A Greater World Read Online Free PDF Page A

supper set up on a side table in the small parlour, rather than sit alone at the end of the long mahogany table in the dining room. After picking at the cold cuts and taking a couple of spoonfuls of rice pudding, she pushed the tray aside. She was too distressed to pick up a book and read, playing the gramophone was out of the question with the children and Sarah in bed, and her hands were shaking too much to sew. She paced up and down in front of the fireplace, angry. She opened the breakfront cabinet where her father kept the decanters and glasses, and poured a glass of sherry. The warmth of the liquor coursed through her body, helping to calm her frayed nerves.
    She fell asleep and woke to find the fire had gone out and the room was chilly. She pulled on the cardigan she had cast off earlier in the warmth from the fire, and dragged the sleeves down over her hands, tucking her feet under her as she curled up in the big leather armchair that had once been her father's favourite. It was just after eleven. She was wide awake, but knew the maid would have gone to bed. Building another fire herself would only give Sarah the excuse to chide her for her profligate waste of coal. The sherry had left a cloying, over-sweet taste in her mouth, so she went downstairs and poured herself a glass of water. There was no point in going to bed yet. The earlier sherry-induced sleep had left her restless.
    She was incredulous at the behaviour of her father. The relative modesty of her own requirements and the regularity of her father's cheques meant she had never seen any need to put money aside for a rainy day. She had a few war savings certificates, but that was the sum of it. When she had been engaged to Stephen, the eldest son of a cotton manufacturer, she had been assured of a future free of financial worries and more recently had presumed that her father would continue to provide for her. She had failed to anticipate just how quickly he could exhaust what had been a sizeable fortune.
    She chided herself for her lack of foresight, and was filled with anger at her sister and her brother-in-law. Surely they must realise that what her father proposed was cruel and impractical? He had always loved her - rather more than her sister, she suspected - and yet he wanted to hand her over to an old man he had met in some sleazy, Australian gambling den. It was barbaric. This Mr Kidd had not even had the courtesy to write a letter to accompany that of her father's, to make himself known, to ask for her hand, to reveal something of himself. A sane and decent man would have had the grace to suggest that they meet first and a courtship proceed if appropriate, not to order her to be delivered to him like a delivery of groceries.
    She looked at the ticket again, and then put it back in the envelope with the crumpled letter and stuffed them into her cardigan pocket. She would speak to Charles and Sarah in the morning and find a way to make them see sense. There was plenty of room in the house: the box room would be fine for Mrs Dawson, or if Charles insisted, she could move in there herself. If he would not allow her pupils to come here, then she could go to their homes. She would also investigate whether she might find more lucrative employment at Harbour House School.
    She smiled at her reflection in the over-mantel mirror, tucked a stray curl behind her ears and straightened her shoulders. All would be well in the morning. She had a plan. She had choices. Her mother had always said nothing was so bad if you still had choices.
    When the clock struck midnight, she went up to bed. As she stepped onto the dark landing, she sensed movement behind her. She fumbled for the electric light switch. A hand covered her mouth and pushed her into her bedroom. She lost her footing and banged her shoulder against the doorframe. The hand across her mouth was clamped so hard that she could not move her jaw. Blood and adrenaline surged through her. She couldn't breathe.