Текст книги "Beyond The Blue Mountains"
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 36 страниц)
“Of course,” said Esther.
“I understand. I do. I do. If you repent now, all your sins will be forgiven.”
Carolan said: “He repents now; of course he repents! He has chosen the right moment for his repentance; he probably knew before he left England that he would repent at this precise moment.”
“Oh, please! Please!” said Esther.
“Stop quarrelling!”
“We are not quarrelling. We are not speaking to one another, so how can we quarrel? Why should I bother to tell him that he is despicable!”
Marcus said hotly: “And why should I tell her that she has no softness in her, no loving kindness, no understanding; only a set of stupid morals!”
Carolan laughed cruelly.
“Yes, Esther, of course I am very stupid; but not quite as stupid as some people might think. I am not deceived as easily as some might think to deceive me. Do you remember a certain late afternoon when we lay becalmed in the tropics, Esther, and they seemed to forget that we were convict beasts to be battened down under our hatches? They let us lie on deck. To be sure the sun was unbearable, but we thought ourselves lucky to get a breath of fresh air. Do you remember that, Esther? And do you remember how we talked to him, the two of us, and a dark-haired imperious lady had us ordered below? Do you know why, Esther? She was jealous. She was jealous because he was with us. She was coming out on the convict ship with him because she loved him so much. And when she arrived she saw that he was assigned to her as her servant, her very loving servant. I recognized her or I thought I did when I took coffee in to her and Mrs. Masterman. Now I know. Now it is all clear to me.”
Esther looked at Marcus.
“It is true, Esther,” he said.
“Now she has told you what a rogue I am, will you turn from me ?”
“Very pathetic, is he not!” said Carolan, throwing the words over her shoulder.
A shadow darkened the window then. They all looked towards it at once, and saw a man standing there, a man in a mulberry coloured coat and riding breeches. He was grinning.
“Ah!” said Marcus.
“My friend, my master, Tom Blake.” The corners of the man’s mouth were like the horns of the crescent moon. His teeth were small and white; his eyes small and shrewd; his hair so curly and shiny that it looked grizzled. His age appeared to be somewhere in the early thirties.
“Tom,” said Marcus, with a swift change of manner, ‘meet my friends, Carolan Haredon, Esther March, and Mistress Margery Their guardian angel.”
Margery stood up eagerly. She wondered if he knew she had told; she supposed he might guess. There was no hint of reproach though in his eyes. Was he thinking Mistress Carolan was a virago not worth the pursuit? Was he noticing the loveliness born of love, in Esther’s face? A man such as he was would have known many women; there would have been spirited beauties like Carolan before, like as not; but a modest violet, an innocent little blossom like Esther? They were rare enough! There was a lot of kick to be got out of despoiling the innocent. Didn’t she know it! She had enjoyed her curate.
And now this new man … His eyes went round the room. Carolan, Margery, Esther, and Carolan again! No, no! No man could ever want the modest violet when the rich red rose was his for the plucking.
“You’re Marcus’s friend!” She was throwing sweetness all over her anger, dampening it down, though it smouldered through the sweetness.
“He was telling us about you.”
“Well now!” said the man, and he could not take his eyes from her.
She was for all the world like a lady receiving her guests. The man was of lowly stock; he hadn’t the breeding of Marcus. He was quivering with pleasure at the sight of her; he was wondering why her smiles were all for him.
“Margery,” she said, just as though she were the mistress and Margery rather a favoured servant.
“Margery, couldn’t we have a little celebration?”
It was queer how, if you were a servant by nature, and a lady or gentleman by nature, you slipped into your parts naturally enough, thought Margery. She wanted to say: “Here. This is Mr. Masterman’s house, this is. You’re only a servant… a convict at that! Who are you to give yourself airs!” But she didn’t. She was reckless, and she didn’t care if Mr. Masterman himself came in and found them and took her to task. She had to obey. She was sorry for her, anyway; she was sorry for having told her; because they were made for each other, and heaven knew there wasn’t nearly enough loving in the world.
“All right then, but we mustn’t make too much noise.” The way of entry is a leap over the window-sill.” said Carolan, and he leaped in.
“You are very hospitable,” said Marcus, trying to catch her eye.
Carolan laughed, but she did not look at Marcus.
“If those above knew we entertained our friends, there would be some severe reprimands, I feel sure.”
