HF - 05 - Sunset by Christopher Nicole Page A
Authors: Christopher Nicole
Tags: Historical Novel
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nonsense in all my life,' Oriole decided. 'Anyway, you're not going to that school any more. School ? I could not imagine anything more ridiculous.'
Slowly Meg turned to face her. 'Not going to school? But ...'
'I will teach you,' Oriole said, extending one utterly delightful arm and reaching for her robe. 'What you need to know. What does this Mrs McAvoy teach you ?'
'Well, reading, and writing and arithmetic, and history and geography.'
'Can you read?'
'Of course.'
'Can you write? Can you count up to ten?’ 'Of course I can.'
'Well, then, I am sure you know enough of that. History and geography are really not subjects that a young lady need be acquainted with. Do you speak French?'
'French?'
'Do you sew? I mean needlework, not darning. Do you play the piano?'
'How can I?' Meg demanded. 'I don't have a piano. Neither does Aunt Helen.'
'Mrs McAvoy, please. You are surely not related to her? Of course you have a piano. There is one in the Great House.'
'But ... we can't go there.'
'Why not?'
'Papa keeps it locked. He doesn't allow anyone in there. He'd be furious.'
Oriole smiled, and held up a large key. 'What do you suppose this is ? Your father and I had a heart to heart talk last night I explained to him how terribly wrong he has been, just allowing you to run wild. He has agreed to make your education my responsibility. Now, you go and have your breakfast, or whatever it is you call this meal, and I will get dressed. Then we'll explore, shall we?'
Meg felt she should be resentful, even angry, at the way her life was being taken over. But she was far too excited. She was going to get inside the Great House, after all these years. She was going to be taught the piano. And French. Why French? If any foreign tongue was spoken in the West Indies it was Spanish. But no doubt Oriole knew best. Oh, indeed, no one could doubt that Oriole knew best.
She gulped her steaming cup of coffee, chewed her homemade bread, finished with a banana. She really didn't like bananas, but they were the one fruit which was always available, which was probably why she didn't like them.
'Eh-eh, but you ain' going to school ?' Prudence demanded when the meal was over, and she sat down to wait
'Not today. Not ever again.'
'Eh -eh, but you crazy or what, chil’ ? You must go to school.'
'Ha,' Meg said, and stood up, as Oriole swept into the room. It was easy to see that she had made some concessions to the climate. She no longer wore a corset that was obvious, just as it was obvious that she was only wearing perhaps two petticoats, and her gown was muslin, in soft lilac, and was open at the throat, although her sleeves were tightly buttoned at the wrist
'All ready ?' she demanded.
'I am. But aren't you going to have something to eat?'
'I never take anything in the mornings,' Oriole said. 'And you may have to adopt the same programme, if you propose to keep on growing. You. Your name is Prudence, I understand.'
'Yes'm.'
'Madam. You will call me madam. This house is like a pig-sty. I want it cleaned, and I want it cleaned today. If the work is too much for you, get some help from the village.
There must be dozens of women just lying about there, doing nothing. See to it, or I'll have you dismissed.'
Prudence merely goggled at her, but Oriole was not wasting time. 'Come along, Margaret,' she commanded, and swept into the front room, where she picked up a brightly coloured parasol. 'Where is your hat ?'
'I'll have to wear my old one.' Meg set it on her head, then pulled her skirt to her ankles. 'But I'm wearing my new boots. Aren't they splendid?'
Oriole sniffed. 'That style of boot went out of fashion in England over ten years ago. You've a lot to learn, my dear. Shall we go ?' She led the way down the steps. Alan McAvoy waited by the gate. 'Can we assist you?' she inquired.
Alan raised his hat. 'I was waiting for Meg, Mrs Paterson.'
'Why?'
'Alan always walks me across to school,' Meg explained.
'But you are not going to
Slowly Meg turned to face her. 'Not going to school? But ...'
'I will teach you,' Oriole said, extending one utterly delightful arm and reaching for her robe. 'What you need to know. What does this Mrs McAvoy teach you ?'
'Well, reading, and writing and arithmetic, and history and geography.'
'Can you read?'
'Of course.'
'Can you write? Can you count up to ten?’ 'Of course I can.'
'Well, then, I am sure you know enough of that. History and geography are really not subjects that a young lady need be acquainted with. Do you speak French?'
'French?'
'Do you sew? I mean needlework, not darning. Do you play the piano?'
'How can I?' Meg demanded. 'I don't have a piano. Neither does Aunt Helen.'
'Mrs McAvoy, please. You are surely not related to her? Of course you have a piano. There is one in the Great House.'
'But ... we can't go there.'
'Why not?'
'Papa keeps it locked. He doesn't allow anyone in there. He'd be furious.'
Oriole smiled, and held up a large key. 'What do you suppose this is ? Your father and I had a heart to heart talk last night I explained to him how terribly wrong he has been, just allowing you to run wild. He has agreed to make your education my responsibility. Now, you go and have your breakfast, or whatever it is you call this meal, and I will get dressed. Then we'll explore, shall we?'
Meg felt she should be resentful, even angry, at the way her life was being taken over. But she was far too excited. She was going to get inside the Great House, after all these years. She was going to be taught the piano. And French. Why French? If any foreign tongue was spoken in the West Indies it was Spanish. But no doubt Oriole knew best. Oh, indeed, no one could doubt that Oriole knew best.
She gulped her steaming cup of coffee, chewed her homemade bread, finished with a banana. She really didn't like bananas, but they were the one fruit which was always available, which was probably why she didn't like them.
'Eh-eh, but you ain' going to school ?' Prudence demanded when the meal was over, and she sat down to wait
'Not today. Not ever again.'
'Eh -eh, but you crazy or what, chil’ ? You must go to school.'
'Ha,' Meg said, and stood up, as Oriole swept into the room. It was easy to see that she had made some concessions to the climate. She no longer wore a corset that was obvious, just as it was obvious that she was only wearing perhaps two petticoats, and her gown was muslin, in soft lilac, and was open at the throat, although her sleeves were tightly buttoned at the wrist
'All ready ?' she demanded.
'I am. But aren't you going to have something to eat?'
'I never take anything in the mornings,' Oriole said. 'And you may have to adopt the same programme, if you propose to keep on growing. You. Your name is Prudence, I understand.'
'Yes'm.'
'Madam. You will call me madam. This house is like a pig-sty. I want it cleaned, and I want it cleaned today. If the work is too much for you, get some help from the village.
There must be dozens of women just lying about there, doing nothing. See to it, or I'll have you dismissed.'
Prudence merely goggled at her, but Oriole was not wasting time. 'Come along, Margaret,' she commanded, and swept into the front room, where she picked up a brightly coloured parasol. 'Where is your hat ?'
'I'll have to wear my old one.' Meg set it on her head, then pulled her skirt to her ankles. 'But I'm wearing my new boots. Aren't they splendid?'
Oriole sniffed. 'That style of boot went out of fashion in England over ten years ago. You've a lot to learn, my dear. Shall we go ?' She led the way down the steps. Alan McAvoy waited by the gate. 'Can we assist you?' she inquired.
Alan raised his hat. 'I was waiting for Meg, Mrs Paterson.'
'Why?'
'Alan always walks me across to school,' Meg explained.
'But you are not going to
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