Meridon (Wideacre Trilogy 3) by Gregory Philippa

Author:Gregory, Philippa [Gregory, Philippa]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi
Publisher: Harper Collins, Inc.
Published: 2011-11-10T16:00:00+00:00

22

I found a patch of sunlight where the old beech leaves were warm and dry and smelled nutty. I took Sea to the river bank and he leaned over and drank some sweet water and then I hitched him to a nearby tree. I sat and watched the flow of the river over the sandy yellow stones, and once or twice I saw the mottled brown shadow of a trout moving slowly upstream.

Lord Peregrine was so long that I thought he had forgotten, or taken his horse into a stable and fallen asleep on the hay bale. But then I heard footsteps and a voice calling, ‘Halloo! Halloo!’ like an unseasonal huntsman and I jumped to my feet and called, ‘Over here!’

He came crashing through woods, ducking beneath the low branches, carrying a large wickerwork picnic-box.

‘Look what I’ve got!’ he said proudly. ‘It’s later than we thought, about seven o’clock. Most of the kitchenmaids were up and they made me this. Our housekeeper was there as well and Mama asked to be wakened early this morning for she’s going to Chichester today. They told Mama I had met you and you’re to come and see her when we’ve had our breakfast and she’s dressed.’

‘I can’t,’ I said, suddenly fearful of another person who would watch me like Will and James Fortescue watched me. My sense of holiday from those two drained away from me at the thought of having to face Lord Peregrine’s mother.

He grinned. ‘Oh you’ll be all right, don’t worry,’ he said bracingly. ‘She’s got her eye on you all right. You could walk in there stark naked and she would tell you how pretty you were looking. We’ve all been waiting to see what would happen to the estate. My papa had a mind to buy it years ago, but your guardians or whatever would never sell. As soon as I said in the kitchen that I had met you, old Mrs Bluett our housekeeper was up the front stairs like a whirlwind to tell Mama that the mystery heiress had come home.’

He lifted the lid of the picnic box and suddenly checked. ‘I say, it isn’t all a hum is it?’ he asked. ‘You weren’t making a fool of me? You really are her?’

I nodded. ‘I am,’ I said. ‘It’s not a game I would play if I had a free choice, I am her.’

‘That’s all right then,’ he said, uninterested in anything else. ‘Here, have some chicken.’

He heaved the picnic basket between us and laid aside the napery and the silverware, the fine china with the crest on it and chose instead to eat with his fingers. I hesitated for a moment, unable to believe that Lord Peregrine himself could eat like a gypsy brat; and then weak with relief and hunger I tore a drumstick off the perfectly roasted chicken and settled down into the leaves to eat the first meal I had enjoyed since coming to Wideacre.

We were like children, Lord Peregrine and I in the equal uncritical sunshine.

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