Read Online The Weeping Ash by Joan Aiken - Free Book Online Page B

Fox never said that!” “That was not the way Miss Fox did it!”
    By the end of the morning, out of all patience with the child, Fanny could not avoid wishing Miss Fox at the bottom of the sea. Wearied out, irked, and disheartened, with flushed cheeks and throbbing temples, she leaned against the windowsill and looked out at the autumnal tints of the trees, longing to walk in the garden, but, mindful of Thomas’s interdiction, not daring to do so unaccompanied. Talgarth was not to be seen; perhaps he was working in the kitchen garden. At least, Fanny thought with a small throb of satisfaction, the ash tree had been saved; from where she stood she could not see it, but the mere thought of its color and grace gave her pleasure.
    â€œTry not to let your pencil squeak like that, Patty,” she said, sighing.
    â€œI can’t stop it,” grumbled Patty, who was copying out scriptural texts with a scowl very reminiscent of her father. Deliberately, as it seemed, she made the pencil squeak even louder on her slate, and Fanny had to master a strong temptation to box her ears.
    Kate, the cook-housekeeper, tapped at the door.
    â€œIf you please, ma’am, the master said I was to show you over the stores and books at noon, and, please, there’s a gypsy come selling lavender bags and clothes pegs, and would you be wishful to buy any?”
    Fanny shook her head. Thomas had not yet given her any housekeeping money and, in any case, even if he had, she felt certain that he would never countenance such a frivolous purchase as lavender bags.
    â€œYou look fagged to death, ma’am,” said Kate, glancing from Fanny to the sulky child. “Should I be making you a cup of tea before you go over the stores? Or a nuncheon, you and the young ladies? It wouldn’t take but a few moments.”
    Fanny was greatly tempted but—remembering the price of tea, over eleven shillings a pound—shook her head. “No, thank you, Kate; but I will take a glass of water.”
    â€œYou’re sure you wouldn’t touch a glass of my cowslip wine, ma’am? You look fair wore out, begging your pardon.”
    Fanny shook her head again but was a little comforted at Kate’s unexpected friendliness. And presently, walking about the house, inspecting first the basement kitchen, then the storerooms, pantry, and servants’ attics, discussing the disposition of linens, furniture, and food stores, Fanny, to her own surprise, felt a certain uplifting of the spirits. Despite her several grounds for unhappiness—homesickness, the thought of Barnaby far away and forgetting her, sorrow and foreboding for her father, the hateful recollection of last night, and the expectation of tonight and all the nights to come, the repulsive looks of her stepdaughters when she met them about the house, and the recollection of Thomas’s evident distrust and censure—despite all these things, when she glanced, from one window or another, at the sunny valley or the golden ash tree, which seemed to stand preening its pale plumage in the fine autumn weather, she could not deny to herself that some influence all around seemed encouraging her to take heart.
    It is as if the place were speaking to me, Fanny thought illogically; as if the house or garden liked me and wanted to make me welcome.
    â€œIs this house haunted, do you know, Kate?” she asked suddenly.
    Kate gasped and let slip a bundle of bed linen she was holding.
    â€œ Haunted , ma’am? Dear, what a shock you gave me! I should hope not, indeed! They say the house has only been built eighteen year or so—quite modern, it is, not the place for spooks or specters! Though I believe there was an old ancient monastery builded here, hundreds of years ago; but there’s no ghosts, ma’am, don’t you go filling your head with such notions, or you’ll frighten yourself to death!”
    Fanny did not try to explain that she rather