Mariana Read Online Free PDF Page B

could even see the faint rises in the ground where the flower beds had been built up by loving hands. I crossed the yard and stood on the spot in triumph.
    The sun had sunk lower in the sky, and the breeze that skimmed over me was decidedly chill. Hunching farther into my sweater, I hugged myself for warmth, turning to face the distant line of trees.
    The man on the gray horse was there, under the sheltering oak, watching me.
    I raised my chin defiantly, and could have sworn that he smiled, although he was too far away for me to see his features clearly, let alone judge his expression. After a long moment, he wheeled his horse around and headed back in the direction of Crofton.
    The Green Lady forgotten, I went inside the house, taking particular care to bolt the door behind me.Hall, his dark outline swallowed by the shadows of the ancient trees.
    And there certainly had been guests. The first arrivals, at nine o'clock, had been Mr. Ridley, the house agent, and his wife, who were evidently early risers as they brought with them a plate of homemade Bath buns, still warm from the oven. Close on their heels had come Jerry Walsh and his amiable wife, Eva, with two jars of Eva's black-currant jelly; then Arthur and Marie Walsh bearing a plate of chocolate biscuits. Several others came and departed in a kind of blur, including a soft-voiced, elderly lady named Mrs. Hutherson, who brought me two dozen buttery fruit scones and her best wishes. Everyone was very nice, very friendly, and very well informed.
    'Children's books, isn't it, my dear?’ Mrs. Hutherson had asked in her gentle voice. 'How clever of you.' Her blue eyes struck a familiar chord in my memory, but she had gone before I could grasp the connection.
    The quiet couple who came last with a bottle of raspberry cordial benefited from their position by being offered the best selection of treats. The coffee table in my sitting room was by this time so loaded with edible offerings that anyone would have thought I'd spent hours preparing for a neighborhood tea party.
    Any lingering doubts my visitors may have had regarding my respectability were put to rest, emphatically and unexpectedly, by the arrival of my brother, wearing his clerical collar and looking eminently pious. So pious, in fact, that I doubted whether any of his own parishioners would have recognized him.
    Shortly after noon, when the crowd had cleared, Tom leaned back in his chair, linking his hands behind his head.
    'I congratulate you,' he said. 'My own neighbors didn't lay siege to me until I'd been in the village a week. How long have you been here, now? Two days?'
    'I moved in on Tuesday, so this is my third day here. Feet off the coffee table, please.'
    'Sorry.' He moved his shoes obediently. 'I hope you don't mind my dropping in on you like this. I suppose I could have called first.'
    'You couldn't have picked a better time,' I assured him warmly. 'It'll do wonders for my image. By teatime it'll be all over town that I'm related to a vicar.'
    'Mmm. Or that you're having an affair with one.' Tom grinned. 'Village people have terribly suspicious minds, you know.'
    I ignored him. 'It's your day off, I take it?'
    'Yes. I left the parish in the capable hands of my new curate, young Mr. Ogilvie. You'd like him, Julia. He's much less tedious than his predecessor. Of course, his views may be a little progressive for my flock, but he means well.'
    'Anything would be an improvement on your last curate,' I agreed with feeling. 'Michael something, wasn't it? Very Low Church, never smiled, always bubbling over with hell-fire and damnation?'
    'That's the one.'
    'Whatever happened to him?'
    'I managed to have him transferred to a parish up north. I felt I'd done my penance,' Tom said, smiling. 'Anyway, back to the subject of my day off. I promised the parents I'd stop in this week and see how you were getting on. How are you getting on?'
    'Quite well, thanks. I've got most of the downstairs rooms sorted out, I