[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Maria gasped.
"I can speak a little French," she said, "but that's all."
"If you want an English book," said Old Parson, "there is a book of English verse at the far end of
the top shelf. Though to my mind the French language is the loveliest and the best."
His slightly foreign intonation seemed accentuated as he spoke and Maria turned round and looked
at him.
"Please, Sir," she asked shyly, "are you--French?"
"I am," said Old Parson, and tucking his fiddle under his chin he began to play, very softly, the air
Maria had been playing at the harpsichord before she had joined him in the rose garden.
"Who taught it to you?" he asked her.
"No one," said Maria. "It came out of the harpsichord the very first time I opened it."
"I guessed as much," said Old Parson, half to himself. "It must have been the last one she played
before she shut the harpsichord. Yes, I remember that she played it that night. It was her last night at
the manor. That was twenty years ago."
And then he let the soft air he had been playing merge into a gay country dance, so that Maria had
no chance to ask any questions, though quite a hundred of them were burning on the tip of her
tongue. She swallowed them down and took from the shelf the book that Old Parson had pointed
out. It had a faded heliotrope cover, and was small enough to slip quite easily into her hanging
95
pocket.
But before she put it there she peeped inside and saw written on the flyleaf a name that was familiar
to her, written in a handwriting that was also familiar to her. The name was Louis de Fontenelle,
and the handwriting was that of her governess Miss Heliotrope.. .. The room turned upside down
with Maria... Then it righted itself again, and she stood there silently, her hand holding the book
inside her pocket, wondering what she should do. Nothing as yet, she thought. Just wait. Say
nothing for a little while. In this country place events moved slowly, and one must be patient. If she
did anything in a hurry everything might go wrong.
Old Parson was standing up now, and the dance had passed into a great soaring piece of music like
a flock of white birds in flight. She did not think he had noticed how the room had turned upside
down with her; indeed he seemed now to have forgotten all about her. He had been caught away on
the wings of his music to the place where the white birds were flying. She dropped him an
unnoticed curtsy, put on her bonnet and cloak, lifted the latch of the door and went quickly out into
the small tangled garden.
But at the wooden gate she paused and waited, and she did not have to wait long, for in a moment
or two Loveday Minette came round the corner of the Parsonage wearing a grey shawl flung
gracefully round her shoulders, but with her beautiful head bare.
"I knew you would wait for me," she said in her deep sweet voice. "Shall we walk to my home
together? It is not very much out of your way."
"Thank you," said Maria humbly, and when Loveday held out her hand to her she took it shyly, as
she would have taken the hand of a queen. For though Loveday's hands were toil worn and she
worked for Old Parson as though she were a servant, yet she bore herself with the air of a very great
lady indeed, and as such Maria accepted her.
"My name, too, is Maria," she said, as they walked through the churchyard together, "but when I
was a little girl they called me Minette, because I was so small, and the name has stuck because I
am still so small."
"My father's mother was called Loveday," said Maria.
96
"Loveday and Maria are both Merryweather names," said Loveday Minette.
"Merryweather women are called Maria, or Mary, because the church is dedicated to Saint Mary.
And Loveday--well--moon people love the day and the bright sun.
They walked hand-in-hand together along the village street, turned in through the broken gate into
the park, and then turned to their right along a narrow footpath. Upon their left the trees grew
thickly as in a wood but upon their right was a green hillside with grey granite rocks breaking
through the turf and rising up then beside them like a wall.
"This is one of the lower spurs of Paradise Hill," said Loveday as they walked along. "But it is too
steep to climb up it just here. The best way is to take the lane leading up from the village." Then she
stopped, laying her hand on a great grey rock that jutted out from the steep hillside beside her.
"Will you come in for a little while?" she asked. "I would like to show you my home."
"Thank you," said Maria, but she looked about her in bewilderment, for she saw no sign of a house.
"This way," said Loveday, and walked round the rock and disappeared.
More astonished than ever Maria too walked round the rock, and there behind it, almost hidden by a
rowan tree that drooped over it from the hillside above, was a door in the hill. Loveday stood just [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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Maria gasped.
