Ellis Peters - George Felse 06 - Black Is The Colour Of My True Love's Heart

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Authors: Ellis Peters
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irresolute mouth into arduous but instant serenity. “Going for a walk?”
    “Why don’t you come with us?” suggested Tossa impulsively, and her eyes signalled apology to Dominic for a rash generosity he might not approve. But the girl was so solitary and gauche, and her grey eyes looked out so defensively from behind the delicate, half-formed face, like lonely wild things in hiding. “You know all the best places. We haven’t seen anything yet.”
    “I’d love to, thank you… but I can’t. I’ve got to go in now. I’ve got some jobs to do for my uncle in the office. I only came out to run down and have a look at the swans’ nest. There’s a pair nesting down there under the alders, on a tiny island.” She pointed rather jerkily, turning her face away from them. “But be careful if you go to look, don’t go too near, will you? The pen’s all right, but if the cob’s there he can be rather dangerous.”
    “We saw you come out,” said Dominic casually, and saw the faint colour flow and ebb again in her solemn face, and the grey eyes in ambush flare into panic for an instant. “We hoped you were going to have an afternoon off, you spend enough time indoors. Can’t the work wait for today?”
    But she did not want it to wait, that was clear. She began to sidle round them, intent on escape. “No, I’d rather get it done. Things like the press-cutting book and the photographs get into arrears very easily, you see, and we don’t just keep them for interest, the record’s needed for reference. But, look, if you go on this way, along the river, you’ll come to the summer pavilion, and from there you can work round through the woods to the pagoda. There used to be a heronry there at the pool, but the last pair flew away last year. You will excuse me, won’t you?” She was backing away from them towards the house, ten yards distant before she stopped talking, and turned, and broke into a run. The feverish sound of her voice clung unpleasantly in their ears as she dwindled, sometimes running, sometimes walking hastily and unsteadily, her track a shaky line in the wet grass.
    “It seemed only fair to let her know we’d seen her,” said Dominic dubiously, meeting Tossa’s eyes. “She hadn’t said anything that
couldn’t
be true, up to then.”
    “I know, I was glad you said it. I don’t think we’ll go and look for the swan’s nest, somehow, do you? It’ll be there, of course. She’s quick, she wouldn’t give herself an excuse that could be knocked down just by going and looking.” Tossa stooped and picked up from the grass a couple of tiny, cross-shaped blossoms that had fallen from Felicity’s hair as she combed it nervously with her fingers. “Lilac… look, what a colour! So deep, and really almost pure blue instead of purple…”
    She stood for a moment holding them, and then turned her palm and let them fall again sadly into the turf. “I suppose he turned on her. Something happened.”
    “I suppose so,” said Dominic. “Probably told her to run away and play with her dolls.”
    “Isn’t it hell,” sighed Tossa, “being fifteen?”
     
    The coach parties came back hungry and in high spirits just after half past four, and tumbled up the steps into the hall for tea. The noise, now that they had sorted themselves out into congenial groups and had plenty to talk about, was deafening. Arundale, if he had been there to hear, would have been satisfied of the success of the course by the soaring decibel count. There were no clouds, no shadows, no disagreements, no clashes of temperament, and nobody even wondered why; until five o’clock struck, and Professor Penrose came in to hasten the laggards along to the drawing-room for his next lecture, and looking round the emptying room, suddenly asked. “Where’s young Galt?”
     
    He was not with the other artists, already on station in the window-embrasure of the yellow drawing-room. He was not in the hall, lingering with the scones and

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