Prudence (8 page)

No, they must have secreted the plate and cover from one of their own supper dishes, and hidden it among her own. It had become her habit to sit in the schoolroom preparing work for the morrow before making her way to the parlour in time for dinner. Since the girls ate some time before she did, they must have had ample opportunity to sneak into her parlour.

They had probably planned it yesterday; after the usual morning visit to church, they had spent the day out of Prue’s sight.

Picking up the plate of worms, and firmly holding the silver cover over it, Prue took a leaf out of Mr
Rookham’s book and moved to the window. The worms were emptied into the bushes below.

Cautiously, Prue tried the other two covers, and found her meal intact beneath them. The episode had nevertheless destroyed her appetite, and she was able to swallow little of the food. A circumstance which brought Mrs Polmont to her room within a short time after the tray had been removed.

‘Wincle wishes to know if the meal was not to your taste, Miss Hursley.’

Prue hoped desperately that she did not colour up. ‘Oh, dear. Pray tell her it was nothing to do with her cooking, Mrs Polmont.’ Impelled, she invented an excuse. ‘I am feeling a trifle out of sorts, that is all.’

Which, when all was said and done, was not far from the truth. The sight of the worms had made her distinctly queasy.

The housekeeper peered at her, too closely for Prue’s comfort. Her voice was respectful, if not warm.

‘Is there anything I can get you, ma’am? A dose of salts, perhaps?’

‘No, no, I shall be perfectly well after a good night’s sleep, I am persuaded.’

Mrs Polmont appeared doubtful and the parrot look became pronounced. She sniffed. ‘If you say so, Miss Hursley. However, I’d not wish the master to think I’d done nothing to aid you.’

‘For heaven’s sake, don’t tell him!’ cried Prue, alarmed.

She then wished that she had held her tongue, for the housekeeper regarded her narrowly. ‘I understand as you had a disturbance a few nights back?’

‘Last week. It—it was nothing. I thought I saw…I mean, it was dark and—’

‘You’ve no call to explain it to me, ma’am. If the master is satisfied, it’s not for me to cavil.’

With which, she bid Prue goodnight and left the room. Her manner made Prue decidedly uneasy. Was there a hint in it? She could only be glad that she had seen nothing of Mr Rookham these few days, except for yesterday’s visit to church in the village. And since her position demanded that she remain discreetly in the background, there had been no exchange between them beyond the commonplace.

She had watched him greeting various persons—neighbours and tenants, so the twins had informed her the first time she had accompanied them. The girls had frisked about him, for it seemed to Prue that several of Mr Rookham’s acquaintances had a kindly word for ‘Miss Charlotte’ and ‘Miss Dorothy’. It was no part of her duty to involve herself in these gatherings, and her employer was under no obligation to present her to anyone. Except the parish priest, and he had done that upon the first Sunday. Well, it was only what Mrs Duxford had led her to expect. She was nobody, and if Mr Rookham on occasion treated her as if she indeed had an identity, it would be idle to expect any such recognition in public.

Prue would not allow herself to acknowledge the slightest disappointment. Instead, she concentrated her mind upon the unspoken struggle with her charges.

The following morning, she worked the girls hard, making them first read aloud from one of the improving stories she had caused to be purchased, and then write at her dictation paragraphs from the book in their best copperplate. Every error had to be written over, and she allowed them no let up right through until Yvette came in to get them for luncheon.

‘Zey are late,’ complained the Frenchwoman.

‘Oh, dear, are they?’ said Prue innocently. ‘They were working so industriously that I forgot the time. Well done, girls. You may go now.’

The twins scampered out as fast as they could.

But the battle was not yet won. Prue found herself waiting, over the next few days, for some other manifestation. She suspected that the twins were testing her, pushing her to see how far they might go before she acknowledged their attacks. Whether they supposed she would lose her temper, or simply punish them, she did not know. But their tactics were neither original nor unexpected.

The Duck, wise in the ways of the young, had prepared her students well. ‘Naughty children will always make a point of discovering your limits. Set them early, and you will gain the mastery. But never,
never
allow them to see that they have succeeding in gaining the upper hand, or they will inevitably end by ruling the roost.’