"I can speak a little French," she said, "but that's all."
"If you want an English book," said Old Parson, "there is a book of English verse at the far end of
the top shelf. Though to my mind the French language is the loveliest and the best."
His slightly foreign intonation seemed accentuated as he spoke and Maria turned round and looked
at him.
"Please, Sir," she asked shyly, "are you--French?"
"I am," said Old Parson, and tucking his fiddle under his chin he began to play, very softly, the air
Maria had been playing at the harpsichord before she had joined him in the rose garden.
"Who taught it to you?" he asked her.
"No one," said Maria. "It came out of the harpsichord the very first time I opened it."
"I guessed as much," said Old Parson, half to himself. "It must have been the last one she played
before she shut the harpsichord. Yes, I remember that she played it that night. It was her last night at
the manor. That was twenty years ago."
And then he let the soft air he had been playing merge into a gay country dance, so that Maria had
no chance to ask any questions, though quite a hundred of them were burning on the tip of her
tongue. She swallowed them down and took from the shelf the book that Old Parson had pointed
out. It had a faded heliotrope cover, and was small enough to slip quite easily into her hanging
95
pocket.
But before she put it there she peeped inside and saw written on the flyleaf a name that was familiar
to her, written in a handwriting that was also familiar to her. The name was Louis de Fontenelle,
and the handwriting was that of her governess Miss Heliotrope.. .. The room turned upside down
with Maria... Then it righted itself again, and she stood there silently, her hand holding the book
inside her pocket, wondering what she should do. Nothing as yet, she thought. Just wait. Say
nothing for a little while. In this country place events moved slowly, and one must be patient. If she
did anything in a hurry everything might go wrong.
Old Parson was standing up now, and the dance had passed into a great soaring piece of music like
a flock of white birds in flight. She did not think he had noticed how the room had turned upside
down with her; indeed he seemed now to have forgotten all about her. He had been caught away on
the wings of his music to the place where the white birds were flying. She dropped him an
unnoticed curtsy, put on her bonnet and cloak, lifted the latch of the door and went quickly out into
the small tangled garden.
But at the wooden gate she paused and waited, and she did not have to wait long, for in a moment
or two Loveday Minette came round the corner of the Parsonage wearing a grey shawl flung
gracefully round her shoulders, but with her beautiful head bare.
"I knew you would wait for me," she said in her deep sweet voice. "Shall we walk to my home
together? It is not very much out of your way."
"Thank you," said Maria humbly, and when Loveday held out her hand to her she took it shyly, as
she would have taken the hand of a queen. For though Loveday's hands were toil worn and she
worked for Old Parson as though she were a servant, yet she bore herself with the air of a very great
lady indeed, and as such Maria accepted her.
"My name, too, is Maria," she said, as they walked through the churchyard together, "but when I
was a little girl they called me Minette, because I was so small, and the name has stuck because I
am still so small."
"My father's mother was called Loveday," said Maria.
96
"Loveday and Maria are both Merryweather names," said Loveday Minette.
"Merryweather women are called Maria, or Mary, because the church is dedicated to Saint Mary.
And Loveday--well--moon people love the day and the bright sun.
They walked hand-in-hand together along the village street, turned in through the broken gate into
the park, and then turned to their right along a narrow footpath. Upon their left the trees grew
thickly as in a wood but upon their right was a green hillside with grey granite rocks breaking
through the turf and rising up then beside them like a wall.
"This is one of the lower spurs of Paradise Hill," said Loveday as they walked along. "But it is too
steep to climb up it just here. The best way is to take the lane leading up from the village." Then she
stopped, laying her hand on a great grey rock that jutted out from the steep hillside beside her.
"Will you come in for a little while?" she asked. "I would like to show you my home."
"Thank you," said Maria, but she looked about her in bewilderment, for she saw no sign of a house.
"This way," said Loveday, and walked round the rock and disappeared.
More astonished than ever Maria too walked round the rock, and there behind it, almost hidden by a
rowan tree that drooped over it from the hillside above, was a door in the hill. Loveday stood just [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]