knees.
‘I trust you are well, Susan?’ he enquired politely.
‘Oh, never mind about me, master – can ’ee stand up?’
He stretched experimentally and slowly hauled himself to his feet, straightening his back. A trickle of blood oozed from a cut above his right eye, but he smiled as he held out his hands to her, to pull her up beside him.
At that moment Mrs Bryers came running out of the school, her black skirts flying.
‘You should be whipped, you idle creature! First you gape in at my window like a monkey, and now you’ve brought Master Calthorpe off his horse. He could have broken his neck!’
And then there was another voice, quietly stern.
‘Thank you, Mrs Bryers, you may return to your pupils. I will take charge of my cousin and the girl.’
Miss Glover’s cool authority had an instantly calming effect. She took hold of the horse’s bridle and led him to her gatepost, where she tethered him. Mrs Bryers gave a last glare at Susan and went back into the school while the boy and girl followed Miss Glover into the handsome stone cottage set back from the road in a pretty summer garden.
When Susan found herself sitting on a cane-bottomed chair in a neat parlour with Edward seated beside her, her spirits rose to a point that was almost happiness. It was more than relief for Edward’s safety, it was a sense of lightness and freedom. She looked around at the curtained windows and the carpet on the floor, savouring a way of living immeasurably distant from the squalor of the Ash-Pits. She already thought Miss Glover the wisest and most beautiful grown-up lady she knew, and now she realised that in her presence she was safe, with no need for the wariness that had become habitual to her.
‘I shall fetch water to bathe that cut, Edward, and my maidservant will brew tea for us,’ said the lady. ‘And then you must tell me exactly what happened outside.’
‘’Twas not because of this poor –’twas not Susan’s fault, Sophy,’ said Edward quickly. ‘’Twas that mettlesome Juniper. My usual mare was – in use, so I had to take him.’
Miss Glover nodded, and as soon as she had left the room he turned eagerly to Susan.
‘You know, I still remember that harvest supper when we met,’ he said, ‘and how you stood up for the bats!’
She smiled shyly. ‘Oh-ah, master, that were a long time ago, just afore that bad winter when my three little brothers died o’ the white throat an’ my brother Joby were born.’
Her eyes darkened at the memory, and Edward bit his lip.
‘I’m sorry, Susan, I’d forgotten that it was such a bad time for the – for so many Beversley people. Yes, of course, poor old Dame Firkin – I recall it all now. I beg your pardon for bringing it to mind.’
She did not reply, and he experienced a strange awkwardness, almost a feeling of inadequacy. Had he but known it, it was the same unease that his father had long felt when reminded of the plight of the poor in Beversley.
His cousin Sophia returned with a basin of water and set about cleaning the cut above his eye; he tried not to wince as she dabbed the skin dry and put a folded white handkerchief over it, tying the ends together at the back of his head.
‘I think that will suffice, Edward, for the bleeding has stopped,’ she said, picking up the basin and turning to Susan.
‘Now, young Susan, what brought you up to Beversley alone today?’
Blushing and stammering, Susan explained her errand for Mrs Bennett.
‘And you were working in the barley field?’ asked Edward.
‘Oh, ay, master, me an’ Polly was follerin’ the horses pullin’ the harrow, and Jack an’ Joby was scarin’ the birds off the spring barley. We get what outdoor work we can, soon as the days start gettin’ longer.’
He shook his head wonderingly. ‘Yet you are still but children, Susan, about the same age as my sisters – and
they
are back in school today.’
It now occurred to him how different she appeared from the saucy,
‘I trust you are well, Susan?’ he enquired politely.
‘Oh, never mind about me, master – can ’ee stand up?’
He stretched experimentally and slowly hauled himself to his feet, straightening his back. A trickle of blood oozed from a cut above his right eye, but he smiled as he held out his hands to her, to pull her up beside him.
At that moment Mrs Bryers came running out of the school, her black skirts flying.
‘You should be whipped, you idle creature! First you gape in at my window like a monkey, and now you’ve brought Master Calthorpe off his horse. He could have broken his neck!’
And then there was another voice, quietly stern.
‘Thank you, Mrs Bryers, you may return to your pupils. I will take charge of my cousin and the girl.’
Miss Glover’s cool authority had an instantly calming effect. She took hold of the horse’s bridle and led him to her gatepost, where she tethered him. Mrs Bryers gave a last glare at Susan and went back into the school while the boy and girl followed Miss Glover into the handsome stone cottage set back from the road in a pretty summer garden.
When Susan found herself sitting on a cane-bottomed chair in a neat parlour with Edward seated beside her, her spirits rose to a point that was almost happiness. It was more than relief for Edward’s safety, it was a sense of lightness and freedom. She looked around at the curtained windows and the carpet on the floor, savouring a way of living immeasurably distant from the squalor of the Ash-Pits. She already thought Miss Glover the wisest and most beautiful grown-up lady she knew, and now she realised that in her presence she was safe, with no need for the wariness that had become habitual to her.
‘I shall fetch water to bathe that cut, Edward, and my maidservant will brew tea for us,’ said the lady. ‘And then you must tell me exactly what happened outside.’
‘’Twas not because of this poor –’twas not Susan’s fault, Sophy,’ said Edward quickly. ‘’Twas that mettlesome Juniper. My usual mare was – in use, so I had to take him.’
Miss Glover nodded, and as soon as she had left the room he turned eagerly to Susan.
‘You know, I still remember that harvest supper when we met,’ he said, ‘and how you stood up for the bats!’
She smiled shyly. ‘Oh-ah, master, that were a long time ago, just afore that bad winter when my three little brothers died o’ the white throat an’ my brother Joby were born.’
Her eyes darkened at the memory, and Edward bit his lip.
‘I’m sorry, Susan, I’d forgotten that it was such a bad time for the – for so many Beversley people. Yes, of course, poor old Dame Firkin – I recall it all now. I beg your pardon for bringing it to mind.’
She did not reply, and he experienced a strange awkwardness, almost a feeling of inadequacy. Had he but known it, it was the same unease that his father had long felt when reminded of the plight of the poor in Beversley.
His cousin Sophia returned with a basin of water and set about cleaning the cut above his eye; he tried not to wince as she dabbed the skin dry and put a folded white handkerchief over it, tying the ends together at the back of his head.
‘I think that will suffice, Edward, for the bleeding has stopped,’ she said, picking up the basin and turning to Susan.
‘Now, young Susan, what brought you up to Beversley alone today?’
Blushing and stammering, Susan explained her errand for Mrs Bennett.
‘And you were working in the barley field?’ asked Edward.
‘Oh, ay, master, me an’ Polly was follerin’ the horses pullin’ the harrow, and Jack an’ Joby was scarin’ the birds off the spring barley. We get what outdoor work we can, soon as the days start gettin’ longer.’
He shook his head wonderingly. ‘Yet you are still but children, Susan, about the same age as my sisters – and
they
are back in school today.’
It now occurred to him how different she appeared from the saucy,
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