By now, Prue thought unhappily, Nell would have unfailingly stopped the twins in their tracks. While she had succeeded in baffling them by refusing to acknowledge the assaults, Prue had no notion how she was going to set limits upon them. But one thing she was determined upon. She would neither lay a hand upon them herself, nor give them up for another to do so.

In the event, the crunch took her unawares.

Thursday morning had been difficult. Prue had set the twins a translation from the French, hoping that a little work in a language that gave them no trouble might help to ease the difficulties of English.

Her hope proved misplaced. The girls began easily enough, quickly making sense of the simple French
sentences. But their attitude changed swiftly when they discovered that they were required to adjust their translations to correct grammar and write them down in a neat fist.

Between Lotty’s sulks and Dodo’s complaints, Prue had a trying time. She persevered, hampered by Lotty’s bid to pretend to stupidity in translation in a vain attempt to postpone writing. Dodo merely tried to change the subject, asking frequently whether it was not time for luncheon.

Prue could not but be relieved when the hands of the clock, having crawled their way around the hours, at last informed her that this purgatory was at an end.

‘Very well, that will be all for this morning.’

Lotty waited by the door while her sister collected Folly from the window sill. It had become their habit to take him out for a little before luncheon was served.

‘Are you coming to eat with us, Miss Hursley?’

Prue glanced at Lotty, instantly on her guard. Since she invariably did take luncheon with the girls, why the question? Had they again planned something horrid for her plate? And in their presence, so that she had no opportunity to dissemble! What in the world was she to do if they should play a trick upon her in full view of Yvette? She affected puzzlement.

‘Why should I not, Lotty?’

‘No reason. I just wondered.’

Dodo, having attached the kitten to her chest, passed her sister to step through the door. ‘Come on, slow coach!’

The door shut behind them, leaving Prue prey to a lively apprehension. She tidied the books and slates away with automatic haste, her mind alive with conjecture.

What did those terrors intend to spring upon her this time? They would surely not dare to do anything obvious which their nurse might notice. It could not be as bad as the worms, she decided in relief. Then it must be something that would appear accidental.

One or two caterpillars hidden among the vegetables, perhaps? A spider or beetle released upon the table? Well, she must bear it with fortitude. Nevertheless, she shuddered with disgust at the thought.

As she made her way to her bedchamber to wash her hands and tidy her person, Prue resolved to keep a wary eye upon the details of whatever food was presented to her. She opened the door to the playroom with caution, and sighed in relief when she discovered that only Yvette was present.

‘Ou sont les enfants?’
demanded the Frenchwoman instantly.

‘Are they late? Perhaps they are still outside.’

‘Wiz zees
petit chat
, I sink, zat
mademoiselle
’ave give to zem.’

Prue bore the accusing gleam in the woman’s eyes without comment, for she was becoming inured to the unforgiving nature of the nurse. Yvette would never cease to blame her for introducing the kitten into the household.

She went to take her seat at the table where the covers were already laid and the dishes set out. Which was promising, for if the girls were still out, they could not have had time to interfere with the contents. Unless they had intercepted the footman as he carried up the meal? She eyed the silver covers with a rise of trepidation in her breast.

As she pulled out her chair, there came the galloping of feet in the corridor outside. Yvette was heard to
mutter in protest, and then the door burst open and the twins flew into the room, hurtling over to the table, both pretty faces overlaid with distress.

‘Miss Hursley, we can’t find Folly!’

‘He escaped into the bushes!’

‘We looked and looked, and—’

‘He ain’t nowhere to be seen!’

Her apprehensions were forgotten as a riffle of alarm swept through Prue’s veins. Without realising what she did, she seized hold of one twin’s shoulder, unaware which one of the girls it was.

‘Where? Where did you lose him?’

‘In the gardens, but—’

‘Where in the gardens? Come and show me!’

As she swept towards the door, grabbing up the other child on the way, Prue heard only vaguely the rattle of French that broke out behind her. She had no time now to deal with Yvette. She must wait, as also must their luncheon. Finding the lost kitten was of far more importance than food.

