Victoria and the Nightingale by Susan Barrie Page B

to. This defeated her, and they went on to the next. Then, to her wholehearted relief, they really were outside, and the exquisite, wine-like freshness of the morning, laden with the perfume of summer flowers, dew-drenched grasses and moist shrubberies, came at them, together with a wild chorus of bird song that was enough to lighten anyone’s heart. Victoria felt as if a load had been lifted from her shoulders, and only the future had to be coped with.
    But the future was still a part of the present. Johnny moved like a sleepwalker, and the freshness of the early morning caused him to shiver noticeably. He was wearing only the T-shirt and short pants in which he’d survived the accident—Victoria preferring to leave the new clothes that had been provided for him behind—and she wished that she had had the foresight to buy him a warm sweater before they left. This was an omission, however, that could be rectified as soon as they reached the world of shops.
    But before they reached the world of shops there was a long drive to be traversed, and then three good miles of country road before they reached the village and the bus stop. Johnny walked with bowed shoulders and his head down, and not even the swelling chorus of birds excited him. He loved identifying bird calls, but this morning he was either acutely depressed, or very, very tired indeed, for he seemed unable to lift his eyes, and his feet dragged.
    Victoria sought to encourage him. She told him that it would not be long before they reached the village inn, and then he could be provided with breakfast. And after that there would be the ride in the bus, and then a long journey by train as far as London, where he always seemed to like living. She was sure he would like to be back again among familiar scenes. But Johnny merely made a supreme effort and lifted his weary eyes to her face, and she felt quite shocked as a result of what she saw in them.
    “Won’t we ever live in the country again?”
    Victoria sought to convince him that they might one day.
    “It all depends on—on a lot of things,” she said. She added vaguely: “Things like whether or not I can get a job in the country. If you really want to live in the country I could try.”
    “But it won’t be the same, will it?” Johnny persisted, peering up into her face.
    “You mean there won’t be a Sir Peter Wycherley to buy you things, and take you for rides in his big car?”
    “I was thinking of—of the country itself,” Johnny replied, waving a hand to indicate the ordered lawns on either side of them. “It won’t be like this, will it? With horses and dogs, and lots and lots of flowers like there are here?”
    Victoria understood perfectly.
    “No, it won’t,” she answered truthfully. “But I did point all that out to you yesterday, didn’t I?” she reminded him with just a trace of gentle rebuke in her tone.
    Johnny, who had been clutching limply at her fingers, gave them a sudden squeeze.
    “It’s all right,” he said manfully. “I don’t mind.”
    They reached the lodge keeper’s cottage, and although it was so early a plume of smoke was rising from one of the chimneys into the pale blue of the sky, and a smell of bacon and eggs floated out to them by way of an open kitchen window.
    Victoria hurried Johnny past the lodge, and then they were outside the grounds of Wycherley Park, standing on the edge of a broad, tree-shaded and extremely beautiful country road. The road, Victoria knew, was broad at this point, where the elegant gates of Wycherley Park opened out on to it, but it narrowed considerably and ran between high hedges smothered with honeysuckle and wild roses at this season of the year, and whichever way they turned they would be caught up in a wilderness of green after a few yards or so. The village of Wycherley lay to the left, so to the left they were about to turn, only the sound of a car coming from the opposite direction caused Victoria to glance round hurriedly