Tom Blake said hesitatingly: “We wouldn’t want to be making trouble for you.”
His voice had the tang of the Thames in it. Margery thought it was like a breath of fresh air from home.
“Trouble!” said Mistress Carolan.
“Who cares?”
That was her mood, reckless, angry and hurt.
Margery went to the cupboard and brought out a bottle of spirits. I never knew anything like this, she thought. Suppose someone was to come in Suppose Mr. Masterman himself… not that he comes to the kitchen … but it might get to his ears. Convict entertaining convict!
They sat round the table. Marcus was talking to Esther, but it was easy to see he was thinking of Carolan. Carolan talked vivaciously to the newcomer; he was dazed. Margery could see he had never known anyone like her before. His experience of women would have been picked up in Thames-side taverns. His admiration was buoying the girl up while she swam away from the misery of loving Marcus. Margery joined in now and then, though she was content to watch them. It was as good as the play to sit here and watch them, and to know that she was the master-hand behind it all; she had jerked these people into action; in a measure she controlled their movements; it was balm to wounded vanity. Watching, laughing secretly, she forgot that James was missing a night now and then, that his love’ making was getting more casual than urgent.
Tom Blake was talking to Carolan in his stilted way; in every tone of his voice, in every glance.he expressed his admiration.He had got the land; he had got a grant from the government. There was more money to be made in this new country than in the old. One day and that day not far distant he might be a rich man. Marcus talked to Esther, their heads close together. He was tired of a criminal’s life; he had seen a chance to escape it, escape it for ever. Could he not expiate his sins of the past by leading an exemplary life? Eventually he would get his ticket of leave; a ticket of leave man was all but free. And if he worked hard, became a respectable, honest citizen … why, what did this country need to exploit its riches as much as respectable, honest citizens? He had practised deceit, God knew, to get to this; but could he not work out his salvation?
Oh, he could! He could! Miss Mealy Mouth clasped her hands, and her eyes adored him. Margery laughed into her glass. She thought she loved him for his strivings towards the right; but she loved him for his merry blue eyes, and the movements of his hands, and the softness of his voice and the things he said, and the way he could caress a woman with a smile or a word. Did she not see that he was playing her off against Carolan, just as Carolan was playing off this other fellow against him? And all the time they wanted one another, were made for one another.
James put his head round the door; he jerked his head towards Carolan.
“She’s wanted upstairs… sharp!” Carolan stood up, a hostess no longer, a servant, a convict servant.
“Goodbye,” she said, all gracious again.
“I shall see you again soon, I hope.”
Tom Blake rose to his feet and took the hand she offered. He looked as if he would have bowed had he not felt that he would appear ridiculous so doing. Marcus looked on superciliously.
“Goodbye,” said Carolan, and her eyes flicked him hastily.
Marcus stood up. He bowed ironically.
“Such a pity you have to go when we were enjoying ourselves so much!”
She moved towards the door, gracious as a queen. A pity she hadn’t a train to sweep instead of that faded old yellow!
When she had gone there seemed no longer any point in continuing the party. The men left. Esther went back to her sink. Margery started to scold her; she felt rather ashamed of herself and had to take it out of someone.
Carolan went slowly upstairs. She felt strung up, full of sadness and cynicism, thinking: First I loved a coward; then I loved a rogue. My own fault for loving the wrong people. Poor Everard, he had had a mission in life; he had had a family; they were too strong for him. And Marcus? Marcus had had bad luck and the cruelty of life was too strong for him, so he became a schemer and a rogue and a philanderer and a prostitute. I loved the wrong people.
She tapped at Mrs. Masterman’s door. There was no answer, so she went in. The room was empty.
A voice called: “In here please!”
It was Mr. Masterman in the toilet-room.
Her colour heightened, a certain fear rising within her, she went through.
He was standing with his back to the door, and he was holding something in his hands. He did not turn. It seemed that he did not want to look at her.
“This coat of mine,” he said.
“I have spilt some wine on it. My wife tells me that you remove stains from her garments most satisfactorily …”
She approached. She took the coat from him.
“I will do my best,” she said, and she could not prevent a cold dignity from creeping into her voice.
Thank you,” he said.
