I’ll Bring You Buttercups. Elizabeth Elgin

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      ‘Not a lot. Did he kiss you?’ Alice demanded, amazed at her daring. ‘Was it nice?’

      ‘He did, and it was nicer than nice. He kissed me twice.’ Julia closed her eyes, remembering. ‘A little one, then one that made me – oh –’

      ‘Feel peculiar all over? I know.’ Alice, too, closed her eyes.

      ‘And you’re sure he’ll come to York to see me?’

      ‘Sure as anyone can be,’ Alice comforted. ‘And just to be certain, you’d better watch out for another white horse, and let the rooks know about it, an’ all. Best to make sure.’

      ‘I will. I will.’

      There was a warning hoot from the driver as the train swayed over a level crossing and took them on to Rowangarth land, then the hissing of wheels on steel took on a heavier note as the train met the gradient that wound upward through Brattocks Wood.

      ‘Hawthorn, look!’

      Standing beneath the trees at the edge of the track, a gun dog squatting at his feet, stood the under-keeper. Knowing the time of their train and that it would lose speed at the wood, Tom was waiting to see it pass.

      Only a glimpse, but he had been there and Alice knew, in that moment, how much she had missed him; wondered how she could ever have been so foolish as to leave him for a day, let alone two weeks. And then she blushed for shame, because soon she would be with him, and sitting opposite was poor Miss Julia, sad and worried in case she never saw her young man again.

      ‘Oh, miss – you’ll see him again. You will.’

      Giles Sutton looked up, smiling, as Alice peeped round the library door and Morgan, tired of the hearth rug, gave a yelp of delight and skidded across the floor, tail wagging furiously.

      ‘Hawthorn! You’re back. I’ve missed you; we’ve both missed you!’

      ‘And I’ve missed you and Morgan and Rowangarth and, oh, everyone, even though London was like a fairy story. And I’m come to say I’m sorry that I can’t take Morgan for his run, ’cos I haven’t finished Miss Julia’s unpacking and it’s almost teatime. But I’ll take him tonight, if that’s all right with you, Mr Giles.’

      ‘It is, and I’ll be grateful, because I’m dining out tonight. Did you have a good time?’

      ‘Oh, yes. You wouldn’t believe the half of what I saw. There was –’ She stopped, cheeks pink. ‘But you would believe it. You’ve been before, ever so many times.’

      ‘Too many times. Rowangarth is where I like to be.’

      ‘I know, sir.’ She did know. It had tingled through her from head to toes, that feeling of homecoming. ‘But I’ll see that Morgan gets his run tonight, after dinner’s over and done with.’

      She bent to stroke the spaniel’s head and he whimpered softly, reaching to lick her cheek.

      ‘Silly old thing.’ She laughed, bobbing a curtsey to Giles Sutton: not that he would expect it, but because it was right for all that, and because she was grateful, perhaps, that he understood her need to find an excuse to be in Brattocks Wood tonight. ‘Oh, and Cook says I’m to tell you that Mary has just taken tea up to her ladyship.’

      Closing the door behind her she hugged herself tightly. Home, to Rowangarth, and servants’ tea at four o’clock and kitchen chatter and plum jam and seed cake. And tonight he would be waiting: Tom, who loved her.

      ‘How on earth did you get that?’ Laughing, Giles Sutton contemplated his sister’s face.

      ‘Through not minding my own business, I suppose. Does it look awful?’

      ‘Absolutely terrible. How could you have –’

      ‘Your sister could, and did. Apparently, there was a fracas in Hyde Park and Julia joined in.’

      ‘Mama! I told you! There was a suffragette selling news-sheets and a young woman – she was so pale and thin, Giles, and had a little one in her arms – well, all she did was buy a news-sheet and a policeman told her to move on – the suffragette, I mean – and he started pushing the young woman.’

      ‘And your sister charged to her aid – and in a hobble skirt, would you believe – and tripped, and hit her head.’

      ‘Yes, and Hawthorn told the policeman off, then demanded he find a doctor –’

      ‘And it just so happened that a doctor was taking a stroll in the park,’ Helen Sutton supplied, trying hard not to smile.

      ‘The luck of the Suttons,’ Giles grinned.

      ‘He was very kind to me.’ Julia’s cheeks blazed. ‘Told me I wasn’t badly hurt and that if I suddenly felt ill I was to call Aunt Sutton’s doctor and – and Hawthorn looked after me.’ There, now, she hadn’t told any lies – not actual lies … ‘And please don’t tease, because it did hurt, at the time.’

      ‘Not another word, Sis. And would you mind not eating all the sandwiches …?’

      ‘Hobble skirts,’ said Alice at servants’ tea. ‘That’s what did it, Bess. Miss Julia goes striding out, all angry with that fat policeman I told you about, and forgets you don’t stride, exactly, in a hobble skirt. Next thing you know there’s the most awful bang –’ She paused to collect her thoughts, painstakingly jamming her bread.

      ‘Where?’ Bess demanded.

      ‘On her head, of course.’

      ‘Where in London, I mean.’

      ‘Hyde Park, it was. Beautiful, Hyde Park is.’ Change the subject, Alice. They’ve had all they’re going to get about that black eye. ‘Just beautiful. Like a bit of the country, right in the middle of London.’

      ‘And was there blood?’ Tilda demanded, wide-eyed. ‘Did she knock herself out cold?’

      ‘She felt a bit groggy, for a time,’ Alice admitted reluctantly, ‘but luckily there was a doctor handy and he took care of her.’

      ‘Ooh. Was he young and dark and handsome, and –’

      ‘No, Tilda, he was a doctor, that’s all, and he said she wasn’t badly hurt, though she’d likely have a headache in the morning, and a black eye – which she did.

      ‘Still, Miss Julia knows now not to go telling policemen off in a hobble skirt. We went on the Underground railway, an’ all.’ Talk about other things. ‘Imagine – trains hurtling about, underneath London. You could be walking down Oxford Street, and for all you knew there could be a rushing train beneath your feet.’

      ‘If you ask me, Hyde Park is near where they have meetings. Speakers Corner, I believe they call it,’ Mrs Shaw, offered. ‘I did once hear there was a raving lunatic there, saying all manner of things about the King – King Edward, God rest СКАЧАТЬ