Read Online The Annam Jewel by Patricia Wentworth - Free Book Online

just a teeny bit cold,” she said.
    Peter put his coat on her. The wind grew colder. He looked about and found a hollow, where they rested for a while. The sky began to darken and the clouds to hang down. There was not a house in sight.
    Peter put down his bag and the now empty basket and walked a little way. About a quarter of a mile farther on the ground began to slope downwards. He could see trees in the distance.
    Peter stood still and looked at the trees. There was a dreadful heaviness upon him. He had brought Rose Ellen here, and he must find shelter for her. The wind promised a stormy night, and Rose Ellen was too little to be out all night in the rain. Peter stood there, frowning dreadfully; and, still frowning, he put up the first real prayer that he had ever prayed.
    â€œI don’t know what to do,” he said. “I don’t know where there’s a place for Rose Ellen. I expect You know. I expect You are bound to know. There must be a place for her, and a proper home, not an institution one like that beastly St. Gunburga’s, because she’s too little not to have a proper home and someone to take care of her. And please let us find it quickly, because it’s going to rain like anything, and Rose Ellen isn’t old enough to be out all night in the ram, she really isn’t.”
    Peter concluded this very unorthodox prayer in the orthodox manner, and went back to Rose Ellen. He found her shivering in spite of his coat. They went on, following the downward slope and making for the trees. Long before they reached them, rain had begun to fall in torrents, soaking them to the skin. Rose Ellen walked more and more slowly. Then, with the coming of darkness, the rain ceased and the wind drove a track through the clouds, leaving a clear space from which a cold, white moon looked out.
    They came through the trees, black trees dripping mournfully, and found themselves on the edge of a metalled road. A few hundred yards down this road a village church stood, ivy-covered. The ivy dripped too. The road took a sharp turn just here and ran between high stone walls.
    Peter’s spirits rose. A church was no good; churches were always shut. But opposite the church, behind the other wall, was a house, and it seemed inconceivable to him that any house should not mean at least temporary shelter for Rose Ellen. As the thought went through his mind, a door in the right-hand wall opened suddenly, and a maid-servant came running out. She had a cloak over her head, and she seemed to be in a hurry. Peter heard a man whistle a few yards down the road. The girl ran to meet him.
    Without an instant’s hesitation Peter took Rose Ellen by the hand and went through the door in the wall. They found themselves in a funny, narrow alleyway with flagstones underfoot and very high brick walls on either hand; it was almost like a tunnel. At the far end of it light streamed from an open door—light and warmth. Peter looked in, and saw a large scullery opening into the kitchen beyond. He knocked and waited. Rose Ellen pressed against him, trembling with cold. No one came. He knocked again. And then Rose Ellen did a surprising thing. Quite suddenly she pulled her hand out of Peter’s and ran into the house. Peter followed.
    The kitchen was empty. Peter looked longingly at the generous fire, but Rose Ellen had already run out into the passage beyond. There was nobody in the passage, but a sound of voices and cheerful laughter came from a room on their left.
    Rose Ellen ran along the passage until she came to the back stairs. She was on the tenth step when Peter’s whisper reached her, “Rose Ellen, come down!” but Rose Ellen never turned her head. Peter caught her up as she opened the door which led on to the first-floor landing. Her little, drenched feet had left wet marks on every step.
    â€œCome back, Rose Ellen!” said Peter.
    Rose Ellen shook her head.
    â€œAugustabel won’t go