Read Online The Reckoning by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles - Free Book Online
Authors: Cynthia Harrod-Eagles
Tags: Fiction, Historical fiction, General, Romance, Historical, Fantasy, Sagas, Family, Domestic Fiction, Aristocracy (Social Class) - England, Great Britain - History - 1800-1837
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sands as much as possible to themselves.
‘ I think this is the best sort of day at Scarborough,' Sophie said, watching the waves come bounding in, glittering and foaming, to dash half-way up the sand in the vain effort to reach the Promenade wall. The breeze tugged at the poke of her bonnet and fluttered the ribbons under her chin. 'It feels so fresh and glad, as though it might really blow everything inside your head away, and leave it all clean and empty and new.'
‘ I don't think I want my furniture blown away. I've arranged it the way I like it, and I don't want it interfered with,' Rosamund said firmly.
Miss Rosedale, walking a little behind them to pursue her own solitary thoughts, heard the exchange and smiled to herself. Yes, that would always be the difference between them, she thought. Rosamund liked to take hold of the stuff of her life and wrestle it into submission; Sophie survived by enduring.
The curve of the bay was marked by high cliffs, dazzling- white in the early sun, topped with lush green folds of hill, and circled this morning by whimpering grey gulls. Below lay the crescent of the sands, still smooth and firm from the high water – the tide was going out now. Sophie turned an eager face back.
‘ May we walk on the sand, Rosey? It will be lovely to make the very first marks.’
Miss Rosedale thought of the fury of Rosamund's maid, Moss, if she were presented with two pairs of sandy, water marked boots to put to rights. On the other hand, who could resist that virgin expanse? Certainly no woman of spirit.
‘ If you aren't afraid of the horses,' she said. 'They'll be arriving at any minute.’
No, of course not,' Sophie said at once, and then, 'They won't run us down, will they?'
‘ Of course they won't,' Rosamund said impatiently. 'Do you think grooms are blind? Come on, foolish.’
They descended the steps, crossed the band of dry sand above the tide-mark, still rough from yesterday's footprints, and gained the firm, sleek dark-golden strand, unmarked except for the tiny airholes of whatever secret beasts lived below. Then they turned and walked along parallel to the sea, examining their own footmarks and exclaiming like children over them.
Looking at the two straight young backs in front of her, Miss Rosedale felt that the time here had been well-spent. Sophie was definitely feeling more cheerful and at peace with herself. The sadness of loss was finding its own level inside her, settling into the shape it would probably bear for the rest of her life. Growing tolerable, it would eventually become unnoticed, she hoped.
Rosamund had not been her pupil and in any case had a less transparent character, and so it was harder to judge how she felt. Outwardly she seemed calm and contented. It was only when she didn't know she was being watched, and relaxed her guard, that Miss Rosedale could see evidence in her face of the shock and grief she had suffered last year. Pleasure was now a conscious, rather than an unconscious thing: to that extent she had grown up.
But Rosamund had enjoyed her time here, too. Like Sophie, she had bathed in the sea for the first time in her life, made a formidable collection of shells and interesting pebbles, and sketched the foreshore from every possible angle. And in her own inimitable manner, she had made friends with the man who hired out the donkey-carts, heard the life-history of every servant in their lodgings, and learned the name of every gentleman's groom in Scarborough.
The first of these were coming onto the sands now, bringing their masters' horses for exercise, riding one and leading one or two others. The glossy animals, beautiful in their nakedness, lifted their heads enquiringly to snuff the strange, exhilarating air, and whickered softly in excitement. It was good, Miss Rosedale thought, to see them enjoying themselves, their eyes shining with pleasure as they went down the beach, trotting to the end, and then cantering, pulling a little and
‘ I think this is the best sort of day at Scarborough,' Sophie said, watching the waves come bounding in, glittering and foaming, to dash half-way up the sand in the vain effort to reach the Promenade wall. The breeze tugged at the poke of her bonnet and fluttered the ribbons under her chin. 'It feels so fresh and glad, as though it might really blow everything inside your head away, and leave it all clean and empty and new.'
‘ I don't think I want my furniture blown away. I've arranged it the way I like it, and I don't want it interfered with,' Rosamund said firmly.
Miss Rosedale, walking a little behind them to pursue her own solitary thoughts, heard the exchange and smiled to herself. Yes, that would always be the difference between them, she thought. Rosamund liked to take hold of the stuff of her life and wrestle it into submission; Sophie survived by enduring.
The curve of the bay was marked by high cliffs, dazzling- white in the early sun, topped with lush green folds of hill, and circled this morning by whimpering grey gulls. Below lay the crescent of the sands, still smooth and firm from the high water – the tide was going out now. Sophie turned an eager face back.
‘ May we walk on the sand, Rosey? It will be lovely to make the very first marks.’
Miss Rosedale thought of the fury of Rosamund's maid, Moss, if she were presented with two pairs of sandy, water marked boots to put to rights. On the other hand, who could resist that virgin expanse? Certainly no woman of spirit.
‘ If you aren't afraid of the horses,' she said. 'They'll be arriving at any minute.’
No, of course not,' Sophie said at once, and then, 'They won't run us down, will they?'
‘ Of course they won't,' Rosamund said impatiently. 'Do you think grooms are blind? Come on, foolish.’
They descended the steps, crossed the band of dry sand above the tide-mark, still rough from yesterday's footprints, and gained the firm, sleek dark-golden strand, unmarked except for the tiny airholes of whatever secret beasts lived below. Then they turned and walked along parallel to the sea, examining their own footmarks and exclaiming like children over them.
Looking at the two straight young backs in front of her, Miss Rosedale felt that the time here had been well-spent. Sophie was definitely feeling more cheerful and at peace with herself. The sadness of loss was finding its own level inside her, settling into the shape it would probably bear for the rest of her life. Growing tolerable, it would eventually become unnoticed, she hoped.
Rosamund had not been her pupil and in any case had a less transparent character, and so it was harder to judge how she felt. Outwardly she seemed calm and contented. It was only when she didn't know she was being watched, and relaxed her guard, that Miss Rosedale could see evidence in her face of the shock and grief she had suffered last year. Pleasure was now a conscious, rather than an unconscious thing: to that extent she had grown up.
But Rosamund had enjoyed her time here, too. Like Sophie, she had bathed in the sea for the first time in her life, made a formidable collection of shells and interesting pebbles, and sketched the foreshore from every possible angle. And in her own inimitable manner, she had made friends with the man who hired out the donkey-carts, heard the life-history of every servant in their lodgings, and learned the name of every gentleman's groom in Scarborough.
The first of these were coming onto the sands now, bringing their masters' horses for exercise, riding one and leading one or two others. The glossy animals, beautiful in their nakedness, lifted their heads enquiringly to snuff the strange, exhilarating air, and whickered softly in excitement. It was good, Miss Rosedale thought, to see them enjoying themselves, their eyes shining with pleasure as they went down the beach, trotting to the end, and then cantering, pulling a little and
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