Joan Wolf Read Online Free PDF Page A

it. “No,” he said slowly. “Of course you must hunt."
    He frowned. Now that he thought of it, what she had said was true. She'd never be thrown clear if she were riding in that damned saddle. The thing was a bloody death trap. He hesitated, looking at her worriedly.
    "I'll make a bargain with you, Uncle Edward,” Jane said in her cool, clipped voice.
    He grinned. He couldn't help it. Any other girl would have coaxed and pleaded. Not Jane. “What bargain, brat?” he said.
    "If I promise to learn to ride sidesaddle and to ride it on all formal occasions, may I continue to ride astride here at home?"
    He thought for a minute. “I have one other condition."
    She looked at him suspiciously. “What is that?"
    "You must get yourself a skirt. Those breeches have to go."
    There was a pause as Jane considered. “All right,” she agreed. The Battle of the Sidesaddle was over.
    There were repercussions, though. For the first time the Marquis began to think of his niece as a young girl. He was easy-going and careless, but once he thought about it he realized that Jane could not be allowed to continue as she was going. The next time he went up to London he consulted with Lady Carrington, a cousin in her forties who had young daughters of her own. The result of this discussion was that the following year Jane was sent to Miss Farner's Select Academy for Young Ladies in Queen Square, Bath.
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    Chapter V
    Nothing can bring back the hour
    Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower....
    —William Wordsworth
    Jane hated school. She felt like a hawk in a cage; the genteel, refined atmosphere of Miss Farner's drove her into a hard and fierce isolation. The other girls did not know how to deal with her. The slender, aloof girl with her cold, clipped voice and utter self-sufficiency puzzled them and made them uneasy.
    Jane was not defiant. She did as she was asked and performed adequately at her studies. But her light eyes had a faintly mocking look which disconcerted Miss Farner and often made her lose the thread of whatever she was trying to say. Jane was perfectly polite, but it was abundantly clear to Miss Farner and to all her teachers that as far as Jane was concerned, they might not have existed.
    Miss Farner made one attempt to break through the impenetrable reserve Jane had surrounded herself with. She called Jane into her private sitting room one day about three months after Jane's arrival in Bath.
    "Are you happy here, Lady Jane?” she inquired.
    Jane's mouth set. “No,” she answered, uncompromisingly.
    "Why, may I ask?” Miss Farner's voice was scrupulously gentle. To have Lady Jane Fitzmaurice as a pupil was a feather in her bonnet; Miss Farner did not want to lose her.
    "I don't want to be here. I don't belong here. There is nothing here for me.” Jane sat upright on a chair, her back straight as always, her black head high.
    "But why, Lady Jane?” Miss Farner persisted. “We want you to be happy. Won't you let us try to help you?"
    Jane simply stared back, a derisive glint in her eyes. As if this stupid woman could do anything for her!
    "Why don't you make friends with some of the other girls?” Miss Farner made one more attempt.
    "I've already got a friend,” Jane answered with finality. And that was that.
    What saved Jane from her passive but absolute antagonism to Miss Farner's Select Academy and all who inhabited it was the advent of Miss Becker, the art mistress. Jane had always loved color; it gave her a pleasure that was purely aesthetic. Miss Becker gave Jane oil paints and taught her how to draw. It was her salvation. She went with Miss Becker to see all the paintings Bath had to offer the public. And she sat for hours at her easel, working with a hard concentration in her eyes, her black head on one side and an intense stillness over her whole figure.
    So the days passed as she waited with rigid patience for the holidays, when she could go home and see David.
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