The Friday Tree Read Online Free

eyes a large black letter M. “They are new,” he said. “Well spotted.” He looked at Francis for a moment, as though wondering about him. “Would you like to try?”
    “Yes, please,” said Francis, and looped the heavy weight about his neck, moving quickly to stand at the window, whistling below his breath as he swept the binoculars round.
    Brigid, concentrating on the name of the black shiny glasses, did not even ask for a turn. Instead she repeated the word, slowly, in her head: bin-oc-u-lars . . . bin-oc-u-lars .
    At last she said: “Francis asked Ned for some bin-oc-u-lars, for the plot.”
    “The plot?” said Uncle Conor. “I’m intrigued. Have you two been hatching a plot?”
    Francis turned from the window, his eyes warning Brigid. “No, Uncle Conor. Dicky got out of his cage, and we were afraid he might fly away – or even go into the plot. I mean the plot behind the house.” He handed back the binoculars.
    Uncle Conor worked at placing them in their case for quite a long, careful time.
    “And did he?”
    “Did he what, Uncle Conor?” said Francis, his face shut down.
    “Go into the plot,” said the man, his eyes, looking down, little more than slits.
    Isobel, collecting the tray, straightened up and answered for them: “It wouldn’t have mattered if he had, Mr Todd. They’re not allowed in there, and woe betide them if I find out they went in.”
    Uncle Conor snapped the case shut, half-opened his eyes and looked down at the children. He was the grizzly bear again, but not a friendly one. “Woe betide them indeed,” he said. The silence sat uncomfortably in the air. “Woe betide them if they disobey Isobel.” He smiled, showing his crooked tooth. Yet his eyes remained watchful as, with one swift, sharp twist of his hand, he fastened the lock of the binocular case. “Well,” he said, “Dicky’s in his cage now, isn’t he? I think I can hear him.”
    Indeed, they could all hear Dicky, squabbling to himself, crossly reminding anyone listening that he was on his own in the other room.
    “And that surely means he can’t have gone anywhere very far, can he?” continued Uncle Conor, and he looked directly again at Francis.
    Francis met his eyes and said: “Not very, no.”
    Uncle Conor watched Francis, straight and hard, for a little longer, then turned to Rose, standing quietly with her hands folded. “Who is Ned?” he said.
    “Next-door child,” replied Rose, not yet warm, but not quite as frozen as before. “Nine years old. Precocious, but, well . . . Prep school, comes next door for holidays.”
    “Parents?”
    Rose dropped her voice and turned a little away. Brigid heard only the words “The Silvers . . . Princess Victoria . . . You must have heard at the time.”
    There was a long pause before Uncle Conor replied: “Ah, yes. The Princess Victoria .” He paused again: “Do little pitchers . . . ?” His head inclined toward the children and back again to Rose.
    Brigid heard Rose say, in her newly distant voice: “More than one house bore that loss,” and then, shaking Cornelius Todd’s hand civilly, distantly, she walked with him to the front door, and stood there with the children behind her until he was out of sight.
    Only Isobel seemed sorry to see him go, and the children stayed subdued and careful until Rose became herself once more. Once she did, she answered the questions which Isobel had not. They learned that their parents were well, would return in a very few days and that she, Rose, would be here with them until they arrived. Rose was quiet and reassuring. Yet, there was in her face and her voice something which told them not to ask too much, so that neither Brigid nor Francis asked why their parents had gone without telling them. They knew enough for now. They went quietly and with something of their old content about their day and their evening and, when it was time for bed, climbed the stairs without protest.
    Still, they did not go straight to their