strange family this was. Mrs. St. Aubyn was not in the least like her son or daughter. I remembered Aunt Sophie’s saying that she had lived very merrily and had not really cared about anything except enjoying life. It must be very different for her now. But it occurred to me that she might enjoy being an invalid and lying on a couch dressed in chiffon and lace.
People were very strange.
Tamarisk and I were becoming quite friendly in a somewhat belligerent way. She was always trying to get the better of me, and to tell the truth I rather enjoyed it. She had more respect for me than she had for Rachel and when I contradicted her, which I did frequently, she enjoyed the verbal battles between us. She was faintly contemptuous of Rachel and pretended to be of me, but I think that in a way she admired me.
Sometimes in the afternoons we used to walk together on the St. Aubyn estate which was very extensive. She liked to show her superior knowledge by pointing out the landmarks. It was in this way that I visited Flora and Lucy Lane.
They lived in a cottage not far from St. Aubyn’s and had both been nurses to Crispin, she told me.
“People always love their old nannies,” she went on, ‘particularly if their mothers and fathers don’t take much notice of them. I like old Nanny Compton quite a bit, though she fusses and is always saying “Don’t do that.” Crispin thinks a lot of Lucy Lane. What a funny name!
Sounds like a street. I suppose he doesn’t remember Flora. He had her first, you see, and she went all funny. Then Lucy took over. He looks after them both. Makes sure they’re all right. You wouldn’t expect Crispin to bother, would you? “
“I don’t know,” I said.
“I’ve never really met him.”
There was a cold note in my voice which was there whenever I said his name, which was not often, of course. I would recall his voice when I thought of him asking who was the plain child.
“Well, they live in this cottage. I might have had Lucy for my nurse, but she had left us when I was born to look after her sister because their mother had died. Flora had to be looked after. She does odd things.”
“What sort of things?”
“She carries a doll round with her and thinks it’s a baby. She sings to it. I’ve heard her. She sits in the garden at the
back of the cottage near the old mulberry bush and talks to it. Lucy doesn’t like people talking to her. She says it upsets her. We could call on them and you could see her. “
“Would they want us to?”
“What does that matter? They’re on the estate, aren’t they?”
“It’s their home and, as your brother nobly gave it to them, perhaps they should have their privacy respected.”
“Ho, ho, ho,” mocked Tamarisk.
“I’m going anyway.”
And I could not resist going with her.
The cottage stood alone. There was a small garden in the front.
Tamarisk opened the gate and went up the path. I followed.
“Anyone at home?” she shouted.
A woman came to the door. I knew at once that she was Miss Lucy Lane.
Her hair was going grey and she had an anxious expression which looked as though it might be perpetual. She was neatly dressed in a grey blouse and skirt.
“I’ve brought Frederica Hammond to see you,” said Tamarisk.
“Oh, that’s nice,” said Lucy Lane.
“Come in.”
We went into a small hall and through to a small, neat, highly polished sitting-room.
“So you’re the new pupil up at the House,” said Miss Lucy Lane to me.
“Miss Cardingham’s niece.”
“Yes,” I replied.
“And taking lessons with Miss Tamarisk. That’s nice.”
We sat down.
“And how is Flora today?” asked Tamarisk, who was disappointed because she wasn’t there for me to see.
“She’s in her room. I won’t disturb her. And how are you liking Harper’s Green, miss?”
“It’s very pleasant,” I told her.
“And your poor mama … she’s ill, 1 understand.”
I said that was so and half-expected her to say
People were very strange.
Tamarisk and I were becoming quite friendly in a somewhat belligerent way. She was always trying to get the better of me, and to tell the truth I rather enjoyed it. She had more respect for me than she had for Rachel and when I contradicted her, which I did frequently, she enjoyed the verbal battles between us. She was faintly contemptuous of Rachel and pretended to be of me, but I think that in a way she admired me.
Sometimes in the afternoons we used to walk together on the St. Aubyn estate which was very extensive. She liked to show her superior knowledge by pointing out the landmarks. It was in this way that I visited Flora and Lucy Lane.
They lived in a cottage not far from St. Aubyn’s and had both been nurses to Crispin, she told me.
“People always love their old nannies,” she went on, ‘particularly if their mothers and fathers don’t take much notice of them. I like old Nanny Compton quite a bit, though she fusses and is always saying “Don’t do that.” Crispin thinks a lot of Lucy Lane. What a funny name!
Sounds like a street. I suppose he doesn’t remember Flora. He had her first, you see, and she went all funny. Then Lucy took over. He looks after them both. Makes sure they’re all right. You wouldn’t expect Crispin to bother, would you? “
“I don’t know,” I said.
“I’ve never really met him.”
There was a cold note in my voice which was there whenever I said his name, which was not often, of course. I would recall his voice when I thought of him asking who was the plain child.
“Well, they live in this cottage. I might have had Lucy for my nurse, but she had left us when I was born to look after her sister because their mother had died. Flora had to be looked after. She does odd things.”
“What sort of things?”
“She carries a doll round with her and thinks it’s a baby. She sings to it. I’ve heard her. She sits in the garden at the
back of the cottage near the old mulberry bush and talks to it. Lucy doesn’t like people talking to her. She says it upsets her. We could call on them and you could see her. “
“Would they want us to?”
“What does that matter? They’re on the estate, aren’t they?”
“It’s their home and, as your brother nobly gave it to them, perhaps they should have their privacy respected.”
“Ho, ho, ho,” mocked Tamarisk.
“I’m going anyway.”
And I could not resist going with her.
The cottage stood alone. There was a small garden in the front.
Tamarisk opened the gate and went up the path. I followed.
“Anyone at home?” she shouted.
A woman came to the door. I knew at once that she was Miss Lucy Lane.
Her hair was going grey and she had an anxious expression which looked as though it might be perpetual. She was neatly dressed in a grey blouse and skirt.
“I’ve brought Frederica Hammond to see you,” said Tamarisk.
“Oh, that’s nice,” said Lucy Lane.
“Come in.”
We went into a small hall and through to a small, neat, highly polished sitting-room.
“So you’re the new pupil up at the House,” said Miss Lucy Lane to me.
“Miss Cardingham’s niece.”
“Yes,” I replied.
“And taking lessons with Miss Tamarisk. That’s nice.”
We sat down.
“And how is Flora today?” asked Tamarisk, who was disappointed because she wasn’t there for me to see.
“She’s in her room. I won’t disturb her. And how are you liking Harper’s Green, miss?”
“It’s very pleasant,” I told her.
“And your poor mama … she’s ill, 1 understand.”
I said that was so and half-expected her to say
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