Читать книгу Young Renny - Mazo de la Roche - Страница 10

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Meg Whiteoak was awake early that morning. She was stirred from her dreams by something new and exciting in the sweet summer air. Or was it some delicate current stirring in her own nerves? She made no attempt to discover which, but lay looking out of half-open eyes through the white frilled muslin curtains of her window at the gently moving tree-tops. She liked to see the trees move gently so, like stately ladies fanning themselves. She liked the indolent morning conversation between two pigeons just above the eave. She stretched out her bare white arm and let her glance slide along its glistening surface. She noted the pinkness of her palm and her pretty oval nails.

This room and all that was in it was so much a part of her that it was beyond her imagination to picture herself as removed from it. Yet she knew that very soon she would be sharing Maurice’s room at Vaughanlands. She would take some things from this room to make it seem more home-like. The two little Dresden china girls on the mantelshelf. The watercolour by Uncle Ernest of the rose-covered Devon cottage, the sepia print of Queen Louise and the oval gilt-framed Sistine Madonna that stood on her writing-table. She would also like her comfortable stuffed chintz chair and the chenille curtains that hung at her door. Mrs. Vaughan had bought a new bedroom set for the young pair, the bed elaborately brass, the dressing-table and washing-stand of white enamel. Meg had suggested this herself for she was tired of heavy walnut and mahogany furniture.

It was surprisingly warm this morning. Summer was really here. A puff of scented air that was almost hot, pressed between the curtains and caressed her face and arms. With a strong movement she kicked the bed-clothes from her and lay smiling in her long white nightdress. She spread her pink toes to the warm air. She felt deliriously conscious of her body this morning, as though it were a strong young plant rejoicing in its coming fruition.

A thick light brown plait lay over each shoulder and ended in a close glossy curl. She took these curling ends in her hands and dangled them.

She heard a quick snuffling sound beneath her window, then an excited bark. It was her father’s spaniel, Keno, who was never let out in the morning except by Philip. Her father must be up then, off to catch a fish or two before breakfast!

Meg jumped out of bed and ran to the window. She put her head between the curtains and looked down. Her eyes were dancing. Her lips parted in a mischievous smile.

She saw her father in his corduroy Norfolk jacket, wading boots and a disreputable Panama hat. He had laid his rod on the grass and was taking something from his pocket. It was a pocket comb, and he began at once to comb the wavy black hair of Keno’s ears. The spaniel looked up and saw Meg leaning across the sill. He whimpered with pleasure and tried to prance about, but Philip held him firmly by the ear.

“Quiet, now, Keno! Behave yourself! We must have this loose hair combed out, you know.” He gave the dog a gentle cuff.

Meg’s cheeks dimpled. The stone sill felt cold and hard against her breast but she did not mind. She pressed closer to it as she leant out and made encouraging signs to Keno. His eyes were starting with excitement. He licked Philip’s hand and drew away from the comb.

Meg was just going to clap her hands to startle her father when she saw the figure of a man hurrying up the steep path from the ravine. As she turned her face in that direction a rich opulent smell came to her nostrils from the depths of moist earth and sun-warmed foliage there. Always afterward, when she thought of that morning, she was conscious of that smell.

Noah Binns came through the wicket gate and crossed the lawn in a jog-trot. Meg drew back behind the shelter of a curtain. Philip straightened himself at the sight of Noah’s face and the released spaniel reared himself toward Meg and rolled his eyes joyously. For the space of a moment the crystal of the summer morning was suspended.

“Hullo, Noah,” said Philip. “What’s up? It’s the first time in my life I’ve seen you move out of a snail’s gallop.”

Noah gasped—“I’ve a turrible piece of news fur you!”

Philip stared at him, his blue eyes prominent.

“Mr. Vaughan found a baby on his doorstep a bit ago and he fell in a swoon and I come along and there was a piece of paper lying on the ground and I looked at it and it said the baby was fathered by young Mr. Vaughan and it wasn’t no great shock to me fur I’ve saw the two of ’em whisperin’ together in the woods more than once.”

“Which two?”

“The young feller and Elvira—the dressmaker’s niece. They were a pair up to no good, that was plain.”

Philip spoke slowly. “A young baby, you said. Did you see it?”

“Ay, I seen it. Wrapped in a shawl and its face not as big as my fist. The girl couldn’t have wasted much time fetchin’ it, fur it looked young if ever a critter did.”

“What was done with the child?”

Noah’s eyes twinkled. “Mrs. Vaughan, she come down when she heard it cryin’ and took it up. She was in a turrible state, too. I guess there won’t be no weddin’ now, sir, eh?”

“To hell with you and your impudence!” said Philip. He looked regretfully at his fishing-rod and basket lying innocently on the green grass, at Keno grinning up at him. Then he picked up his things, chirped to his dog and went back into the house.

Noah Binns looked after him resentfully.

“Dang him!” he said. “Dang ’em all!”