The Secret Woman Read Online Free PDF Page A

name.”
    â€œIt’s Redvers Stretton—usually known as Red.”
    â€œOh!” I was disappointed and showed it.
    â€œYou don’t like it?”
    â€œWell, Red is not very dignified.”
    â€œDon’t forget it is really Redvers which you must admit is more so.”
    â€œI’ve never heard that name before.”
    â€œI must say in its defense that it’s a good old West Country name.”
    â€œIs it? And I thought it should go with Crediton.”
    That amused him secretly. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said.
    I had a notion that he was laughing at me and that I was being very naive.
    He said: “I must ask yours, mustn’t I, otherwise you may think me impolite.”
    â€œI shouldn’t but if you really want to know…”
    â€œOh, I do.”
    â€œIt’s Anna Brett.”
    â€œAnna Brett!” He repeated it as though memorizing it. “How old are you, Miss Anna Brett?”
    â€œI’m twelve.”
    â€œSo young…and so knowledgeable.”
    â€œIt’s living in the Queen’s House.”
    â€œIt must be like living in a museum.”
    â€œIt is in a way.”
    â€œIt makes you old before your time. You make me feel young and frivolous.”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    â€œPlease don’t be. I like it. I’m seven years older than you.”
    â€œSo much?”
    He nodded and his eyes seemed to disappear when he laughed.
    The manservant had come back into the hall.
    â€œHer ladyship is requesting the young lady’s presence,” he said. “Will you follow me, miss?”
    As I turned away Redvers Stretton said: “We’ll meet again…less briefly, I hope.”
    â€œI shall hope so too,” I replied sedately and sincerely.
    The manservant gave no indication that he considered Redvers Stretton’s behavior in the least strange and I followed him past the suit of armor up the wide staircase. I was almost certain that the vase at the turn of the staircase was of the Ming reign because of the rich violet color of the porcelain. I could not prevent myself gazing at it, then I turned and saw Redvers Stretton standing looking up at me, legs slightly apart, hands in pockets. He bowed his head in acknowledgment of the compliment I had paid him by turning round and I wished I hadn’t because I felt it showed a rather childish curiosity. I turned away and hurried after the servant. We came to a gallery hung with oil paintings, and I felt a little impatient with myself because I could not assess their value. The largest of the pictures in the center of the gallery was of a man and I was able to guess that it had been painted some fifty years before. I was certain it was Sir Edward Crediton, the founder of the shipping line, the dead husband of the woman I was shortly to see. How I wished I might have paused longer to study it; as it was I caught a fleeting glimpse of that rugged face—powerful, ruthless, perhaps yes, and with a slight tip-tilt of the eyes which was so pronounced in the man I had met a few minutes ago. But he was not a Crediton. He must be a nephew or some such relation. It was the only answer.
    The servant had paused and tapped on a door. He threw it open and announced: “The young lady, my lady.”
    I entered the room. Aunt Charlotte was seated on a chair, very straight-backed, expression grim, in her best bargaining mood. I had seen her like this often.
    Seated on a large ornamental chair—Restoration period with the finely scrolled arms and the crown emblems—sat a woman, also large but scarcely ornamental. She was very dark, her skin sallow and her eyes looked as black as currants and as alert as a monkey’s. They were young eyes and defied her wrinkles—young and shrewd. Her lips were thin and tight; they reminded me of a steel trap. Her large hands, quite smooth and white were adorned by several rings—diamonds and rubies.