Read Online The Cavendish Home for Boys and Girls by Claire Legrand - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Claire Legrand
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unacceptable.
“So rude,” Victoria said, straightening her coat with a snap. “Maybe Mrs. Cavendish will be more polite.” She walked to the end of the street, stopping right at the Home’s gate. The gray brick wall disappeared into the woods oneither side. There wasn’t a buzzer or anything.
“How do I get in?” Victoria muttered.
The gate clicked open.
Victoria glared at the gate as she passed through. “It’s just the wind,” she told herself.
The stone drive wound from the front gate through a huge, freshly cut lawn of black trees and bright white flowers and lamplight. On occasion, Victoria saw a black bench glistening with raindrops, or a rope swing hanging from a tree branch.
“If any of those dirty orphans touch me, I’ll tell Father to give Mrs. Cavendish a citation,” she said. The thought of her father punishing people and putting things in order cheered her heart. She looked back over her shoulder and saw the gate standing open, far away, with lamps on either side like two yellow eyes.
The Home was gray brick like the wall, three stories tall, and slender from back to front but wide from side to side, with a black roof and black trim and great columns along the porch. Behind the Home, Victoria saw two small cottages and towering tangled gardens. Rows of windows spilled soft light onto the grass.
Victoria knocked on the front door with a huge brass knocker shaped like a rose. No one answered. She sighed and crossed her arms.
“If one more person doesn’t answer their door for me . . . ,” said Victoria.
“Looking for someone?”
Victoria whirled to see Mr. Alice at the bottom of the front steps. He held a hoe this time.
“I wanted to speak with Mrs. Cavendish,” said Victoria.
Mr. Alice smiled. “Of course. Right this way.”
He led Victoria around the house, up a smaller set of steps to a door with an awning over it. A paper doll hung in the window and swung happily as Mr. Alice opened the door.
“Someone wants to see you, Mrs. Cavendish,” said Mr. Alice. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Of course not,” said a woman at the stove, her voice soft and kind and clear. She was stirring something in a shiny metal pot. It smelled so delicious that Victoria’s mouth started watering.
“Hello, Mrs. Cavendish,” said Victoria, stepping into the clean, white kitchen. “I’m—”
“—Victoria,” said Mrs. Cavendish, setting down her spoon and turning around. “Of course. I know you.”
“You do?” said Victoria, staring, for Mrs. Cavendish was really quite pretty and not at all what Victoria had expected. She had dark brown hair that curled at her chin and bright blue eyes and red lips.
Mrs. Cavendish smiled. “I make a point of knowing allthe children in the area. Professional interest, you know.”
Victoria remembered when Mr. Alice had said exactly that. “Oh. Right.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Well,” said Victoria, but she couldn’t find her words. The delicious smell of supper, Mrs. Cavendish’s lovely smile, and the warmth of the kitchen made her sleepy and fuzzy. She frowned. “I don’t remember. Hold on.”
“Perhaps you’d like a candy while you think?” said Mrs. Cavendish. She opened a jar of yellow candies by the stove, pulled out two, and folded them into Victoria’s hand. Her fingers were warm. “They’re butterscotch. My own special recipe.”
Victoria popped one in her mouth. It immediately began to melt, thick and warmly sweet on her tongue.
She popped the other in her mouth too.
The texture was chewier than butterscotch usually was. And juicier.
Laughter drew her attention through the kitchen door to the hallway beyond. She heard children running and saw vague shapes that she couldn’t quite get a fix on. A paper plane floated through the door and landed at Victoria’s feet.
Mrs. Cavendish picked it up and put it on the counter. “Can I get you anything else? I’d invite you to stay for supper, but we have
“So rude,” Victoria said, straightening her coat with a snap. “Maybe Mrs. Cavendish will be more polite.” She walked to the end of the street, stopping right at the Home’s gate. The gray brick wall disappeared into the woods oneither side. There wasn’t a buzzer or anything.
“How do I get in?” Victoria muttered.
The gate clicked open.
Victoria glared at the gate as she passed through. “It’s just the wind,” she told herself.
The stone drive wound from the front gate through a huge, freshly cut lawn of black trees and bright white flowers and lamplight. On occasion, Victoria saw a black bench glistening with raindrops, or a rope swing hanging from a tree branch.
“If any of those dirty orphans touch me, I’ll tell Father to give Mrs. Cavendish a citation,” she said. The thought of her father punishing people and putting things in order cheered her heart. She looked back over her shoulder and saw the gate standing open, far away, with lamps on either side like two yellow eyes.
The Home was gray brick like the wall, three stories tall, and slender from back to front but wide from side to side, with a black roof and black trim and great columns along the porch. Behind the Home, Victoria saw two small cottages and towering tangled gardens. Rows of windows spilled soft light onto the grass.
Victoria knocked on the front door with a huge brass knocker shaped like a rose. No one answered. She sighed and crossed her arms.
“If one more person doesn’t answer their door for me . . . ,” said Victoria.
“Looking for someone?”
Victoria whirled to see Mr. Alice at the bottom of the front steps. He held a hoe this time.
“I wanted to speak with Mrs. Cavendish,” said Victoria.
Mr. Alice smiled. “Of course. Right this way.”
He led Victoria around the house, up a smaller set of steps to a door with an awning over it. A paper doll hung in the window and swung happily as Mr. Alice opened the door.
“Someone wants to see you, Mrs. Cavendish,” said Mr. Alice. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Of course not,” said a woman at the stove, her voice soft and kind and clear. She was stirring something in a shiny metal pot. It smelled so delicious that Victoria’s mouth started watering.
“Hello, Mrs. Cavendish,” said Victoria, stepping into the clean, white kitchen. “I’m—”
“—Victoria,” said Mrs. Cavendish, setting down her spoon and turning around. “Of course. I know you.”
“You do?” said Victoria, staring, for Mrs. Cavendish was really quite pretty and not at all what Victoria had expected. She had dark brown hair that curled at her chin and bright blue eyes and red lips.
Mrs. Cavendish smiled. “I make a point of knowing allthe children in the area. Professional interest, you know.”
Victoria remembered when Mr. Alice had said exactly that. “Oh. Right.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Well,” said Victoria, but she couldn’t find her words. The delicious smell of supper, Mrs. Cavendish’s lovely smile, and the warmth of the kitchen made her sleepy and fuzzy. She frowned. “I don’t remember. Hold on.”
“Perhaps you’d like a candy while you think?” said Mrs. Cavendish. She opened a jar of yellow candies by the stove, pulled out two, and folded them into Victoria’s hand. Her fingers were warm. “They’re butterscotch. My own special recipe.”
Victoria popped one in her mouth. It immediately began to melt, thick and warmly sweet on her tongue.
She popped the other in her mouth too.
The texture was chewier than butterscotch usually was. And juicier.
Laughter drew her attention through the kitchen door to the hallway beyond. She heard children running and saw vague shapes that she couldn’t quite get a fix on. A paper plane floated through the door and landed at Victoria’s feet.
Mrs. Cavendish picked it up and put it on the counter. “Can I get you anything else? I’d invite you to stay for supper, but we have
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