Read Online The Young Clementina by D. E. Stevenson - Free Book Online

and saw that her cheeks were very pink, and her hand, which she had laid upon the edge of the mantelpiece, was trembling.
    â€œAre you—is anything the matter?” I asked her anxiously.
    â€œI have such a wretched headache,” she said. “Garth is so inconsiderate, he makes me mad. As if I wanted to miss the ghastly train.”
    I filled a hot-water bottle and slipped it into the bed. It was all ready now, smooth, and white, and tempting. I prided myself on the smooth perfection of my bed-making.
    â€œIt looks nice,” Kitty said. “And what a pretty nightie! Don’t wake me early, Char.”
    I told her that I breakfasted at eight and must be out of the flat by nine.
    â€œThat’s all right,” she said. “Just leave me to sleep and I can get up later when you’ve gone. I don’t know how on earth you can get up at that unearthly hour—I should be a wreck.”
    â€œI have to,” I replied shortly.
    â€œRather you than me. It upsets me for the whole day if I have to get up early. Anyhow there is no need for you to wake me tomorrow.”
    â€œI’ll bring you your breakfast in bed,” I suggested.
    â€œNo, no—just let me sleep.” She laughed. “I was always a sleepy-head, wasn’t I, Char?”
    â€œYou won’t know where anything is.”
    â€œI’ll find out. It will be rather fun. I’ll get up later—perhaps about eleven—and make myself a cup of tea.” She yawned. “Gracious, how tired I am! I could sleep for a week.”
    â€œYou don’t look tired,” I told her.
    â€œWell, I am,” she said. “Dead dog tired.”
    We kissed each other good night, and I left her to go to bed.
    I was tired myself, and the couch was more comfortable than I had expected. I slept well. The time had passed when I could not sleep, when I had turned and twisted, suffering in mind and body, and longing for the dawn. I had passed through all that and had attained resignation and peace within.
    The morning came all too soon; I rose at my usual hour and prepared my breakfast on the little table by the fire. I was very quiet as I went about my task, careful not to clatter the plates, nor to rattle the kettle when I put it on the stove. The walls of the flat were thin and Kitty must not be disturbed. I finished my breakfast and left it as usual for Mrs. Cope to clear. I put aside some milk for Kitty’s tea, and I managed to unearth a lemon from the recesses of my modest larder—Kitty always used to take lemon in her morning cup of tea, I remembered. Anyhow it was there and she could have whichever she liked. It was lucky about the lemon. I saw that there was enough butter in the dish and I put out the loaf with the knife beside it, and a pot of marmalade. Mrs. Cope would be finished by ten—she had another flat to “do” at 10:30—so she would probably have left before Kitty was ready for her breakfast. Kitty would manage now with everything put out conveniently; there would be no need for her to poke in my cupboard for what she wanted.
    Mrs. Cope was coming up the stairs as I went down. We were so regular in our hours, she and I, that we usually met on the stairs or in the street. I told her about Kitty and warned her to be quiet. “Mrs. Wisdon had a bad headache,” I said.
    â€œPore soul!” said Mrs. Cope easily. “I’ll maike ’er a cup o’ tea laiter, shall I, Miss?”
    The idea seemed good. I had not told Kitty of Mrs. Cope’s daily advent, but that didn’t matter. I would save Kitty the trouble of making tea for herself. Mrs. Cope could easily stay a little longer and make Kitty some tea—say about eleven. We arranged the matter like that, and I ran on to catch my bus.”

Chapter Two
“Garth Is Mad”
    The days passed. I heard no word from Kitty—I had not expected to hear—sometimes months passed without my hearing