peafowl,” she said. “See?” She pointed to a couple of feathers. They glimmered green, iridescent blue and gold in the dry grass.
“Can I keep them? Can I put them in my hat?” asked Poppy.
In my millinery career I’d observed that, despite their beautiful colours, peacock feathers aren’t often used as a trim. It’s the eyes, I suppose. Some people feel funny about them. But I said to Poppy that I didn’t see why not, and she stuck them in her hatband.
We moved on and found a horse and a goat cropping grass in a small paddock. Poppy called for the horse, but it was the goat that came over. She was a nanny goat with shaggy white hair and yellow eyes. Poppy happily scratched her neck and allowed her to nuzzle her hands.
“Come on, Poppy, let’s keep exploring,” I said after a few minutes. No offence to the goat, but she was rather smelly.
Heading down to the far side of the house, we found the aviary. It was more like a house than a birdcage. One section was full of small bright birds and the other was empty except for the white peacock. He was perched high up on a post with his long tail, like a swag of dusty lace, sweeping down to the ground. He looked rather dejected.
Beyond the aviary was a low stone fence marking the boundary of the property. Shantigar was set high on a hill, and now, facing west, we could see the sun sinking like a bright golden ball on the horizon. Layers of crimson, pink and orange clouds spread across the sky. Everything glowed with warm sunset light.
“It’s just astoundishing,” said Poppy.
“Astonishing, Poppy. Or do you mean astounding?” said a voice behind us.
“Drucilla!” I cried, but Poppy got to her first. She tackled her around the waist and hugged her so fiercely that Drucilla nearly fell over. To tell you the truth, I felt like doing the same.
“My darling girl,” said Drucilla, folding me in her arms. “And Connie – why, you’re positively blooming.” She hugged her too. “I’ve missed you so. Papa – I mean Mr Savinov – how is he? And Judith and Daniel and the baby? Is … is
everybody
well?”
There was something about the way she said “everybody” … Was she hinting for news of SP?
“Oh, we’re all fine,” I said. “But how are you, Drucilla? Are you happy with the Levinys?”
“Are the children good?” asked Poppy.
“Are they musical?” Connie wanted to know.
“Yes, yes and yes. The children are the dearest creatures, I am treated as a friend of the family and Connie dear, they are
mad
about music. In fact, there’s to be a musical gathering at their house tomorrow night, and you’re all invited. Really, I couldn’t be happier.”
Hmm, I thought, inspecting her carefully. No doubt the Levinys were kind, but Drucilla wasn’t telling the whole truth. There was no sparkle in her eyes and she looked a little thinner. Was she pining for SP? I certainly hoped so.
There was a rattling sound behind us. It was Mohan, carrying a metal can and shaking it from side to side.
“Ooh!” Poppy let out a scream and scrambled to hide behind me. “Peacocks.”
Peafowl. They were running along at high speed. Mohan opened the door to the aviary and the birds rushed in.
“Time for supper,” explained Mohan, dipping into the canister and throwing handfuls of grain to the birds. “They need to be locked up for the night.”
“Why?” asked Poppy.
“They fly up into trees and onto rooftops, and our neighbours might not like that. The noise they make can be quite alarming.”
Now that the birds were in their pen, Poppy moved closer. “Why was the white one all alone?”
“Because he has only just arrived. He doesn’t know that this is his home yet; he might wander away.”
“Has he got a name?”
“Not yet.”
“You should call him Mr Snow. I ain’t seen snow, but it’s white, an’ ’e’s white.” She nodded wisely. “An’ look,” she added, pointing to her hat. “I found four feathers.”
“Well spotted,
“Can I keep them? Can I put them in my hat?” asked Poppy.
In my millinery career I’d observed that, despite their beautiful colours, peacock feathers aren’t often used as a trim. It’s the eyes, I suppose. Some people feel funny about them. But I said to Poppy that I didn’t see why not, and she stuck them in her hatband.
We moved on and found a horse and a goat cropping grass in a small paddock. Poppy called for the horse, but it was the goat that came over. She was a nanny goat with shaggy white hair and yellow eyes. Poppy happily scratched her neck and allowed her to nuzzle her hands.
“Come on, Poppy, let’s keep exploring,” I said after a few minutes. No offence to the goat, but she was rather smelly.
Heading down to the far side of the house, we found the aviary. It was more like a house than a birdcage. One section was full of small bright birds and the other was empty except for the white peacock. He was perched high up on a post with his long tail, like a swag of dusty lace, sweeping down to the ground. He looked rather dejected.
Beyond the aviary was a low stone fence marking the boundary of the property. Shantigar was set high on a hill, and now, facing west, we could see the sun sinking like a bright golden ball on the horizon. Layers of crimson, pink and orange clouds spread across the sky. Everything glowed with warm sunset light.
“It’s just astoundishing,” said Poppy.
“Astonishing, Poppy. Or do you mean astounding?” said a voice behind us.
“Drucilla!” I cried, but Poppy got to her first. She tackled her around the waist and hugged her so fiercely that Drucilla nearly fell over. To tell you the truth, I felt like doing the same.
“My darling girl,” said Drucilla, folding me in her arms. “And Connie – why, you’re positively blooming.” She hugged her too. “I’ve missed you so. Papa – I mean Mr Savinov – how is he? And Judith and Daniel and the baby? Is … is
everybody
well?”
There was something about the way she said “everybody” … Was she hinting for news of SP?
“Oh, we’re all fine,” I said. “But how are you, Drucilla? Are you happy with the Levinys?”
“Are the children good?” asked Poppy.
“Are they musical?” Connie wanted to know.
“Yes, yes and yes. The children are the dearest creatures, I am treated as a friend of the family and Connie dear, they are
mad
about music. In fact, there’s to be a musical gathering at their house tomorrow night, and you’re all invited. Really, I couldn’t be happier.”
Hmm, I thought, inspecting her carefully. No doubt the Levinys were kind, but Drucilla wasn’t telling the whole truth. There was no sparkle in her eyes and she looked a little thinner. Was she pining for SP? I certainly hoped so.
There was a rattling sound behind us. It was Mohan, carrying a metal can and shaking it from side to side.
“Ooh!” Poppy let out a scream and scrambled to hide behind me. “Peacocks.”
Peafowl. They were running along at high speed. Mohan opened the door to the aviary and the birds rushed in.
“Time for supper,” explained Mohan, dipping into the canister and throwing handfuls of grain to the birds. “They need to be locked up for the night.”
“Why?” asked Poppy.
“They fly up into trees and onto rooftops, and our neighbours might not like that. The noise they make can be quite alarming.”
Now that the birds were in their pen, Poppy moved closer. “Why was the white one all alone?”
“Because he has only just arrived. He doesn’t know that this is his home yet; he might wander away.”
“Has he got a name?”
“Not yet.”
“You should call him Mr Snow. I ain’t seen snow, but it’s white, an’ ’e’s white.” She nodded wisely. “An’ look,” she added, pointing to her hat. “I found four feathers.”
“Well spotted,
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