She took the coat, and as she took it she lifted her face and looked at him; he was looking at her. There was a trace of interest in his eyes. She felt the blush deepen in her cheeks. He had noticed her then! Even he! He was interested in her … mildly of course. It was funny. It made her want to laugh, and she had need of laughter. She smiled at him shyly.
He said: “Do you think you will be able to remove the stain? It is a good coat.”
She said again: “I will do my best.”
“That… that is good of you.”
“I will sponge it first and see what happens. Velvet is not easy to treat.”
“I should imagine it was more difficult than… than…”
He was bashful, bashful as a schoolboy. What was this power she had inherited from her mother and her grandmother and her great-grandmother, the power that could make cold Mr. Masterman bashful as a schoolboy? But it could not win Marcus’s fidelity, nor give Everard courage; those were what she had wanted from those two. What did she care for this man! But she needed to laugh, and she could laugh at him.
She laid the coat out on a table, and touched the stain with a finger. She had a sudden suspicion that he might have spilt the wine purposely, because he wished for this interview with her. That would be like him, calculating. He was attracted by her; did she not know the signs? She thought of that sickly woman, his wife, locking the door, having the key pushed under it. There was a certain balm in teasing him, this cold, unemotional man who was suddenly not quite so cold, not quite so emotionless.
He said: “You are happier than you expected you would be?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“You must have suffered a good deal.”
She lifted her face to his, and the tears were in her eyes. They were real tears; they were born of anger and self-pity; but they were very effective, more so than tears of sorrow would have been, and in any case he was a novice in his knowledge of women and would not know the difference.
He quickly looked away from her, and said slowly: “If… if it is any satisfaction to you, I should like you to know that I believe in your innocence.”
“Thank you,” she said, and smiled through her tears.
Lucille Masterman said: “I am tired now, Carolan. It is not a very exciting book, is it! I am sure your voice is tired too. Draw the blinds; the sun hurts my eyes. Do you find this sun overbearing too? Thank heaven March will soon be out. How I look forward to the winter! Not that I shall be able to entertain much; I simply have not the strength.”
Carolan closed the book. In the last weeks her status in this house had risen considerably. In the kitchen they regarded her with awe: she was not there often now. She still slept in the basement with the others, but she was not required to do any of those menial tasks which she loathed. Sometimes she polished the glasses. Mrs. Masterman said: “See that they come shining to the table, Carolan. You know what these people are … they have simply no idea …” Carolan this, Carolan that; and once, Carolan, my dear. And all due to that cunning she had learnt from Marcus. She had been sympathetic to Lucille, had listened to her talk with obvious interest; she had invented a disease which had killed her grandmother; it was something like the one from which Lucille imagined herself to be suffering. And now, she put away the clothes, she sewed them not that she liked sewing; but she preferred it to peeling potatoes and washing floors. She read aloud to Mrs. Masterman; she kept her engagement book; she waited at table. Visitors said: “What a good-looking girl, and so refined! My dear, you were lucky.” And Mrs. Masterman would sigh and say: “Oh, it was Gunnar… you know he’s so clever, and of course he always gets what he wants.” She had grown from a lower to an upper servant. Mrs. Masterman depended on her.
“Carolan, where did I put those pills? Carolan, pour out my medicine; you know just how much water. Carolan, spray a little perfume on my handkerchief, and lay it across my forehead. You can have no idea how my head aches. Pull the curtains and read to me. I find it so soothing.” She was not unkind by any means. She was rarely out of temper, and she could always be lulled into sweetness by a discussion on her health or on England. She had a nostalgia for England that was in itself a sickness. She said: “It hurts me here to think of it.” And she would touch her heart and wipe away a few tears.
“The river, all silver and shining in sunlight, and the barges floating down it. My grandmother had a house in Kensington, Carolan. Mamma was wrong to marry a soldier. Mamma had a wonderful time in her young days; she used to tell me of it. Walking in the park with her nurse! Going to Ranelagh! Going to the play! It was all fun and parties and balls. Such beautiful clothes she used to wear. She fell in love with my papa at one of the balls. They danced a minuet and were head over heels in love. So she married him, little thinking of all that a soldier’s life entailed. Poor Mamma! She suffered as I do. There were no more children; she said I nearly killed her. I used to massage her forehead when she had a bad headache. I must show you how to do it. It is most soothing. I used to give her her medicine. She spent most of her days on a couch. And then she died, and papa came out here, and it was here that I met Mr. Masterman.”
