The Postcard Read Online Free Page B

‘A whole inch since Miss Phoebe was here last. I think she will be tall like
you. Was her mother tall?’
    They never mentioned her late brother, Joe, killed on the roads in the blackout, or his fiancée, Beryl Poole, in Caroline’s hearing as a rule. It made sense to make them
Caroline’s deceased parents. They were family, after all. There were no false photographs – she had drawn the line at that – but trust Marthe to keep bringing this up. A girl
needs to know about her mother, she had once hinted. But tonight Phoebe ignored her, unwilling to tell any more lies. ‘She gets her height from my side of the family, it appears. Come, let me
read you a story.’
    ‘Will you tell me the one about Brown Carrie and Fair Carrie? I can nearly tell it in Marthe’s language.’
    ‘I don’t know that one. I’ll find something else.’ Phoebe turned to the bookshelf. She didn’t like the idea that Marthe and Caroline shared a language, but what did
she expect if she hired a foreigner?
    ‘No, I want that one.’
    ‘Where is it then?’ she said, feeling tired and hungry.
    ‘I’m afraid it’s in my head,’ Marthe replied. ‘My mother told it to me. It’s a famous folk tale in our country. I can tell it to her, if you like.’
    Phoebe was disappointed that nothing was quite as she’d hoped about her arrival. She poked the fire, feeling out of sorts. The news of Sir Lionel’s visit had unsettled her. Was
Arthur’s sister, Verity, in the district too? What if they both turned up tomorrow? Now Marthe was taking centre stage, spinning some tale about two little girls, sisters with the same name
as Caroline. One Carrie was fair and pretty, the darker sister, plain and pock-marked, so much so that their stepmother wanted to scald the pretty one to make her more like her favourite ugly one.
The sisters ran away to a lake and were carried on the back of a swan but grew too heavy for him. He asked one of them to drop off into the water and it was the ugly one who offered to drown.
    Then the fair one was left to weep for her sister by the shore until the dark one rose from the water, unblemished and beautiful. When the stepmother caught up with them she was ashamed of her
actions and they all lived happily ever after . . . ‘She laid down her life for her sister and as a reward she’s as beautiful on the outside as she always was on the inside,’
whispered Marthe, seeing that Caroline was fast asleep. ‘It is always what is inside that matters, yes?’
    ‘Of course,’ said Phoebe, feeling strangely challenged by this folk tale. What was she really like this inside, dark or fair?
    She watched Marthe put the child to bed and turn out the lamp. ‘She likes the curtains and the door open so she can see the hills in the morning,’ the nursemaid smiled as she tidied
away clothes and toys from the floor.
    Phoebe looked away, knowing she wouldn’t have done this. There was so much she didn’t know about Caroline’s routine. Tears filled her eyes, and she was unsure whether they were
tears of guilt, shame, love or confusion. Perhaps it was all of these feelings that darkened her heart . . .
    The trip into Glasgow next day was a great success They took the train First Class into the city and went to Miss Cranston’s tearooms on Sauchiehall Street for soup and
cakes. Phoebe always loved to dine here among the startling décor, the tall-backed chairs, the wonderful wall murals and fancy cutlery. The waitresses wore identical outfits. It was like a
theatrical production. Nairn and Niven Laird wriggled but managed not to spill anything, and then Marthe supervised them all onto the green and yellow tram as a treat. They went to the Fossil Grove
to admire the stone tree trunks, and then it was back to town, to the Argyll Arcade and Henderson’s Jewellers so Caroline could choose a pretty gold watch with a white leather strap.
    ‘But I can’t tell the time, Aunt Phee . . . Can I have a bangle