Read Online Verity Sparks and the Scarlet Hand by Susan Green - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Green
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teachers, and that’s the problem.”
“Aha,” said Papa. “He is an intelligent boy, yes? And does not fit the mould expected of him? I like the lad already.”
The dining room door opened and in came Hannah bearing a soup tureen. Following her was a tall, broad-shouldered boy in a magenta school blazer. I’d say he was fifteen or sixteen. He had curly dark hair, hazel eyes and a rather square jaw. His black brows were drawn together in a worried frown.
He went straight to Mr Petrov. “Uncle Nick, I’m sorry. I tried, I really did.”
“But not hard enough.” Then in a softer tone, Mr Petrov said, “Those teachers don’t know a bright boy when they see him.” He held out his arms and Harold gave him a gentle hug. “Welcome home, nephew. Now go and greet your aunt.”
Harold slipped into the chair next to Helen’s. There was a tender look on her face as she turned her cheek for a kiss.
“You haven’t said good afternoon to our guests, dear,” she said in a low voice.
“How rude of me. I beg your pardon,” he said. He felt in the pocket of his blazer and brought out a pair of rather smeary spectacles. With them on, he looked a little like an eccentric young professor. He shook hands with Papa, and then turned to Connie, Poppy and me. “I’m happy to meet you. Very happy. You see, I’ve got three younger sisters at home in England, and I miss them. So …” He flashed a cheeky glance at his great-uncle. “I’m glad I got expelled.”
No one mentioned Cantilever College again. Harold seemed keenly interested in all the colonial news and politics and the men had quite a long talk until Poppy complained.
“That’s all a bit dull for me.”
“I do apologise,” said Harold, turning to her. “Why did the pony cough?”
Poppy was nonplussed. “Why?”
“Because it was a little hoarse.”
She thought for a few seconds.
“It’s a joke!” she giggled. “Tell some more.”
Harold obliged with another and then another but in the end she got the hiccups from laughing so much.
“Stop now, you ridiculous boy,” said Helen, giving him a playful slap on the hand. She was very fond of him, that was clear, but there was something else. Was I imagining it, or did she seem relieved he was here? I thought back to this morning in town, and the letter. My guess was that it had been a warning from Harold. Now he was here, and Mr Petrov wasn’t upset or angry, perhaps …
Maybe I should stop seeing mysteries everywhere.
“Those jokes, they are terrible,” said Papa. “Where did you learn them?”
“From Uncle.” Harold fell silent.
“I used to tell them to my grandchildren.”
In the pause that followed I remembered my vision in the Indian room: the small shapes under the sheet and the chess pieces fallen on the floor.
Helen changed the subject. “The Levinys are hosting one of their soirées tonight, Harold. I am going to sing, and Connie will be accompanying me.”
“Oh, that’s splendid,” said Harold. “And will you be performing too, Verity?”
“No. I’m not musical.”
“Neither am I,” he said with a cheerful grin. “Not a bit. But I enjoy seeing other people enjoying themselves, so I always love a concert.”
My thoughts exactly.
We girls had packed our good dresses, and they’d been hung up overnight to get the creases out. We all had new outfits. Connie’s was blue, Poppy’s was pink stripes, and mine was pale green with tiny covered buttons all down the bodice.
There was a tap at the door. It was Helen, dressed in lemon yellow trimmed with white lace. She had white silk rosebuds in her hair and a string of very fine pearls round her neck.
Poppy gave a sigh of delight. “You look absolutely divided!” she said.
“Thank you, darling.” Helen dropped a kiss on top of Poppy’s head. “I have something for you.” It was a pink hair ribbon. She had a blue one for Connie.
“An’ what about Verity?” asked Poppy.
“I will do Verity’s hair
“Aha,” said Papa. “He is an intelligent boy, yes? And does not fit the mould expected of him? I like the lad already.”
The dining room door opened and in came Hannah bearing a soup tureen. Following her was a tall, broad-shouldered boy in a magenta school blazer. I’d say he was fifteen or sixteen. He had curly dark hair, hazel eyes and a rather square jaw. His black brows were drawn together in a worried frown.
He went straight to Mr Petrov. “Uncle Nick, I’m sorry. I tried, I really did.”
“But not hard enough.” Then in a softer tone, Mr Petrov said, “Those teachers don’t know a bright boy when they see him.” He held out his arms and Harold gave him a gentle hug. “Welcome home, nephew. Now go and greet your aunt.”
Harold slipped into the chair next to Helen’s. There was a tender look on her face as she turned her cheek for a kiss.
“You haven’t said good afternoon to our guests, dear,” she said in a low voice.
“How rude of me. I beg your pardon,” he said. He felt in the pocket of his blazer and brought out a pair of rather smeary spectacles. With them on, he looked a little like an eccentric young professor. He shook hands with Papa, and then turned to Connie, Poppy and me. “I’m happy to meet you. Very happy. You see, I’ve got three younger sisters at home in England, and I miss them. So …” He flashed a cheeky glance at his great-uncle. “I’m glad I got expelled.”
No one mentioned Cantilever College again. Harold seemed keenly interested in all the colonial news and politics and the men had quite a long talk until Poppy complained.
“That’s all a bit dull for me.”
“I do apologise,” said Harold, turning to her. “Why did the pony cough?”
Poppy was nonplussed. “Why?”
“Because it was a little hoarse.”
She thought for a few seconds.
“It’s a joke!” she giggled. “Tell some more.”
Harold obliged with another and then another but in the end she got the hiccups from laughing so much.
“Stop now, you ridiculous boy,” said Helen, giving him a playful slap on the hand. She was very fond of him, that was clear, but there was something else. Was I imagining it, or did she seem relieved he was here? I thought back to this morning in town, and the letter. My guess was that it had been a warning from Harold. Now he was here, and Mr Petrov wasn’t upset or angry, perhaps …
Maybe I should stop seeing mysteries everywhere.
“Those jokes, they are terrible,” said Papa. “Where did you learn them?”
“From Uncle.” Harold fell silent.
“I used to tell them to my grandchildren.”
In the pause that followed I remembered my vision in the Indian room: the small shapes under the sheet and the chess pieces fallen on the floor.
Helen changed the subject. “The Levinys are hosting one of their soirées tonight, Harold. I am going to sing, and Connie will be accompanying me.”
“Oh, that’s splendid,” said Harold. “And will you be performing too, Verity?”
“No. I’m not musical.”
“Neither am I,” he said with a cheerful grin. “Not a bit. But I enjoy seeing other people enjoying themselves, so I always love a concert.”
My thoughts exactly.
We girls had packed our good dresses, and they’d been hung up overnight to get the creases out. We all had new outfits. Connie’s was blue, Poppy’s was pink stripes, and mine was pale green with tiny covered buttons all down the bodice.
There was a tap at the door. It was Helen, dressed in lemon yellow trimmed with white lace. She had white silk rosebuds in her hair and a string of very fine pearls round her neck.
Poppy gave a sigh of delight. “You look absolutely divided!” she said.
“Thank you, darling.” Helen dropped a kiss on top of Poppy’s head. “I have something for you.” It was a pink hair ribbon. She had a blue one for Connie.
“An’ what about Verity?” asked Poppy.
“I will do Verity’s hair
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