blundered quickly in, shielding her eyes as she did so.
Someone gripped her arm and led her further into the room. It was Mrs Mark, who said âPoor Dora, Iâm so sorry we scared you away. I hope you didnât get lost out there in the garden?â
âNo, but I lost my shoes,â said Dora. Her feet felt very cold and wet now. She moved forward instinctively and sat on the edge of the table. People clustered about her.
âYou lost your shoes ?â said Paul in a disapproving tone. He came and stood in front of her.
âI kicked them off somewhere near the edge of the stone steps, the ones down to the path,â said Dora, âand then I couldnât find them.â The simplicity of this explanation gave her a curious comfort.
James Tayper Pace came forward and said, âLet a search party be organized! It shall consist of Toby and me, as we know Mrs Greenfield already. Flash lights will be distributed. Meanwhile Mrs Mark can do the introductions.â
âIâll go too,â said Paul. Dora knew that he was always certain that he could find anything that she had lost. She hoped that he would find her shoes, and not one of the other two. It would put him in a better humour.
Swinging her cold wet legs in their torn and muddy stockings Dora fixed her gaze upon the one remaining familiar face, that of Mrs Mark. A lot of people stood before her, staring at her. She did not dare to look at them; yet everything was so awful now that she was almost past caring what anyone saw or thought.
âYou must meet our little group,â said Mrs Mark. âToby has been introduced already.â
Dora continued to look at Mrs Mark, noticing how her rosy face, devoid of make-up, contrived to be shiny and downy at the same time, and how exceedingly long her plait of fair hair must be when it was unrolled. Mrs Mark wore a blue open-necked shirt and a brown cotton skirt above shaggy bare legs and canvas slippers.
âThis is Peter Topglass,â said Mrs Mark. A tall baldish man with spectacles swayed in a bow to Dora.
âAnd this is Michael Meade, our leader.â A long-nosed man with pale floppy brown hair and blue eyes set too close together smiled a rather tired and anxious smile.
âAnd this is Mark Strafford, with the beaver.â A large man with bushy hair and a ginger beard and a slightly sarcastic expression came forward to nod to Dora. He smelt strongly of disinfectant.
âI am Mister Mrs Mark, if you see what I mean,â said Mark Strafford.
âAnd this is Patchway, who is a tower of strength to us in the market-garden.â A dirty-looking man with a decrepit hat on, who looked as if he did not belong and was indifferent to not belonging, gazed morosely at Dora.
âAnd this is Father Bob Joyce, our Father Confessor.â The cassocked priest who had just come into the room bustled up to shake Doraâs hand. He had a bulging face and eyes glittering with conviction. He smiled, revealing a dark mouth full of much-filled teeth, and then gave Dora a piercing look which made her feel shifty.
âAnd this is Sister Ursula, the extern sister, who is our good liaison officer with the Abbey.â
Sister Ursula beamed at Dora. She had dark high-arching eyebrows and a commanding expression. Dora felt she would never forgive her for the handkerchief incident.
âWe are very glad to see you here,â said Sister Ursula. âWe have remembered you in our prayers.â
Dora blushed with mingled indignation and embarrassment. She managed a smile.
âAnd this,â said Mrs Mark, âis Catherine Fawley, our little saint, whom Iâm sure youâll love as we all do.â Dora turned to look at the rather beautiful girl with the long face.
âHello,â said Dora.
âHello,â said Catherine Fawley.
Perhaps she was not really beautiful after all, Dora thought with relief. There was something timid and withdrawn in her face which
Someone gripped her arm and led her further into the room. It was Mrs Mark, who said âPoor Dora, Iâm so sorry we scared you away. I hope you didnât get lost out there in the garden?â
âNo, but I lost my shoes,â said Dora. Her feet felt very cold and wet now. She moved forward instinctively and sat on the edge of the table. People clustered about her.
âYou lost your shoes ?â said Paul in a disapproving tone. He came and stood in front of her.
âI kicked them off somewhere near the edge of the stone steps, the ones down to the path,â said Dora, âand then I couldnât find them.â The simplicity of this explanation gave her a curious comfort.
James Tayper Pace came forward and said, âLet a search party be organized! It shall consist of Toby and me, as we know Mrs Greenfield already. Flash lights will be distributed. Meanwhile Mrs Mark can do the introductions.â
âIâll go too,â said Paul. Dora knew that he was always certain that he could find anything that she had lost. She hoped that he would find her shoes, and not one of the other two. It would put him in a better humour.
Swinging her cold wet legs in their torn and muddy stockings Dora fixed her gaze upon the one remaining familiar face, that of Mrs Mark. A lot of people stood before her, staring at her. She did not dare to look at them; yet everything was so awful now that she was almost past caring what anyone saw or thought.
âYou must meet our little group,â said Mrs Mark. âToby has been introduced already.â
Dora continued to look at Mrs Mark, noticing how her rosy face, devoid of make-up, contrived to be shiny and downy at the same time, and how exceedingly long her plait of fair hair must be when it was unrolled. Mrs Mark wore a blue open-necked shirt and a brown cotton skirt above shaggy bare legs and canvas slippers.
âThis is Peter Topglass,â said Mrs Mark. A tall baldish man with spectacles swayed in a bow to Dora.
âAnd this is Michael Meade, our leader.â A long-nosed man with pale floppy brown hair and blue eyes set too close together smiled a rather tired and anxious smile.
âAnd this is Mark Strafford, with the beaver.â A large man with bushy hair and a ginger beard and a slightly sarcastic expression came forward to nod to Dora. He smelt strongly of disinfectant.
âI am Mister Mrs Mark, if you see what I mean,â said Mark Strafford.
âAnd this is Patchway, who is a tower of strength to us in the market-garden.â A dirty-looking man with a decrepit hat on, who looked as if he did not belong and was indifferent to not belonging, gazed morosely at Dora.
âAnd this is Father Bob Joyce, our Father Confessor.â The cassocked priest who had just come into the room bustled up to shake Doraâs hand. He had a bulging face and eyes glittering with conviction. He smiled, revealing a dark mouth full of much-filled teeth, and then gave Dora a piercing look which made her feel shifty.
âAnd this is Sister Ursula, the extern sister, who is our good liaison officer with the Abbey.â
Sister Ursula beamed at Dora. She had dark high-arching eyebrows and a commanding expression. Dora felt she would never forgive her for the handkerchief incident.
âWe are very glad to see you here,â said Sister Ursula. âWe have remembered you in our prayers.â
Dora blushed with mingled indignation and embarrassment. She managed a smile.
âAnd this,â said Mrs Mark, âis Catherine Fawley, our little saint, whom Iâm sure youâll love as we all do.â Dora turned to look at the rather beautiful girl with the long face.
âHello,â said Dora.
âHello,â said Catherine Fawley.
Perhaps she was not really beautiful after all, Dora thought with relief. There was something timid and withdrawn in her face which
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