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Authors: Victoria Holt
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mullioned windows which looked out on a lawn. The curtains were thick and dark, shutting out much of the light. I immediately noticed the picture of the Crucifixion on the wall. It shocked me because it was so realistic. I could distinctly see the nails in the hands and feet and the red blood which dripped from them. It horrified me and I could not bear to look at it. There was another picture, of a saint, I presumed, because there was a halo above his head:
he was pierced with arrows. There was yet another of a man tied to a stake. He was standing in water and 1 realized that his fate would be to drown slowly as the tide rose. The cruelty of men seemed to be the theme of all these pictures. They made me shudder. It occurred to me that this room had been made dark and sombre by Mr. Dorian.
Rachel came in. Her face lit up at the sight of me.
“I’m glad Tamarisk didn’t come,” she said.
“She makes fun of everything.”
“You don’t want to take any notice of her,” I said.
“I don’t want to but I do,” replied Rachel.
“We’re going to have tea here. My aunt is coming to meet you.”
Not the uncle, I hoped.
Rachel’s Aunt Hilda came in then. She was tall and rather angular. Her hair was drawn back tightly from her face which ought to have made her look severe, but it did not. She looked apprehensive, vulnerable. She was very different from the uncle who looked so sure that he was always right and so good.
“Aunt Hilda,” said Rachel, ‘this is Frederica. “
“How are you?” said Aunt Hilda, taking my hand in her cold one.
“Rachel tells me you and she have become good friends. It is good of you to come and visit us. We’ll have tea now.”
It was brought by the maid who had let me in. There was bread and butter, scones and seed cake.
“We always say grace before any meal in this house,” Aunt Hilda told me. She spoke as though she were repeating a lesson.
The grace was long, expressing the gratitude of miserable sinners for benefits received.
When she had served tea. Aunt Hilda asked me questions about my mother and how I was fitting into life in Harper’s Green.
It was rather dull compared with tea at St. Aubyn’s. 1 wished that Tamarisk had been with us, for, although she could be quite rude at times, at least she was lively.
To my dismay, just as we were finishing tea, Mr. Dorian came in.
He surveyed us with interest and I was aware that his eyes rested on me.
“Ah,” he said.
“A tea-party.”
I thought Aunt Hilda looked a little guilty, as though she were caught indulging in some bacchanalian feast; but he was not angry. He stood rubbing his hands together. They must have been very dry because they made a faint rasping noise which I found repulsive. He continued to look at me.
“I suppose you are just about the same age as my niece,” he said.
“I am thirteen.”
“A child still. On the threshold of life. You will find that life is full of pitfalls, my dear. You will have to be on guard against the Devil and all his wiles.”
We had left the table and I was seated on a sofa. He took a place beside me and moved close to me.
“Do you say your prayers every night, my dear?” he asked.
“Weller …”
He wagged a finger at me and lightly touched my cheek. I shrank away from him, but he did not seem to be aware of this. His eyes were very bright.
He went on: “You kneel by your bed … in your nightgown.” The tip of his tongue protruded slightly and touched his upper lip before it disappeared.
“And you pray to God to forgive you for the sins you have committed during the day. You are young, but the young can be sinful.
Remember that you could be carried off to face your Maker at any moment.
“In the midst of life we are in death.” You yes, even you, my child could be carried off with all your sins upon you to face your Maker.
”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I said, trying to move away from him without appearing to do so.
“No,
he was pierced with arrows. There was yet another of a man tied to a stake. He was standing in water and 1 realized that his fate would be to drown slowly as the tide rose. The cruelty of men seemed to be the theme of all these pictures. They made me shudder. It occurred to me that this room had been made dark and sombre by Mr. Dorian.
Rachel came in. Her face lit up at the sight of me.
“I’m glad Tamarisk didn’t come,” she said.
“She makes fun of everything.”
“You don’t want to take any notice of her,” I said.
“I don’t want to but I do,” replied Rachel.
“We’re going to have tea here. My aunt is coming to meet you.”
Not the uncle, I hoped.
Rachel’s Aunt Hilda came in then. She was tall and rather angular. Her hair was drawn back tightly from her face which ought to have made her look severe, but it did not. She looked apprehensive, vulnerable. She was very different from the uncle who looked so sure that he was always right and so good.
“Aunt Hilda,” said Rachel, ‘this is Frederica. “
“How are you?” said Aunt Hilda, taking my hand in her cold one.
“Rachel tells me you and she have become good friends. It is good of you to come and visit us. We’ll have tea now.”
It was brought by the maid who had let me in. There was bread and butter, scones and seed cake.
“We always say grace before any meal in this house,” Aunt Hilda told me. She spoke as though she were repeating a lesson.
The grace was long, expressing the gratitude of miserable sinners for benefits received.
When she had served tea. Aunt Hilda asked me questions about my mother and how I was fitting into life in Harper’s Green.
It was rather dull compared with tea at St. Aubyn’s. 1 wished that Tamarisk had been with us, for, although she could be quite rude at times, at least she was lively.
To my dismay, just as we were finishing tea, Mr. Dorian came in.
He surveyed us with interest and I was aware that his eyes rested on me.
“Ah,” he said.
“A tea-party.”
I thought Aunt Hilda looked a little guilty, as though she were caught indulging in some bacchanalian feast; but he was not angry. He stood rubbing his hands together. They must have been very dry because they made a faint rasping noise which I found repulsive. He continued to look at me.
“I suppose you are just about the same age as my niece,” he said.
“I am thirteen.”
“A child still. On the threshold of life. You will find that life is full of pitfalls, my dear. You will have to be on guard against the Devil and all his wiles.”
We had left the table and I was seated on a sofa. He took a place beside me and moved close to me.
“Do you say your prayers every night, my dear?” he asked.
“Weller …”
He wagged a finger at me and lightly touched my cheek. I shrank away from him, but he did not seem to be aware of this. His eyes were very bright.
He went on: “You kneel by your bed … in your nightgown.” The tip of his tongue protruded slightly and touched his upper lip before it disappeared.
“And you pray to God to forgive you for the sins you have committed during the day. You are young, but the young can be sinful.
Remember that you could be carried off to face your Maker at any moment.
“In the midst of life we are in death.” You yes, even you, my child could be carried off with all your sins upon you to face your Maker.
”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I said, trying to move away from him without appearing to do so.
“No,
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