Read Online The Book of Lies by James Moloney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Moloney
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move out of the way unless I kicked them.”
Marcel didn’t doubt that she had done just that. The candle threw light playfully on to her long hair, which she had loosened for sleep. It didn’t look quite as brushed and perfect now. She looked better this way, he decided.
Nicola noticed him stare at her. “Is it right what the other children are saying?” she asked, in a more sympathetic tone this time. “Don’t you have any memory at all, not even of your parents?”
“Yes. I mean, no. What I mean is, my life before I arrived here has gone from my head. Vanished.”
She thought about this for a moment, running her eye over Marcel as though inspecting him for the first time. “That doesn’t seem fair,” she said, with an unexpected hint of concern for his plight. “At least I can remember my parents. Well, my father, anyway.”
Marcel was touched by the melancholy in her voice, andbefore he knew it he had whispered, “Not your mother, though?”
Nicola sighed, and her shoulders sagged a little as she told him, “She died when I was born, so I never knew her. I only have what others told me about her. I’ve even had to make up what she looked like. Long hair like mine, only the colour of straw and much more beautiful. I’ve always imagined her like that.”
She stopped suddenly. “Did you hear something?”
“No, nothing,” said Marcel quickly, though he had indeed heard a sound, not the rustling of pages this time but a muffled voice. It had come from the pantry where the Book was. “Go on, Nicola. You were talking about your mother,” he urged, hoping that if she kept speaking she wouldn’t take any notice.
Nicola seemed eager to tell her story, so she ignored the noise. As she started up again Marcel was surprised at how much her face changed. Her pretty features softened in the candlelight and her voice swapped its sharp-edged hostility for a gentleness that matched her memories. “My father talked about her all the time. He called her his angel and then he’d say that I reminded him of her. He wanted me to marry a rich landowner when I grew up. He didn’t expect me to help around the house, of course. That was for servant girls, he said. He made sure I had everything I wanted.”
“…everything I wanted,” said a voice.
“What was that?” she asked, more certain this time. “You spoke. You copied what I just said.”
“No, I…” Marcel didn’t know what to say, but he had to keep Nicola from discovering Bea and the Book of Lies.
If Nicola’s memories of her parents had opened a door to a different girl, now that door was slammed shut by a new anger. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you, just because I’ve told you something about myself. Well, if you’re going to be like that…”
Before she could unleash her fury, Bea’s little figure emerged from the darkness. She held the Book open in her arms.
“Bea, no!” Marcel whispered.
“It’s all right, Marcel,” she said calmly. “Nicola should see this and so should you.”
“What’s she doing hiding in the pantry?” Nicola demanded hotly. She would wake the whole house soon, if they weren’t careful. “Don’t tell me you couldn’t sleep either, Bea. What’s going on here, and what’s so special about that book?”
Bea did her best to ignore Nicola. With her eyes glued to Marcel’s, she said, “I think we have found a way to use the Book after all.”
“Show me,” he urged her.
As she laid the Book on the kitchen table again, she turned to Nicola. “Keep talking. Tell us about your father.”
Nicola stared at the Book suspiciously. “Is this some sortof trick? You haven’t got the rest of the orphanage in the pantry laughing at me, have you?”
When neither Marcel nor Bea would respond to her goading, she didn’t know quite what to do: stomp away to bed or stay and see what this creeping around was all about. “All right,” she said finally, and after taking a breath she started up
Marcel didn’t doubt that she had done just that. The candle threw light playfully on to her long hair, which she had loosened for sleep. It didn’t look quite as brushed and perfect now. She looked better this way, he decided.
Nicola noticed him stare at her. “Is it right what the other children are saying?” she asked, in a more sympathetic tone this time. “Don’t you have any memory at all, not even of your parents?”
“Yes. I mean, no. What I mean is, my life before I arrived here has gone from my head. Vanished.”
She thought about this for a moment, running her eye over Marcel as though inspecting him for the first time. “That doesn’t seem fair,” she said, with an unexpected hint of concern for his plight. “At least I can remember my parents. Well, my father, anyway.”
Marcel was touched by the melancholy in her voice, andbefore he knew it he had whispered, “Not your mother, though?”
Nicola sighed, and her shoulders sagged a little as she told him, “She died when I was born, so I never knew her. I only have what others told me about her. I’ve even had to make up what she looked like. Long hair like mine, only the colour of straw and much more beautiful. I’ve always imagined her like that.”
She stopped suddenly. “Did you hear something?”
“No, nothing,” said Marcel quickly, though he had indeed heard a sound, not the rustling of pages this time but a muffled voice. It had come from the pantry where the Book was. “Go on, Nicola. You were talking about your mother,” he urged, hoping that if she kept speaking she wouldn’t take any notice.
Nicola seemed eager to tell her story, so she ignored the noise. As she started up again Marcel was surprised at how much her face changed. Her pretty features softened in the candlelight and her voice swapped its sharp-edged hostility for a gentleness that matched her memories. “My father talked about her all the time. He called her his angel and then he’d say that I reminded him of her. He wanted me to marry a rich landowner when I grew up. He didn’t expect me to help around the house, of course. That was for servant girls, he said. He made sure I had everything I wanted.”
“…everything I wanted,” said a voice.
“What was that?” she asked, more certain this time. “You spoke. You copied what I just said.”
“No, I…” Marcel didn’t know what to say, but he had to keep Nicola from discovering Bea and the Book of Lies.
If Nicola’s memories of her parents had opened a door to a different girl, now that door was slammed shut by a new anger. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you, just because I’ve told you something about myself. Well, if you’re going to be like that…”
Before she could unleash her fury, Bea’s little figure emerged from the darkness. She held the Book open in her arms.
“Bea, no!” Marcel whispered.
“It’s all right, Marcel,” she said calmly. “Nicola should see this and so should you.”
“What’s she doing hiding in the pantry?” Nicola demanded hotly. She would wake the whole house soon, if they weren’t careful. “Don’t tell me you couldn’t sleep either, Bea. What’s going on here, and what’s so special about that book?”
Bea did her best to ignore Nicola. With her eyes glued to Marcel’s, she said, “I think we have found a way to use the Book after all.”
“Show me,” he urged her.
As she laid the Book on the kitchen table again, she turned to Nicola. “Keep talking. Tell us about your father.”
Nicola stared at the Book suspiciously. “Is this some sortof trick? You haven’t got the rest of the orphanage in the pantry laughing at me, have you?”
When neither Marcel nor Bea would respond to her goading, she didn’t know quite what to do: stomp away to bed or stay and see what this creeping around was all about. “All right,” she said finally, and after taking a breath she started up
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