It was easy to piece together her story, to see her as the over-serious little girl with the sickly mamma. Her childhood would have been spent among tonics and pills. That had had its effect upon her and she was like a little girl with her treasures when she talked of her medicines.
Carolan was cunning, feigning sympathy where she felt nothing but contempt.
“Really,” Lucille Masterman would say to whoever cared to listen, “I do not know what I would do without Carolan!” And Carolan, feeling that life was cruel and that she had been selected for special persecution, suppressed all her natural softness and decided to play Marcus’s game.
Before the finding of the laudanum, Lucille Masterman had been the mistress casting favours on a convict servant who pleased her; but the discovery of the bottle changed that.
Carolan went in one day and found Lucille sleeping deeply, and on her bedside table was the bottle and a glass. Carolan smelt the glass; then she picked up the bottle, took out the cork and sniffed its contents. For the moment she thought that Lucille had killed herself.
She sat on the bed looking at her. A year ago, Carolan would have been horrified by death; now to contemplate it left her almost unmoved. She was young to have arrived at such indifference, but it was due to her very youth that she had hardened so quickly. She had little pity for Lucille because Lucille was a fool who did not know what it meant to suffer hardship. Hunger, thirst, the lash they were merely words to her, words which described the trials that fell upon people who deserved them. The way in which Lucille spoke of these people fully expressed her indifference to them. She chose to believe that Carolan was innocent because Carolan had not begun life by being poor, and because she could talk about ailments and England for as long as Lucille wished. It was convenient to believe in Carolan; it was pleasant to have her acting as lady’s maid and parlour maid, because in a land like this the servants who usually came one’s way were murderers, thieves, or prostitutes, petty criminals or hardened ones. It was the insecurity of Carolan’s position that helped in the hardening process. She knew that at any time she could be passed on to another household; a word from a master or a mistress could mean the triangle. She had missed it so far, but there were nearly seven long years of captivity before her. She was playing cunningly, and softness did not blend very well with cunning. So she watched the woman and wondered about her life with her husband, and as she thought of the man, her eyes narrowed and the corners of her mouth quivered with cynical amusement. For this silent man was being slowly dragged from his virtuous ways by the eyes of Carolan, by his growing awareness of her youthful body beneath the yellow garment of slavery. She rejoiced in the feeling of power which that gave her. So demure she was in his presence, never looking at him if she could help it lest he should see the laughter in her eyes. She was angry with the world, and on whom could she better vent her anger than on these Mastermans who. so strangely, both wanted something from her! She was a young animal licking her wounds and growling all the time, ready to snap, ready to hurt others as she had been hurt. She held herself cruelly aloof from Marcus; she smiled ravishingly on Tom Blake, trying to make him believe she was the woman he had longed for all his life; she was short with Esther she hated herself for that. for what had Esther done to her but be an exasperating saint,and was sweet and patient with Lucille because she wanted her interest; she was alluring yet demure before that silent man who was Lucille’s husband, because she felt that to nourish that flicker of attraction he felt for her into a mighty flame was going to be to her advantage. He, the master, would be the slave; that would amuse her; that would make life bearable. I am loathsome, she thought, as she sat on the bed and watched Lucille. And she tried to think of other Carolans; the little girl who had cried when a doll was broken, because she thought the doll was in pain; the girl who had ridden her first pony and flung her arms round the neck of the blacksmith because she loved everybody on that day; the girl who had gone to her first ball and been so in love with life because Everard loved her. They were lost, those Carolans. Mother Newgate had caught up with them, and like a mischievous child with a pencil had added a touch here, a touch there, and so altered them completely.
Lucille opened her eyes; her pupils looked strange, so that she was unlike herself.
She said drowsily: “Gunnar … Oh, Carolan …”
Carolan answered: “You were sleeping deeply.”
The eyelids flickered.
“Carolan, if… anyone … should call, tell them I am not very well today. I shall sleep a bit.”
Carolan took up the bottle and put it away in the medicine chest. She took the glass and tiptoed to the door.
“Carolan, where are you going?”
To leave you to sleep.”
“Do not go. I was very tired. I did not sleep a wink all night. Sit down … and pull the curtains together, Carolan; the sun hurts my eyes.”
Carolan obeyed.
