Read Online The Young Nightingales by Mary Whistler - Free Book Online Page A

aunt had soft white hair that coiled itself naturally round her head, and despite advancing years her complexion had the fragile pinkness of the inside of a shell, and was delicately and carefully powdered. She used no other make-up, but an interest in dress was betrayed by the fine silk stole that was draped round her shoulders over a violet wool dress that was a little out of date; and in addition to the rings she wore a heavy chain bracelet and so many brooches pinned into the bosom of the dress that Jane felt the urge to count them.
    Instead—deferring this fascinating occupation until a later date—she explained truthfully why she was exactly an hour late.
    “I’m afraid I overslept,” she admitted. “The hotel was so comfortable, and the bed was unusually comfortable, and—well, I overslept !”
    “That’s perfectly all right, my dear.” Mrs. Bowman smiled at her. “The g reat thing is that you’re here! And I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you !”
    Jane flushed faintly, wondering what Roger had said about her in his letters.
    “And I’ve been looking forward immensely to coming out to Switzerland,” she replied. “For some reason I’ve never been here before, and it’s all quite new to me.”
    Mrs. Bowman indicated a chair facing her. “Sit down, child,” she said. “You look a little warm. We’re having a very hot July, and you’ll probably find it rather trying at first. But if you like boating we have our own punt moored to the landing-stage, and there are all sorts of excursions on the lake. I’m afraid I’m too old to go out very much myself, but you must certainly do so ... indeed, I shall insist that you enjoy yourself as much as possible while you’re here.”
    “Thank you.” Jane was aware that she was studying her keenly, and to judge by the pleased expression on her face she was quite satisfied with what she saw.
    “You are so much prettier than I expected ... although Roger did say I’d find you charming. But a man of his type, already turned forty—or is it thirty, I always forget?—is sometimes inclined to ... well, exaggerate a little, particularly if he’s very much impressed himself. And of course you don’t need me to tell you,” s milin g indulgently, “that my nephew admires you enormously.”
    “I—er—does he?” Jane felt the colour increase in her cheeks, and she saw the other woman’s eyes twinkle. “Well, of course, we’ve known one another for a—for a long time ... ”
    “Ever since you were quite a small girl! Yes,” Mrs. Bowman nodded her head vigorously, “I know all about it, and I must say I think it’s rather like a romantic story. The little girl grows up into a very attractive young woman and the hardened bachelor takes such a keen delight in her that she practically fills his life, and, naturally, when disaster overtakes her and her family he feels that he simply must do something to make the situation more bearable for her. So he insists that she goes away for a complete change of scene and occupation, and that’s where I, most fortunately, have been able to help him out.” Her face went grave all at once, and she bent towards Jane in sympathy. “My dear, I do realise that you’ve had a terrible shock, and you must allow me to say how very, very sorry I am. I understand that you and your father were very close...”
    Jane nodded mutely. On such a subject she could not, as yet, commit herself to speech ... not, at any rate, with a complete stranger.
    Mrs. Bowman pressed her hand.
    “But you’ll get over it, my child. You may not find it easy to believe me now, but you will. I know that when my dear husband died,” with a faint flicker of distress, “I was very much upset, but the years have taught me to live without him, and I’m reasonably content and quite happy to-day.”
    “I—I’m glad of that,” Jane said huskily, and her new employer smiled at her once more.
    “Well, naturally, I had to mention it ... your