Виктория Холт - The Judas kiss

The Reverend Arthur bowed his head with a sort of smug humility and said that Mrs. Glencorn seemed to have profited from their prayers.

"Arthur, your cousin Francine."

Arthur bowed rather curtly.

"How do you do, Cousin Arthur," said Francine.

"And," went on our grandfather, "this is the younger of your cousins, Philippa."

The dark eyes of Cousin Arthur surveyed me rather briefly, I thought, but I was used to people's greater interest in my sister.

"Your spiritual welfare will be in good hands," went on our grandfather. "And please remember that the meeting in the chapel takes place every morning at eleven. Everyone in the household attends."

Francine could not suppress her comment: "I can see that our spiritual welfare will receive a great deal of attention."

"We shall make sure of that," said our grandfather. "Arthur, would you like to have a word in private with your cousins? You might wish to discover what religious education they have had. I fear you may receive rather a shock."

Arthur said he thought that would be an excellent idea.

Our grandfather and Aunt Grace went out of the chapel, leaving us to the mercy of Cousin Arthur.

He suggested we sit down and began asking us questions. He was shocked to hear that we had not been to church on the island but perhaps that was as well, as the natives were probably of the Catholic faith—natives often were and worshipped idols.

"Lots of people worship idols," Francine reminded him. "Not necessarily gods of stone, but sets of rules and conventions which sometimes result in the suppression of loving kindness."

Arthur kept looking at her and although his expression was disapproving I saw a gleam in his eyes which I had noticed in people before when they looked at Francine.

We talked to him for a while—at least Francine did. He had little to say to me. I was sure during that time she thoroughly shocked him with what she told him of our upbringing and he would tell our grandfather that intensive instruction would be needed to bring us to grace.

When we escaped from him it was almost time for the midday meal. Afterwards we might like a little exercise, suggested Aunt Grace, and could take a walk in the gardens. It would not be wise for us to stray beyond them, and would we remember to be in by four o'clock when tea was taken in the red drawing room which led off from the hall. She herself was going to the vicarage. There was something of importance she had to see the vicar about. We should be able to go visiting when we had suitable clothes—and that would not be long, for Jenny Brakes would arrive tomorrow morning with materials and the dressmaking session would begin.

"Freedom," cried Francine, when we were alone. "And stay in the garden! Never! We are going to look round, and our first mission shall be to take a closer look at that interesting old house we saw from the window."

"Francine," I said, "I believe you are starting to enjoy this."

It was true, she was. She was fascinated by Greystone Manor and each hour brought fresh revelations. She sensed some sort of battle ahead and it was just what she needed to recover from the shock of our parents' deaths. I knew this because I felt the same myself.

So in a spirit of adventure we set out that afternoon. We had two hours or so to ourselves. We must be back in time for tea, said Francine. It would never do for them to discover that we had been adventuring on our own. "They must believe that we have been meandering through the garden paths," she went on, "admiring the orderliness of everything, for I am sure it is orderly, and exclaiming every now and then on the excellence of our grandfather, who is so holy that I wonder he is not considered too good for this earth."

We were careful until we came through the drive and slipped out by the lodge gate. Fortunately the occupants of the lodge were out of sight. Perhaps the hour of our grandfather's siesta was their only time for relaxation.

We were in a road bounded on either side by high hedges, and when we came to a gate Francine suggested we pass through it and cross the field, for she was sure that was the direction in which the house lay.

This we did, and at the top of the field was a row of four cottages and outside one of these was a woman shaped rather like a cottage loaf, with hair which straggled out of a bun at the back of her head while the light breeze played with the straying strands.

She looked up as we approached. I supposed she did not see many people, for she was obviously surprised.

"Good-day to you," she called, and as we came closer I saw the curiosity in her lively dark eyes, and there was a look of extreme interest and pleasure on her rather plump face. One noticed these things after even such a short time at Greystone Manor, where the general rule was to look solemn and glum.

"Good-day," we answered.

She had been pegging wet clothes on a line, which was fixed to a post at one end and attached to the side of the cottage on the other. Removing a peg from her mouth she said, "You the new young ladies up at Greystone." It was, a statement rather than a question.

Francine said we were and how did she know?

"Why, God love you, there's not much I don't know about what goes on up at Greystone. My girl's up there." Her eyes widened as she stared at Francine. "My, you're pretty. Not what you expected up there, was it?"

"We didn't know what to expect," said Francine.

"Well, we knew Mr. Edward. He was a good man, he was —not like ... Oh no, he was different, he was ... and that lovely young girl he ran off with ... Pretty as a picture, and you, Miss, you're the spitting image of her. I reckon I'd have known you anywhere—picked you out I could."

"It's nice that you knew our father and mother," said Francine.

"Dead ... both of them. Well, that's life, ain't it? The best often goes ... and the rest stays on." She nodded her head, momentarily sad. Then she was smiling again. "You'll know our Daise."

"Daise," we both said simultaneously. "Oh ... Daisy."

"Got herself a job up there. Under housemaid. Mind you, I don't know if it will last. Our Daise is a bit of a caution." The woman winked in a way which reminded me of Daisy herself. They must be a winking family, I commented afterwards to Francine.

"Always a bit of a wild one," went on the woman. "I didn't know what to do with her. I say to her, 'You mark my words, Daise, you'll be in trouble one day.' She laughs at that. I don't know. She always liked the boys and the boys liked her. It was the same even when she was in her cradle. I've got six of them. She's my eldest, too. I said to Emms—he's their father, you know—I said, 'Now, Emms, this is enough.' But would you believe it, there's another on the way. What can you do with a man like Emms? But we got Daise to the big house. I thought if this can't make her respectable, nothing can."

"We have met Daise," said Francine. "Just once. She brought us hot water. We liked her."

"She's a good girl ... at heart. It's just the boys. Can't seem to stay away from them. I was a bit like that myself at one time. Well, it makes the world go on."

Francine said, "What is the big Tudor house over there?"

"That's Granter's Grange." She began to laugh. "Regular old to-do that caused."

"We thought it looked interesting and we should like to see it closer."

"It was bought by foreigners ... that's a year or two ago. Sir Matthew wanted it but he didn't get it. That's upset him. He thinks he owns these parts—and he does in a way.

But Granter's Grange ... well, the foreigners got in before him."

"Who are the foreigners?"

"Oo ... now you're asking! Very high-up foreigners ... Grand Dukes and things—but from some outlandish place. They don't count for much round here."