Read Online Tattycoram by Audrey Thomas - Free Book Online Page B

“Oh dear, oh dear, butter tarts and jam sponge,” whereupon he promptly got down and went over to his grandmother.
    â€œWhat a nice big brother you are,” Mrs. Hogarth exclaimed, and I left the children to the adoring women, after making sure that the tea trolley was set up and all that was needed was boiling water.
    While the kettle boiled in the kitchen, I wrapped the cake in parchment paper and then again in heavy brown paper, ready for the morning.
    Mothering Sunday being the fourth Sunday in Lent, Mr. Dickens said he had discussed it with his wife and they both thought I should be given the Monday off as well, so that I could have my three full days away, arriving back in London on the Tuesday evening.
    I rose very early the next morning and tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen in my stockinged feet, having left my shoes and my outer things on a chair there the night before. I quietlymade up the fire, removed the cake from the larder and put it in my basket. My mistress had given me a lovely broad blue ribbon to tie around it once I got home. Cook, who came out of her closet just as I was leaving, handed me a packet of bread and cheese, an onion and a stone bottle of ale. She warned me not to talk to strange men. I was so happy I kissed her, which surprised us both.
    I walked through the quiet London streets, still shining from yesterday’s rain, and over the bridge to take the coach to Guildford. After that I would walk the six miles home. Because it was Sunday, there was not much traffic and we made good time. The coachman set me down just outside Guildford and pointed me east towards Shere. Mr. Dickens, who was a great walker himself, had consulted a gazetteer and drawn me a little map so I should not get lost. He advised me not to tell “the ladies” I intended to walk part of the way — “You know how ladies are.” He also gave me fourpence to stop at a public house, should I become thirsty on my travels.
    The March sun was warm, not hot, just right for walking, and I disturbed no one as I walked along, smelling the sweet smell of the ploughed fields after rain. During my long years in London, I had forgotten what country air smelled like, and I breathed deeply as I walked along, drinking it in like cool water. And country scenes: young lambs in a meadow, a hare sitting up in a field, an old white horse which trotted slowly up to greet me over a fence. As I walked, I was accompanied by the piping and the warbling of a blackbird. The road was not straight but curved along below the rounded hills of the North Downs, and I felt as though London were a hundred miles away, not less than thirty.
    There were times when I seemed to feel the presence ofsomeone beside me, a small girl in a faded blue dress, tugging impatiently at my shawl, enticing me to throw down my basket, rid myself of my shoes and come running across the fields with her to see what we could see. And oh, it was tempting, but I was a grown-up now, or nearly, with a situation and responsibilities; that little ghost-girl was no more than a dream of long ago.
    Two tramps raised what was left of their hats to me, but they did not bother me or ask for money. However, I went on a bit before I spread my shawl on a dampish rock and stopped to eat my breakfast. I knew I should probably share — that would be the Christian thing to do — but I wanted to be alone, I was so enjoying my solitude. I thought to myself, “At this moment no one knows exactly where I am. No bells will ring save church bells, and should I meet any little children, they will be someone else’s.”
    After my meal, I did not have too far to walk before I rounded a corner and I was there. Past the Lodge and a new, handsome house nearby, past the Pound House and the cottage next to it . . . nearly running now . . . down Rectory Lane and across the stream at the ford (oh blessed, blessed music of that fast-flowing water) and into Lower