The Wolves of Willoughby Chase Read Online Free PDF Page B

gently at his hand. ‘Mr Grimshaw? Mr Grimshaw? Are you any better?’ But there was no reply. ‘He must be unconscious still,’ she said. ‘I wish we had some restoratives to give him – however, we shall be at home in another hour. Pattern and Mrs Shubunkin will know what to do for him. Pattern is my maid – and oh! such a dear – and Mrs Shubunkin is the housekeeper.’
    Presently Sylvia began to nod, and found her eyelids closing despite all her efforts to keep awake. But she had hardly more than dozed off when the carriage stopped with a clattering and a barking of dogs, and many shouts of greeting. Looking eagerly out of the window, she saw the great, rosy, glittering facade of Willoughby Chase, with every window shining a golden welcome. They had arrived.
    Bonnie did not wait for James to open the carriage door. She had it unlatched in a moment and leaped out into the snow, turning to help her cousin with affectionate care. Sylvia was stiff and dazed with fatigue, and as Bonnie led her tenderly up the great curving flight of steps and into the hall she received only a vague impression of many lights and much warmth, people rushing hither and thither, and a kindly voice (that of Pattern, the maid) saying, ‘Poor little dear, she is wearied to death. James, do you carry her upstairs while I ask Mrs Shubunkin for a posset.’

    The posset came, steaming, sweet, and delicious, and Pattern’s gentle hands removed Sylvia’s travelling clothes. Sylvia was too sleepy to study her surroundings before she was placed between soft, smooth sheets and sank deep into dreamless slumber.
    Later in the night she awoke, and saw stars shining beyond the white curtain at her bed’s foot. Suddenly she recalled Aunt Jane’s voice, teaching her astronomy: ‘There is Orion, Sylvia dear, and the constellation resembling a W is Cassiopeia.’ Oh, poor Aunt Jane! Would she be lying awake too, watching the stars? Would she be warm enough under the jet-trimmed mantle? What would she do at breakfast-time with no niece to warm the teapot, brew the Bohea, and make the toast-gruel?
    Tears began to run down Sylvia’s cheeks and she drew a long breath, trying to suppress her silent sobs.
    The next moment she heard feet patter across the carpet, and two small, comforting arms came round her neck. A cheek was rubbed lovingly against her wet one.
    ‘What is it, Sylvia dear? Are you homesick? Shall I come into bed with you?’
    Sylvia was on the point of revealing her worries about Aunt Jane. Then she realized that she must not. Aunt Jane’s pride would not let her accept help from her brother, and so Sylvia must not disclose that she was lonely and cold and poor. But oh, somehow she must find a means of helping her aunt – she must! She must!
    ‘Don’t cry,’ Bonnie whispered. ‘This is your home now, and we shall do such delightful things together. I am sure I can make you happy.’ She hugged Sylvia again, and, slipping into the bed, began telling her of all the plans she had, for sledging and skating, and picking primroses in spring, and days on the moors in summer. Sylvia could not help being cheered by this happy prospect, and soon both children fell asleep, the dark head and the fair on one pillow.

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    NEXT MORNING THE children had breakfast together in the nursery, which was gay with the sunshine that sparkled on crystal and silver and found golden lights in the honey and quince preserve.
    Miss Slighcarp, it seemed, was to take her meals in her own apartments, and of this Sylvia was glad, for when she met the governess after breakfast she found her a somewhat frightening lady, cold and severe and forbidding. However, Aunt Jane had taught Sylvia well, and in many respects it was found that she was ahead of Bonnie.
    ‘You will have to work, miss,’ said Miss Slighcarp curtly to Bonnie. ‘You will have to work hard to catch up with your cousin.’
    ‘I am glad,’ said Bonnie, hugging Sylvia. ‘I want to work hard. It is