“I am an unhappy woman, Carolan.” Tears rolled from the corners of her eyes. Carolan took a lace-edged handkerchief from under her pillow and wiped them.
“Life is cruel, Carolan.”
Carolan wanted to laugh. Cruel? What do you know of cruelty? Have you lain in the stench of Newgate? Have you tried to sleep in the fetid atmosphere of the women’s quarters on a prison-ship? Have you felt the lice crawling in your hair? Have you seen rats so bold that they sit on their hind quarters insolently eating the food they have stolen from you, because they know you’re not strong enough to stop them?
She veiled her eyes.
“Yes. M’am!” she said softly.
“My husband … he does not really care for me.”
“M’am, shall I lay a perfumed cloth across your head? I sweat you have a headache.”
“Thank you, Carolan. My head is whirling. Your hands are so gentle. It is good to have someone to look after me. I have come to rely on you. He does not care; it is obvious, is it not, even to you?”
“Come,” said Carolan, “I would not say that. You have a comfortable house, M’am, servants to wait on you. You have beautiful clothes to wear.”
“What are these things, Carolan!”
What were they indeed! Were you put in a shapeless yellow garment to brand you as a slave, you would know what it meant to feel silk against your skin! Had you lived in Newgate you would love your feather bed! Had you scrubbed floors and peeled potatoes and done a hundred menial tasks, you would know what it meant to have servants to wait on you!
“They are something, M’am,” she said mildly.
“He is very angry that there are no children, Carolan. He is a very ambitious man. He was nothing … nothing in the beginning: he has risen up from nothing. He was not the man for me; not quite … a gentleman, you know. Papa did not want me to marry him at first, but when he saw what he was doing -climbing steadily, Carolan he was not averse to the match. In fact he encouraged it.”
How dilated her eyes! Although she spoke Carolan’s name, and although her eyes never left her face, she was like a woman talking to herself.
“When I married him I was twenty-four, and yet I knew nothing of what marriage would mean.”
At Haredon one seemed to have been born with such knowledge. Conversations with servants, sly hints from Jennifer, the coarseness of the squire, the coquetry of Mamma, the intrigues fostered by Therese, even the primness of Aunt Harriet, had all seemed to teach one.
“He is not an easy man to live with.”
Inwardly she laughed. You do not know how to treat him, Madam! Were I in your shoes … She could scarcely suppress her laughter at the thought of herself in Madam’s shoes.
“Carolan, can you keep a secret?”
“You can trust me with anything, M’am.”
“Five years ago I was very ill. No one knew how ill. No one knew what I suffered.” Was that all! Another illness!
“I am so sorry. Your life seems to have been made up of illnesses.” Sarcasm was lost on the poor drugged creature.
This was different, Carolan. There is no one listening, is there? I was going to have a child. I was terrified. In my state of health, you see… Imagine it!”
“You could not face it,” said Carolan.
“How well you understand. No, I could not face it. There was a man here… a servant to one of my friends… a superior sort of convict who had been a doctor. He… he did this for me. It cost a good deal of money___even a convict wants money for that sort of thing. And… he helped me out of my trouble. You see, I could not face it… the thought of having a child … out here in this primitive country. I was never meant to live here. At home in London I should have been terrified too, but here I could not face it; it was certain death. And the pain I suffered even then was frightful, Carolan. And I had to suffer it in silence, for I was terrified that he should know.”
Poor little coward, thought Carolan contemptuously, but she was glad he had been cheated of his child.
“I… I could not go through that again.” She sat up, her eyes staring wide.
“Carolan, the bottle, where is it?”
“I have put it away,” said Carolan.
“Oh …” She sank down on her pillows, “it is so soothing … and I could not sleep. I do not want him to find it.”
Carolan stooped over and stroked the hair back from her forehead.
“He would be angry if he found it?”
“He never needs a sedative. He has no sympathy; he said once that if only I would stop thinking I was ill, I would cease to be ill. Oh… he can be coarse. Carolan… But what am I saying? He is your master, Carolan, and a very clever man.”
“Yes,” soothed Carolan, ‘he is very clever. He has come very far, has he not?”
“He will not talk of what his childhood was like. He shuts up tightly if I ask. He has a cold way of suggesting one has no right to ask questions. He does not want to think of the past. But he is so clever; he may well be governor one day.”
