The Stepson Read Online Free PDF Page A

hyacinth and tying to them some of the heads which had fallen sideways under their own weight. As she stood looking at him he raised his body. Then he put his hands on his hips and stretched his chest and shoulders to ease his back. His face was red with stooping. Kate noticed his strong, well-shaped arms. Then her eyes sought his face again and she saw that it was the handsome young man who lived in the cottage near the school. His eyes met hers, smiling.
    â€˜I was going to Mr. Markham’s cottage,’ said Kate, blushing, ‘to ask about his boy.’
    â€˜Mr. Markham’s gone for the doctor,’ said the young man. ‘Seemingly the boy’s got the measles. You’re the Schoolmaster’s daughter, aren’t you? I know you well by sight.’ His eyes were fixed on her approvingly. ‘I have a message for your father,’ he went on. ‘Mr. Markham asked me to take it when I went home. About the boy having the measles, that is.’
    â€˜O, then I needn’t go to the lodge,’ Kate said. ‘Thank you,’ and she turned to go. Then she paused. ‘What lovely flowers,’ she said.
    â€˜Yes,’ said young Graham, looking down at thehyacinths patronizingly. ‘Yes, they’re not a bad show, are they?’ and he invited Kate to walk round and inspect the other beds. He walked beside her, bending towards her when he spoke to her. She could feel the glow of his body beside her.
    Then they stopped near the conservatory. ‘If you’ll wait here a minute,’ he said, ‘I’ll get my coat. You’re going back to the village, I suppose?’
    Kate said that she was.
    â€˜So am I,’ he answered. ‘I won’t be a minute’; and he went off at a run, turning down his shirt-sleeves as he ran. Soon he reappeared. With his coat on he seemed to Kate different: he was, somehow, less striking now. Just as they were about to set off he paused.
    â€˜We’ll just look in here before we go,’ he said, and unlocked the door of the conservatory. They went in; he shut the door carefully behind them, and immediately Kate found herself in a warm, hushed, luxuriant world. The place was full of thick, branching leaves of every form and colour and of wonderful unknown flowers. The air was a solid presence which pressed upon her face and hands like warm wool. A rich, penetrating fragrance possessed the place: Kate felt a delicious breathless tightening of the throat. He led her round the narrow stone-flagged channel which served as a passage through the jungle. Great fanlike leaves, some green and furry, others glossy and streaked with red or yellowhung overhead. Sometimes a large warm drop fell from high above them on to the pavement or on to her dress. It was wonderful, unbelievable. When he spoke to her she answered him in a hushed whisper. She paused for a moment to gaze down into a beautiful trumpet-shaped scarlet flower blotched with purple. ‘How lovely!’ she whispered. ‘What is it called?’
    Young Graham turned and stood beside her and, as he bent to look at the flower, his cheek for one exquisite moment almost touched hers.
    When they had left the conservatory the world outside seemed wide and fresh and alive after that enclosed solitude. Kate dared again to raise her voice, and they set out together for the village, talking unceasingly as they walked. What had they talked about? Not a single detail of their conversation remained in Kate’s mind now, but that they had talked she remembered well, for what remained in her mind, almost as fresh now as on the day six years ago when she had experienced it, was the thrilling sense of release which that easy, intimate talk with young Graham had brought to her. For at home, since the death of her mother, Kate had not had anyone to talk to. Her father never spoke except for some quite definite and practical reason — to mention, perhaps, something he wished to