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Authors: Catherine Shaw
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other in low tones, wasting no words, and I found myself alone.
After a few moments, I returned to the parlour, and found the three ladies together, talking about quite other things. Mrs Bryce-Fortescue asked no questions, of course. I gave her a complete account of all that had occurred later on in the evening, and she exclaimed with anger and annoyance when she heard all that Sylvia had said. ‘Drat the girl!’ she cried. ‘Could she not have the sense to hide George’s trip to Paris, or at the very least the fact that he was extremely angry at her not returning?’
I wondered very much if Sylvia would mention the interview during the afternoon, but she volunteered nothing. I suppose that if she spoke about it at all, it would be to Camilla.I dearly wished to know if she would do so, and determined to keep my eye on her carefully for the rest of the day. But as it turned out, there was nothing to keep my eye on, for we remained sociably together, talking and working, until supper, and at supper Mrs Bryce-Fortescue persuaded Sylvia to take a sleeping draught, telling her that she looked quite worn out, as indeed she did. As a result, Sylvia retired before any of us, and I talked with Mrs Bryce-Fortescue as Camilla went out for a turn in the gloaming. I went to bed quite early, and heard Camilla come up into her room and go to bed. I admit that I opened my secret door and listened to hear if the two girls would join each other for a nocturnal talk, but they did not; Sylvia was no doubt deeply asleep. Perhaps they will talk when she awakens; they may not, as Sylvia seems a very introverted type of person, but if they do, I feel I simply must know about it! Which explains why I am up already, well before the arrival of my morning cup of tea (although not so early that the birds have not yet begun their day), sitting in my narrow bed with the cosy quilt drawn all around me, writing on my knees, with my ears pricked up like an eager hound’s for any sound from next door. How dreadful – I sound like some pointy-nosed old maid, desperately curious about her neighbours’ activities! Ah well, one cannot be a detective (and how much, how sincerely I hope that I
am
a detective, however amateur, and am not merely playing at being a detective) without a dose of natural curiosity. If you do not think me very bad, Dora dear, then it must be all right.
Your loving sister
Vanessa
Maidstone Hall, Monday, June 13th, 1892
My darling twin,
I am writing to you by the light of a candle in my room, preparatory to going to nest under my quilt, which has become one of my dearest friends within this household. Another, believe it or not, is – but no. Let me tell you all the news in order.
To begin with, Sylvia did not wake while I was writing to you yesterday morning; she slept late, and I kept close to either her or Camilla till midday. After luncheon, the two girls once again declared their intention of going for a ramble around the lake until tea, but Mrs Bryce-Fortescue, forestalling my desires out of politeness, or perhaps because they corresponded to her own purposes, turned to me with great cheerfulness and said,
‘How lovely for Vanessa! She has not had a chance to see the grounds yet, and the lake is one of the most delightful spots. Have you a pair of rubber boots, dear? It’s safest to wear them about the lake. I’ll find some for you.’
The girls made no protest, and perhaps I only imagined a slight sulkiness in Sylvia’s mood at first, as the three of us went off together. Camilla behaved most naturally, chatting to me and asking a great many questions about my life and activities. I had to quickly supply some details corresponding to the story Mrs Bryce-Fortescue and I had invented together, but the conversation soon centred about the fascinating subject of my schoolteaching, so that there was no need to dissimulate. I waxed enthusiastic, and bothSylvia and Camilla were deeply interested in every tidbit.
After a few moments, I returned to the parlour, and found the three ladies together, talking about quite other things. Mrs Bryce-Fortescue asked no questions, of course. I gave her a complete account of all that had occurred later on in the evening, and she exclaimed with anger and annoyance when she heard all that Sylvia had said. ‘Drat the girl!’ she cried. ‘Could she not have the sense to hide George’s trip to Paris, or at the very least the fact that he was extremely angry at her not returning?’
I wondered very much if Sylvia would mention the interview during the afternoon, but she volunteered nothing. I suppose that if she spoke about it at all, it would be to Camilla.I dearly wished to know if she would do so, and determined to keep my eye on her carefully for the rest of the day. But as it turned out, there was nothing to keep my eye on, for we remained sociably together, talking and working, until supper, and at supper Mrs Bryce-Fortescue persuaded Sylvia to take a sleeping draught, telling her that she looked quite worn out, as indeed she did. As a result, Sylvia retired before any of us, and I talked with Mrs Bryce-Fortescue as Camilla went out for a turn in the gloaming. I went to bed quite early, and heard Camilla come up into her room and go to bed. I admit that I opened my secret door and listened to hear if the two girls would join each other for a nocturnal talk, but they did not; Sylvia was no doubt deeply asleep. Perhaps they will talk when she awakens; they may not, as Sylvia seems a very introverted type of person, but if they do, I feel I simply must know about it! Which explains why I am up already, well before the arrival of my morning cup of tea (although not so early that the birds have not yet begun their day), sitting in my narrow bed with the cosy quilt drawn all around me, writing on my knees, with my ears pricked up like an eager hound’s for any sound from next door. How dreadful – I sound like some pointy-nosed old maid, desperately curious about her neighbours’ activities! Ah well, one cannot be a detective (and how much, how sincerely I hope that I
am
a detective, however amateur, and am not merely playing at being a detective) without a dose of natural curiosity. If you do not think me very bad, Dora dear, then it must be all right.
Your loving sister
Vanessa
Maidstone Hall, Monday, June 13th, 1892
My darling twin,
I am writing to you by the light of a candle in my room, preparatory to going to nest under my quilt, which has become one of my dearest friends within this household. Another, believe it or not, is – but no. Let me tell you all the news in order.
To begin with, Sylvia did not wake while I was writing to you yesterday morning; she slept late, and I kept close to either her or Camilla till midday. After luncheon, the two girls once again declared their intention of going for a ramble around the lake until tea, but Mrs Bryce-Fortescue, forestalling my desires out of politeness, or perhaps because they corresponded to her own purposes, turned to me with great cheerfulness and said,
‘How lovely for Vanessa! She has not had a chance to see the grounds yet, and the lake is one of the most delightful spots. Have you a pair of rubber boots, dear? It’s safest to wear them about the lake. I’ll find some for you.’
The girls made no protest, and perhaps I only imagined a slight sulkiness in Sylvia’s mood at first, as the three of us went off together. Camilla behaved most naturally, chatting to me and asking a great many questions about my life and activities. I had to quickly supply some details corresponding to the story Mrs Bryce-Fortescue and I had invented together, but the conversation soon centred about the fascinating subject of my schoolteaching, so that there was no need to dissimulate. I waxed enthusiastic, and bothSylvia and Camilla were deeply interested in every tidbit.
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