Netherwood Read Online Free Page B

travelled past the window on a large, black bicycle, her expression grim with concentration as she tried to keep her balance, momentum and dignity intact. The squealing, Tobias discovered, came from Isabella who, somehow released by her governess, ran behind her big sister, red-faced with the effort of keeping up and clutching at her skirts in a manner most unbecoming to a fine young lady of eleven years old.
    Tobias hammered on the pane. ‘Bravo Henry!’ he shouted. She turned to look at him – big mistake – and started a wobble from which she had no hope of recovery. By the time Tobiasappeared on the path outside, she was on the ground with the bicycle on top of her. She made no attempt to get up, however, but lay rather contentedly on the gravel, making the most of the unscheduled break.
    ‘Good God, what happened there?’ Toby said, standing over her. He hauled the bicycle upright then held out a helping hand which, for the moment, she declined.
    ‘You distracted me,’ Henrietta said. ‘It seems I can’t steer, work the pedals and look over my shoulder at the same time.’
    ‘So it’s my turn now,’ said Isabella. ‘As you fell off.’
    Henrietta shook her head.
    ‘Scram,’ she said.
    Isabella considered tears but opted for a scowl instead, Henry being in general immune to waterworks.
    ‘Don’t you have some French to translate or flowers to catalogue, Izzy?’ said Tobias, in a conciliatory tone. ‘If Perry catches you out here she’ll have your guts for garters.’
    Isabella knew he spoke the truth. Miss Peregrine had taught them all at various stages in their lives, and while she was kind enough when obeyed, she could show a heart of flint when her instructions were flouted. She’d left her reluctant charge alone in the schoolroom with a variety of irregular verbs and the ominous promise of a short test in half an hour. But, like Toby, Isabella had seen Henry through the window, and the bicycle had proved too great a distraction to keep her at her books. Anyway, Isabella had reasoned to herself, as she had no plans ever to visit France, indeed could only imagine herself in either Netherwood or London, the point of mastering the language was lost on her. Mastering the art of bicycling, on the other hand – now there was a useful pursuit. But now she was being thwarted; Henry and Toby were being beastly and Perry’s wrath was a fearful thing. She glowered as she flounced away. Tobias returned her scowl with an amiable grin.
    ‘Au revoir, ma chérie. À bientôt,’
he said.
    ‘Gosh, well done,’ she said, without turning. ‘Sum total of your command of French, all in one go.’
    Henrietta laughed, if a little grudgingly. As a general rule she tried not to encourage Isabella, who in her view lacked the firm parental control that she herself had been subject to at the same age. The youngest Hoyland offspring was indulged and precocious, the undisputed darling of the earl, with the capacity – indeed the tendency – to be what the household staff, in the privacy of their own quarters, called ‘a proper handful’. It piqued Henrietta, for example, that the child had been dining with the adults since she was ten, and often ended the meal on her father’s lap as he popped
petit fours
into her open mouth. The rest of them – Henrietta, Tobias and Dickie – had all been confined to nursery suppers until well past their twelfth birthdays and when they finally graduated to the dining room it was backs straight, elbows off the table, and woe betide you if you spoke out of turn. However, Henrietta found little support when she voiced this particular complaint to her brothers, both of whom claimed they would still rather be eating shepherd’s pie with Nanny than enduring the tedious ritual of family dinners.
    Henrietta stood now, unaided by Toby. She was as tall as her brother, though there the resemblance ended because she was the only one of the four Hoyland siblings who possessed none of the