Виктория Холт - The Judas kiss

Francine looked at me thoughtfully, "Do you know, sister Philippa," she said, "you have a certain wisdom and you can put yourself in other people's places better than most. It's a rare gift."

"Thank you," I replied gratified; and I noticed that she was beginning to respect my judgement more and more. I was quieter than she was, more observant perhaps. I sometimes thought it was because I was more on the edge of things, an observer rather than a main actor. Francine, with her outstanding looks and personality, would always be at the centre of events, and sometimes people like that did not see as clearly as those who were slightly removed from the scene.

However, she accepted my view of the governess and instead of teasing her as she might have done, she became quite a docile pupil and after the first days of strangeness we established a certain rapport with Miss Elton, and lessons went fairly well.

We were now having riding lessons, which we both enjoyed. These were conducted under the supervision of the coachman who had met us at the station, and usually there was his son Tom, who worked as a stable-boy and must have been about eighteen or nineteen years of age. He had to prepare the horses and take them after the lessons. We spent hours riding round the first paddock on leading reins, then without. I was proud when he said, "Miss Philippa, you're a natural. You're going to be a rider, you are." "And what of me?" Francine asked. "Oh, you'll get by, Miss, I reckon," was the answer. I couldn't help being thrilled—it was the first time I had ever excelled over Francine—but almost immediately I felt apologetic and ashamed of my feelings. But I need not have done. Francine was delighted for me. .

One day she took a toss as we were cantering round the paddock. I was horrified and when I saw her lying on the ground I realized how very much she meant to me. I was off my horse and running to her, but Tom was already there.

Francine grimaced at us and got up rather gingerly. She was moved by my emotion, which I couldn't hide, and she pretended to laugh at it. "It's what happens to those who are not naturals," she said.

"Francine, you are all right? You are sure? ..."

"I think so."

"You're all right, Miss," said Tom. "You'll feel it tomorrow, though. You'll want some liniment to put on the bruises. Reckon you'll have some beauties. Never mind, they'll be where they don't show. I'll send Daise up with the liniment. Just one application. No more. It's strong stuff and would have the skin off you in no time."

"Ought I to get on the brute who threw me and show him I'm the. one in command?"

Tom grinned. "Oh, he knows who that is, Miss, and it ain't you—not yet, but it will be. I'd go and lie down if I was you. It's best. Then ride tomorrow."

"Yes," I said. "I'll go up with you and Daisy can come down at once for the liniment."

I took Francine to our room, still anxious about her.

"Don't look so worried, Pippa," she said. "It'll take more than that miserable old nag to kill me."

I sent for Daisy and told her to get the liniment. "Tom's expecting you," I said. "He'll be down in the stables."

"I know where to find Tom," she replied and went off. She was soon back with the liniment and we applied it to the bruises, which were already beginning to show.

I insisted that Francine should lie down, although she declared that she felt all right. Daisy came in and said should she take the liniment back and I said she could, as we had finished with it.

Francine lay down and I was standing at the window when I saw Daisy running towards the stables. Tom came out to meet her. They stood for a moment very close. She held out the liniment to him; he took it and with it her arm. He was dragging her towards the stables and she was pretending not to want to go, but I could see that she was laughing. I thought of her mother's remarks: "She's a one for the boys."

"What are you looking at?" asked Francine.

I replied: "Daisy and Tom. They seem to be having a game of some sort."

Francine laughed and Aunt Grace came in then. She was all concern. We must expect the occasional mishap, she said, and hoped no harm was done.

Francine said faintly, "Aunt Grace, I don't feel well enough to come down to dinner tonight. May I have something sent up?"

"Of course."

"And Aunt Grace, could Philippa have hers up here too? In case I ..."

"It shall be arranged," said Aunt Grace. "Now you rest. And Philippa, stay with your sister."

"Oh, I will, Aunt Grace."

She left us and when she had gone Francine started to laugh. "Just think. We'll miss one of the appalling meals. Both of us. Out of evil cometh good."

It was almost an hour later when I saw Daisy emerging from the stables. I was sitting in the window talking to Francine, who was still lying down. Daisy's hair was rumpled and she was buttoning up her blouse. She ran swiftly into the house.

Francine was rather more affected than we had first thought, and the next morning the bruises were violently marked. Daisy screamed at the sight of them and said she would go and see Tom at once because he might have something.

However, within a few days they started to subside and Francine was riding again. Cousin Arthur expressed a certain concern and warned Francine that she should pray before she took her lesson. It might be that God would give heed to her safety.

"Oh, I expect He's too busy to bother about that," said Francine flippantly. "Just imagine! When He's contemplating some universal problem, an angel runs in and says it's time for Francine Ewell's riding lesson and You let her fall off the other day. Shall we send out a guardian angel? She has said her prayers."

She enjoyed shocking Cousin Arthur. In fact, she disliked him as much as she did our grandfather, and there was a growing animosity between Francine and the old man. I think that, being quieter and less noticeable, I appeared to be more biddable. He recognized in Francine the rebel—like our father—and he was watchful of her. He probably thought I was more like Aunt Grace. I was determined not to be.

I looked forward to our visits to our grandmother. Her face used to light up when we came in and she would hold out her hands and let her fingers explore our faces. Agnes Warden would hover round while our grandmother talked about the past, and of course we wanted to hear. Although she was old—of a different world from our own—we could talk to her openly. Constantly she asked us questions about the island, and I think within a week she had a clear picture of it. Francine, who was always frank and perhaps spoke before she had considered her words, asked her how she could ever have come to marry our grandfather.

"It was arranged," she said. "It always is with people like us, you know."

"But our father didn't do what his father wanted," Francine pointed out.

"There would always be the rebels, my dear, even in those days. Your father was one. Odd ... he was a quiet boy. You remind me of him, Philippa. He was purposeful, as I think you would be, if the occasion arose. But I was very young when I married your grandfather. I was sixteen—your age now, Francine. But I seemed much younger. I knew nothing of life."

Francine's face expressed her horror. Married to my grandfather at the same age as herself! I think it was hard for Francine to imagine a worse fate. Francine had not spoken, but it was amazing how sensitive Grandmother was to a mood. She said at once, "Oh, he was different then. He has grown away from the young man he was."

"Poor Grandmother," said Francine, kissing her hand.

"Of course," went on our grandmother, "he ruled the household with his rod of iron right from the first. He was content with the marriage because it joined up the lands, you see, and he had always cared passionately about the family's estate. It has been with the Ewells for so long, it is understandable. We Granters were considered to be something of upstarts by him. We had only been in the Grange for a hundred years or so."