“Yes,” agreed Carolan, ‘he will be a great man here in this country.”
And she laughed to think of that appealing look, that helpless look in his eyes when they rested on her youthful beauty, her vitality. Was he comparing her with this faded, worn-out wife? She wanted to go on talking of him.
“He does not want you to take… that which is in the bottle?”
“He would be furious. He wants me to get well, to be strong … and why, do you think? So that I can give him a soul He lives for his ambition, Carolan. He wants to be one of the fathers of this new land, populating it with his children. That is one of his ambitions. He would say that … stuff was weakening. But I must sleep, Carolan. I cannot bear this perpetual wakefulness. It is so dreary here, and the heat and the mosquitoes and the brilliant sun … they are here all the time. How lovely it would be to wake up in England!
“Is it raining?” you would say. You would never know whether it would rain or not. Rain is beautiful, soft and gentle. And the greenness of it all! It will soon be April… April in England … Springtime! I have been ten years in this country, Carolan … Ten years since I have seen an English spring.”
“Do you wish me to hide the bottle, M’am?”
“Oh, Carolan… yes. You must not let him see it; he would be angry, and his anger is so cold it frightens me. He would take it away and forbid me to get more.”
“Where do you get it?” asked Carolan.
“From the doctor I told you of. He is a free man now. He deals in medicine and so on; it is possible to get practically anything you want from him. I hear he is doing very well in Sydney. I think he must be, for his charges are exorbitant.”
“You must try to sleep,” said Carolan.
“Try to sleep off the effects of the drug. If Mr. Masterman came in he might guess. I will hide the bottle in the top drawer of your chest of drawers. We will lock it.”
She took the bottle from the medicine chest and locked it in the drawer. When she returned and gently put the key under Lucille’s pillow, the metamorphosis had begun. Carolan was in command.
In the kitchen her manner had changed. While she remained in this house, she need not fear the lash; she need fear nothing. That knowledge was a balm laid on her wounds. She softened a little, Marcus had taken an easy way to solve his difficulties; she and Marcus were very much alike. Should she blame him? The thought of reconciliation was sweet. She pondered on it often as she lay in her basement room. Marcus’s arms about her, Marcus loving her! She was going to him eventually.
He came to the kitchen often. He would look through the window and he would flirt a little with Esther and Margery, and sometimes Jin. He was cool to Carolan, but in her newly found power she knew that she could dispel that coldness with a glance. She, in her turn, would flirt with Tom Blake, and he, poor man, was only too happy to be flirted with.
She was acting for Marcus, he for her. That was how she saw it. She was angry, seeing him smile at Esther. She wanted him to stop this foolish game, to beg her to give him her favours. Imperious as a queen, she was, for every time she saw the master of the house she was more and more aware of the devastating effect of her charms. On such a man! she marvelled. How much stronger must be the desire of Marcus!
And still he flirted and philandered, played that game he knew so well how to play; and there must be occasions when she was with the mistress and he came and flirted with Esther.
Margery looked on and laughed, and rocked herself with laughter. Ha ha! Mistress Carolan. What airs you give yourself since the mistress took you up. Pride, even for a little beauty such as you are, goeth before a fall, so I’ve heard. And Margery chuckled and slapped herself and rocked herself, waiting for the : fall. For James’s visits were less and less frequent, and she suspected that gipsy Jin of trafficking with him in the yard. Stolen opportunities … she knew how sweet they could be, and a woman has to do something I The climax of Carolan’s triumph came with her possession of the green frock. It was an afternoon frock, sober enough, but becoming.
“I never liked it,” said Mrs. Masterman.
“I am too ill for green. Your hair looks really red beside it. My poor hair is falling out; that is a sign of great weakness.”
“How I should love to wear it!” Carolan’s eyes went to the chest of drawers, and Mrs. Masterman’s followed her gaze. Caro-Ian saw the thoughts come into her eyes. Carolan was more than a servant, a confidante, a friend. They shared secrets; she owed Carolan something surely. But what would he say? He hated his rules to be broken. A convict in an expensive green dress! But she was too tired to think of him.
“You must have it, Carolan. After all, I never wear it.”
“Oh, thank you, M’am. How kind you are.” Carolan hugged the dress and skipped over to the workbasket in a corner of the room.
“What animal spirits!” said Mrs. Masterman.
