Read Online Thunder On The Right by Mary Stewart - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mary Stewart
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Celeste, but it should not have made you late. You must not let even a good impulse tempt you into neglect of what is your duty."
"No, señora." Celeste's face was quite pale now, and she stared miserably at the ground.
"Go at once and get ready for chapel." Doña Francisca looked blandly at Jennifer across the girl's bent head. "And come and see me immediately after your meal, Celeste."
"Yes, señora."
"There's just one thing------" began Jennifer. Her voice was tight and a shade overloud, but Doña Francisca's clipped patrician command cut easily across it.
"At once, Celeste."
Jennifer's cheeks flamed, but her voice held no hint of anger as she said calmly, "If you please, señora. . . . Wait, Celeste!" The bursar looked considerably taken aback, and the girl hesitated even as she turned to go. It could not be very often that Doña Francisca was answered back, thought Jennifer with a certain relish. She said quickly, almost humbly, "I should like to come back tomorrow, señora, if I may, to visit my cousin's grave again, and say good-by. I thought I might bring her some flowers."
Doña Francisca was watching her steadily. "Of course. When you have got over the shock you have had today, you will perhaps think of more that you wish to know from us. Ask for me when you come."
Royal permission and royal command. . . . Yes, I'm likely to, thought Jennifer.
Aloud, she said, "Thank you, señora," and then, swiftly, to Celeste, "Why did you go out just now to get these gentians? I'd have thought the rambler roses were just as------"
But the girl stepped back a pace with a small, shrinking movement. Her face, still pale, went blank, almost stupid, and in the lovely eyes flickered the unmistakable shadow of fear. She said hurriedly, "I'm—I'm allowed to go. Doña Francisca knows. She said I could."
The bursar had not glanced at her. She was watching Jennifer, the dark eyes unreadable and unwavering in her still face.
She said, almost under her breath, "Go, Celeste."
The girl turned and ran into the shadow of the chapel door just as, overhead, the bell in the tower began to ring for service. Jennifer turned to meet Doña Francisca's dark intent gaze.
"I'd better go, too," she said. " Au revoir, señora."
"Au revoir, mademoiselle . And you will come tomorrow?"
"Oh, yes," said Jennifer. "I'll come tomorrow."
"C'est bien," said Doña Francisca expressionlessly, as she turned to make her noiseless way across the grass after the girl. She vanished into the blackness of the chapel door.
Jennifer let herself quickly out through the wrought-iron gate into the spicy air of the garden. It shut behind her with a clang. The narrow shade of the archway dropped a band of coolness across the hot afternoon, and she paused inside it, leaning back against the bars of the gate. She found she was shaking all over; wave after wave of excitement, anger and apprehension beat upon her mind, breaking with bewildering force across the emptiness left by the first numbing shock of grief. That had been a deadening blow; this, the reaction back toward a fearful and fantastic hope was, oddly enough, more terrible. Her whole body trembled uncontrollably; her hands clung to the bars behind her, pulling her back against the gate until the iron seemed to grow into her flesh; her heart, beating high and fast, seemed to tumble and thump anyhow through her body, now choking in her throat, now knocking against her ribs, now twisting with sickening little driving motions of deep pain in her stomach. And still she clung, her hands icy on the bruising bars. Her knees felt loose. She bit her lips to stop them from shaking, and she shut her eyes and held them shut.
And presently the tumult of mind and body began to subside. She leaned more naturally against the gate, muscle by muscle relaxing under the caress of the fragrant air. She opened her eyes and immediately, in a healing wash of warmth, the color and scent of the garden swept up to her and engulfed
"No, señora." Celeste's face was quite pale now, and she stared miserably at the ground.
"Go at once and get ready for chapel." Doña Francisca looked blandly at Jennifer across the girl's bent head. "And come and see me immediately after your meal, Celeste."
"Yes, señora."
"There's just one thing------" began Jennifer. Her voice was tight and a shade overloud, but Doña Francisca's clipped patrician command cut easily across it.
"At once, Celeste."
Jennifer's cheeks flamed, but her voice held no hint of anger as she said calmly, "If you please, señora. . . . Wait, Celeste!" The bursar looked considerably taken aback, and the girl hesitated even as she turned to go. It could not be very often that Doña Francisca was answered back, thought Jennifer with a certain relish. She said quickly, almost humbly, "I should like to come back tomorrow, señora, if I may, to visit my cousin's grave again, and say good-by. I thought I might bring her some flowers."
Doña Francisca was watching her steadily. "Of course. When you have got over the shock you have had today, you will perhaps think of more that you wish to know from us. Ask for me when you come."
Royal permission and royal command. . . . Yes, I'm likely to, thought Jennifer.
Aloud, she said, "Thank you, señora," and then, swiftly, to Celeste, "Why did you go out just now to get these gentians? I'd have thought the rambler roses were just as------"
But the girl stepped back a pace with a small, shrinking movement. Her face, still pale, went blank, almost stupid, and in the lovely eyes flickered the unmistakable shadow of fear. She said hurriedly, "I'm—I'm allowed to go. Doña Francisca knows. She said I could."
The bursar had not glanced at her. She was watching Jennifer, the dark eyes unreadable and unwavering in her still face.
She said, almost under her breath, "Go, Celeste."
The girl turned and ran into the shadow of the chapel door just as, overhead, the bell in the tower began to ring for service. Jennifer turned to meet Doña Francisca's dark intent gaze.
"I'd better go, too," she said. " Au revoir, señora."
"Au revoir, mademoiselle . And you will come tomorrow?"
"Oh, yes," said Jennifer. "I'll come tomorrow."
"C'est bien," said Doña Francisca expressionlessly, as she turned to make her noiseless way across the grass after the girl. She vanished into the blackness of the chapel door.
Jennifer let herself quickly out through the wrought-iron gate into the spicy air of the garden. It shut behind her with a clang. The narrow shade of the archway dropped a band of coolness across the hot afternoon, and she paused inside it, leaning back against the bars of the gate. She found she was shaking all over; wave after wave of excitement, anger and apprehension beat upon her mind, breaking with bewildering force across the emptiness left by the first numbing shock of grief. That had been a deadening blow; this, the reaction back toward a fearful and fantastic hope was, oddly enough, more terrible. Her whole body trembled uncontrollably; her hands clung to the bars behind her, pulling her back against the gate until the iron seemed to grow into her flesh; her heart, beating high and fast, seemed to tumble and thump anyhow through her body, now choking in her throat, now knocking against her ribs, now twisting with sickening little driving motions of deep pain in her stomach. And still she clung, her hands icy on the bruising bars. Her knees felt loose. She bit her lips to stop them from shaking, and she shut her eyes and held them shut.
And presently the tumult of mind and body began to subside. She leaned more naturally against the gate, muscle by muscle relaxing under the caress of the fragrant air. She opened her eyes and immediately, in a healing wash of warmth, the color and scent of the garden swept up to her and engulfed
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