Читать книгу The Buttonmaker’s Daughter - Merryn Allingham, Merryn Allingham - Страница 16

Chapter Eleven

Ten minutes later, William emerged from Elizabeth’s room pushing a small piece of white paper as far down his trouser pocket as he could. He wasn’t at all sure that he agreed with Olly’s claim of her being ‘a top-hole sister’. Right now, he wished he were sister-free. He loved Elizabeth – when he was very young he’d worshipped her – but what she wanted him to do was wrong. Yet she had asked him so plaintively that he’d had no alternative but to agree.

He met Oliver coming out of the kitchen, his right cheek bulging with pork pie. ‘Here, I’ve got one for you. Let’s go to the retreat and stuff ourselves.’

They skirted the lawn, making sure they kept a distance from the men who were still hard at work, then bounded along the path that led beneath the pergola, eager to get to their hideaway. It was another warm day and the slight breeze was welcome. In addition to the pork pies, Oliver had managed to secrete two large bottles of lemonade and filch a chunk of plum cake from the larder when Cook had her attention elsewhere. Evidently, there was serious eating to be done.

In front of them rose the beautiful curved wall, dear to William since infancy, its face to the south, its espaliered apricots, pears and plums beginning to form their fruits for a late-summer picking. He felt a swell of love for the garden. Life at Summerhayes could be dull and, when it wasn’t dull, his father’s short temper made it unpleasant. But the garden never failed to calm. It was what he missed most when he packed his trunk for a school that knew nothing of the beauty his father’s despised money had created. And it was the garden he enjoyed most when once more he returned home. Wandering its acres, noticing new flowers, trees that had grown, bushes that had spread. It was like getting to know an old friend all over again.

‘What did your sister want?’ Olly asked, as they jogged past the outbuildings.

‘Just something she asked me to do for her.’ He tried to sound unconcerned.

‘What?’

‘A message. She wanted me to take a message.’

‘Sounds exciting. Where is it?’

He trundled to a stop and pulled from his pocket the scrap of paper, already dented and a little dirty around the edges. Before he could stop him, Olly had reached out and plucked it from his fingers.

‘“I hope to see you at the fête tomorrow. I’ll be there. Elizabeth,”’ he read aloud. ‘Not much excitement there.’ He sounded disappointed.

William retrieved the message and stuffed it back into his pocket. But his friend hadn’t given up. ‘Who’s it for, anyway?’ Then, as the truth dawned on him, added, ‘Not that chap – the chap working on the temple?’

He nodded miserably. Olly gave one of his low whistles. ‘Why are you looking like that? It is exciting, after all.’

‘It’s not exciting, it’s wrong,’ he said stubbornly.

‘Don’t be a spoilsport. True love and all that. We have to help.’