Together, the three of them hastened towards the east stairs which led down to the convenient side door. Contrary to Prue’s expectation, the girls did not halt in the immediate vicinity where there were bushes enough in which Folly might have hidden. Instead, with Dodo clutching her hand and dragging her along, she perforce followed where Lotty led them.

‘Where in the world did you take him?’ she asked, panting a little. ‘Why could you not keep near to the house?’

‘Folly wanted to see the other gardens,’ explained Dodo brightly, rushing Prue along a path that ran down the side of the wide lawns.

‘That is nonsensical. Come now, the truth, if you please!’

Lotty paused on one foot at the edge of a set of steps. ‘Why shouldn’t Folly explore?’

Breathless, Prue halted and put a hand to her midriff. ‘Precisely because of what has happened. He is too little to be let loose in the wilds of such a big set of gardens.’

The child hunched a pettish shoulder. ‘He has to learn some time.’

Feeling unequal to engage in argument, Prue merely urged her to hurry along to where they had last seen the kitten.

‘Yes, do come on,’ agreed Dodo, ‘for I am beginning to be hungry.’

In a moment or two, the faint sound of a distant mew came to Prue’s ears. She stopped abruptly.

‘Listen!’

There was a silence, and then the plaintive cry came again, causing a stabbing at Prue’s heart.

‘Oh, poor little Folly! Where are you, my precious?’

Out of the corner of her eye, Prue caught a venomous look upon Dodo’s face. But at that moment, there was no room in her either for sympathy or regret. The kitten’s plight took her whole attention.

‘Which way?’ she uttered distractedly. ‘Oh, dear, I wish he might call again.’

A little to her surprise, Lotty started off once more. ‘It was this way!’

With unerring speed, the child led the way down a green alley and a further set of stairs. Sure enough, the sound of Folly’s complaints grew stronger, and puzzlement was added to the anxiety lurching through Prue’s
bosom. Was there not a slightly hollow sound to the cry? It echoed, the closer they approached.

In a moment, Prue found herself in the wild garden that she had so much admired, with a well at its centre. For an instant, she stood poised at its entrance, looking about her. Only half aware that the girls were standing either side of her, eyeing her in a searching manner, Prue listened for the kitten’s mew. She called out to him.

‘
Folly
! Folly, where are you?’

As if he heard her, the kitten’s cries started up again. The echo was evident. Memory stirred, and Prue’s eyes turned towards the well. Dread hammered in her chest, and her feet moved without volition. Reaching the well, she gripped the surrounding wall with both hands and peered over the edge.

It took a moment or two for her eyes to adjust to the darkness below, and the continuing sounds of Folly’s distress caught at her heartstrings. At last she discerned within the murk the gleam of his little green eyes at some distance down the well.

‘Folly! Oh, poor mite!’

She shifted back, looking wildly round for a means by which she might succour the kitten. How was she to do? A long stick? Or could they find a ladder? She must think of something, and fast! Before the poor thing should drown. The wonder was that he was still alive!

Only then was it borne in upon Prue that a heavy chain hung down the centre of the well, suspended from a beam in the wooden cover above it. She stared at it, abruptly hit by confusion.

‘If there is a chain, then where is the bucket?’ she wondered aloud.

Leaning forward again, she stared down the well-hole. Grasping the chain with one hand, she moved it slightly. A protest erupted from the kitten below, and Prue saw movement. Incredibly, Folly had fallen into the bucket!

Wasting no time in speculation at the marvel, she searched for the means by which the bucket was to be lifted and found a handle. With the intention of giving an instant instruction, she glanced about for the twins.

Unaccountably, they had retired to the entrance to the gardens, where they stood watching her.

‘Help me, one of you!’

Neither moved. They seemed to be rooted to the spot, their features inscrutable. Uttering an impatient exclamation, Prue shifted quickly around the well and grasped the handle. It turned easily enough. Unaware that she held her breath, Prue kept her eyes glued upon the opening to the well, watching for the bucket’s arrival.