Charles Palliser Read Online Free PDF

tomorrow.
    But who was it at the door?”
    “The letter-carrier’s gal,” Bissett answered indignantly. “That Sally, a saucy-faced little baggage. Coming to the front door bold as brass. Said she was a-feared to go up the lane in the dark, but I told her off for that, you can be sure. Nivver too young to larn your place.”
    “And did she bring anything?” my mother enquired.
    “Aye, she brung you this, with ten-pence to pay which I give her myself.”
    She reached into the pocket that hung by her hussif while my mother took the letter and handed her the money from her escritoire.
    “Well,” said my inexorable gaoler, “this young gentleman’s for bed, as soon as he has cleared up his play-things.”
    Now of course I was determined that I didn’t want to go: “Oh, Mamma, can’t I have just a little longer?” I begged.
    “Well, just a few minutes,” she said absently as she broke the seal.
    I smiled triumphantly at my nurse and her face darkened as she strode quickly from the room. At that moment a smaller, sealed missive fell from my mother’s letter and landed on the floor near me. I picked it up and as I handed it to her my eyes fell on the superscription, which, as I held it, was upside down. I had only just begun to learn my letters but I knew that our name began with an “M”, and since this was easy to recognise even inverted, I was surprised to see that the name on this smaller epistle began with a different letter — a “C”. I could not think of any explanation for this.
    Pretending to be still playing, I watched my mother put down the letter she had read first and quickly tear open the smaller missive. It must have been short for she read it quickly, and frowned and bit her lip. She then placed the two letters inside the silver case and locked it with one of the keys at her waist. She looked up and saw that I was watching her.
    “This was my father’s,” she said, showing me the case. “He gave it to me on the day
    … ” She broke off.

    A WISE CHILD

    17

    “Tell me!” I exclaimed. “When did my father give it to you?”
    She looked at me in sudden surprise and I saw that her face was flushed. Then she laughed: “I was talking not of your father but of mine. You see, my father was your grandfather.”
    “I think I understand,” I said slowly. “Tell me about him.”
    “Now, Johnnie, we’ve just agreed not to talk about any of that until you’re older. But I have some good news to tell you. How would you …”
    At that moment Bissett’s entry interrupted us. Just as she was about to take me into custody, my mother held out the letter-case and said: “Bissett, will you put this in the parlour so that I’ll be sure to see it in the morning, for I must remember to answer it first thing.”
    I stood up quickly and snatched it from her: “I’ll do it!” I cried.
    “No, Johnnie!” my mother exclaimed but I ran from the room.
    Bissett had left a burning candle on the hall-table to see us upstairs and I seized it and went into the parlour. Because the old part of the house was built so low, the parlour looked into an area — a dark little yard between the house and the road — so that although it was cozy enough in the winter when a fire was lighted and the curtains drawn, on summer days it had a mournful air. By the light of the candle I now examined the leather-bound case with its heavy silver clasps which I had never been able to look at before. Engraved upon a silver plate was a design that I recognised because I had often seen it on our cups and plates and on the silver cutlery: a rose with four petals. But here five of these roses were incorporated into a design in which four of them stood at each corner of a square with the fifth in the centre. There was also a line of writing beneath it and I vowed that very soon I would be able to read it. Not daring to delay too long, I laid the case on the sideboard among the breakfast things. When I came back into the