wench. D’ye want to be trampled down?’
She almost lost her footing as the back wheels swept by, retreating in a light cloud of dust. A woman’s face glared from the window, and Susan’s heart hammered. She had never been so close to the Bever carriage, and was astonished at its size and height, so much grander than Miss Glover’s two-seater pony-trap that she drove when visiting in Beversley.
Recollecting her errand, Susan ran down the street, past the bakehouse and blacksmith’s forge to the school, a tall house at the end, almost facing Miss Glover’s cottage. She marched up to the front door and pulled on the bell rope, hoping to get a peep inside the place where Mrs Bryers taught her pupils those magic signs that could form themselves into messages for folk to send to each other without having to speak face to face. Susan’s imagination had been fired by Miss Glover’s ability to read the Bible and Prayer Book and the
Hampshire Chronicle
, and the way she wrote notes and lists on pieces of paper. Oh, happy children whose parents could afford the weekly shilling to send them to Mrs Bryers’ school!
She smiled eagerly at the maidservant who opened the door a crack.
‘Mrs Bryers don’t want no beggars round here.’
‘If ’ee pleases, Oi ha’ – er – Miss Marianne’s sewin’ bag,’ faltered Susan, holding it out and trying to look past the maid’s shoulder.
‘Then ye’ve no business wi’ it,’ came the reply as the bag was snatched from her hand. ‘Be off wi’ ye.’
And to Susan’s utter dismay the door was shut in her face. She knew that she should return to the barley field, but such was her desire to see inside the temple of learning that she decided to try to peep in at a window. The front of the house opened on to the street, and there were three tall windows, one with a convenient mounting-stone beneath it. Susan climbed on to this and stretched herself up until her head was above the windowsill.
And there it was, the big room with girls and boys seated on wooden forms, the smaller ones at the front. She recognised Selina and Caroline Calthorpe at the back with the Bennett girls, and Rosa and William Hansford somewhere in the middle with three of the Smart brood. She saw the Grimes children from the bakehouse and the Dummets from Crabb’s cottages, most of them younger than the thirteen-year-old girl who gazed in with such longing. The formidable figure of Mrs Bryers stood by the blackboard on which there were groups of those magic signs written in chalk.
Suddenly Rosa Hansford jumped with a cry.
‘Mrs Bryers, Mrs Bryers, there’s a face looking in at us!’
By the time they had all turned their heads in her direction, Susan had already dropped down and was heading for the road – straight into the path of a high-stepping young stallion and his rider. A confused jumble of impressions followed in quick succession: rearing hoofs, her own scream of terror, a boy’s shout – ‘No, Juniper,
no!
’ – then the hoofs plunging down on the cobbles, missing her by inches, and another shout as the young rider slithered down the horse’s flank, clinging first to the mane and then the neck, reaching the ground feet first but overbalancing as the horse shied violently sideways.
A boy lay sprawled in the dust, his jacket and breeches dirtied, his hat lying several feet away. The horse circled nervously round him, empty stirrups dangling.
Susan’s mouth went dry with fear, and she fell to her knees beside the young horseman, thrown from his seat because of her stupidity. To her indescribable relief he stared at her, blankly at first but then his eyes focused into recognition. He gave an uncertain smile and put his hand to his head.
He was Edward Calthorpe, alive and conscious.
‘Susan,’ he said. ‘Little Susan!’
‘Thank God,’ she murmured. ‘Can ’ee move, master? Be any bones broke?’
For answer he heaved himself up into an undignified position on hands and
She almost lost her footing as the back wheels swept by, retreating in a light cloud of dust. A woman’s face glared from the window, and Susan’s heart hammered. She had never been so close to the Bever carriage, and was astonished at its size and height, so much grander than Miss Glover’s two-seater pony-trap that she drove when visiting in Beversley.
Recollecting her errand, Susan ran down the street, past the bakehouse and blacksmith’s forge to the school, a tall house at the end, almost facing Miss Glover’s cottage. She marched up to the front door and pulled on the bell rope, hoping to get a peep inside the place where Mrs Bryers taught her pupils those magic signs that could form themselves into messages for folk to send to each other without having to speak face to face. Susan’s imagination had been fired by Miss Glover’s ability to read the Bible and Prayer Book and the
Hampshire Chronicle
, and the way she wrote notes and lists on pieces of paper. Oh, happy children whose parents could afford the weekly shilling to send them to Mrs Bryers’ school!
She smiled eagerly at the maidservant who opened the door a crack.
‘Mrs Bryers don’t want no beggars round here.’
‘If ’ee pleases, Oi ha’ – er – Miss Marianne’s sewin’ bag,’ faltered Susan, holding it out and trying to look past the maid’s shoulder.
‘Then ye’ve no business wi’ it,’ came the reply as the bag was snatched from her hand. ‘Be off wi’ ye.’
And to Susan’s utter dismay the door was shut in her face. She knew that she should return to the barley field, but such was her desire to see inside the temple of learning that she decided to try to peep in at a window. The front of the house opened on to the street, and there were three tall windows, one with a convenient mounting-stone beneath it. Susan climbed on to this and stretched herself up until her head was above the windowsill.
And there it was, the big room with girls and boys seated on wooden forms, the smaller ones at the front. She recognised Selina and Caroline Calthorpe at the back with the Bennett girls, and Rosa and William Hansford somewhere in the middle with three of the Smart brood. She saw the Grimes children from the bakehouse and the Dummets from Crabb’s cottages, most of them younger than the thirteen-year-old girl who gazed in with such longing. The formidable figure of Mrs Bryers stood by the blackboard on which there were groups of those magic signs written in chalk.
Suddenly Rosa Hansford jumped with a cry.
‘Mrs Bryers, Mrs Bryers, there’s a face looking in at us!’
By the time they had all turned their heads in her direction, Susan had already dropped down and was heading for the road – straight into the path of a high-stepping young stallion and his rider. A confused jumble of impressions followed in quick succession: rearing hoofs, her own scream of terror, a boy’s shout – ‘No, Juniper,
no!
’ – then the hoofs plunging down on the cobbles, missing her by inches, and another shout as the young rider slithered down the horse’s flank, clinging first to the mane and then the neck, reaching the ground feet first but overbalancing as the horse shied violently sideways.
A boy lay sprawled in the dust, his jacket and breeches dirtied, his hat lying several feet away. The horse circled nervously round him, empty stirrups dangling.
Susan’s mouth went dry with fear, and she fell to her knees beside the young horseman, thrown from his seat because of her stupidity. To her indescribable relief he stared at her, blankly at first but then his eyes focused into recognition. He gave an uncertain smile and put his hand to his head.
He was Edward Calthorpe, alive and conscious.
‘Susan,’ he said. ‘Little Susan!’
‘Thank God,’ she murmured. ‘Can ’ee move, master? Be any bones broke?’
For answer he heaved himself up into an undignified position on hands and
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