of anything more plea sant.”
    I had to smile at that. Eppie giggled, pleased with herself as we sat down on the bench in the square. Sunlight brushed the pale green grass and gleamed on the old bronze cannon that had been here since Cromwell’s time. Eppie spread out her pink skirts and gazed down High Street, still hoping to see a pair of shapely masculine shoulders appear. The sky was a pale, pale blue, cloudless. The apple tree at the edge of the square was abloom with fragile blossoms that filled the air with fragrant perfume. I felt I was in some strange kind of limbo, suspended, waiting for something to happen. I felt that way most of the time these days.
    â€œNot much goin’ on in the village,” Eppie said. “I wish it were market day. Things’d be hummin’ then for sure.”
    I didn’t answer. I watched a robin hopping on the ground, looking for a worm. It finally flew up to perch on the cannon, its throat vibrating as it warbled a song. A bell tolled in the steeple of the old church beyond the square. The robin flew away, and a few minutes later a rowdy group of boys poured out of the school, laughing, shouting, larking about with boisterous glee. They filled the sleepy village with vitality for a short while, then dispersed, going their separate ways. The village seemed quieter than ever after the brief explosion of youthful exuberance. Most of the women with their shopping baskets had disappeared, and High Street was almost deserted now, deep gray shadows spreading across the sun-washed cobbles.
    My father no longer taught at the school. He had given up his classes a year ago, on Doctor Crandall’s advice. Father wasn’t ill , of course, not really, but he had begun to lose weight, begun to grow tired, had developed a bad cough. Doctor Crandall told him he should take it easy. Father quit teaching and devoted all his time to the History. He still had his private income, a legacy left to him by an aunt who had died years ago, so we weren’t strapped for money, but there were fewer new dresses for Solonge and Janine, less household money for Marie. She considered it a woeful hardship, grumbling more than ever, saying things would be much easier if we sold the cottage and moved to London and