The Wilding Read Online Free Page B

of the house, with a stable door visible to one side, some other outbuilding on the left and a well in the middle of a cobbled yard. Above and beyond, the trees of Tetton Wood flung their tops to and fro; a whitebeam glittered as its leaves spun on the breeze. Perhaps I had so disgraced myself with my paltr baggage that Aunt Harriet preferred to keep me round the back, out of sight of passers-by.
    I would not say as yet that I disliked my aunt, but I was not far off it. Whenever I had thought about her at Spadboro (which was not often) I had dimly pictured her as reserved and perhaps a little proud, nothing worse. Now, in her house and in her sole company, I was inclined to draw uncharitable comparisons between her and Mother, who made our home decent, though simple, and who bustled merrily about her work. Aunt Harriet progressed along the passages and looked as if she would not deign to peel herself an apple, let alone drag a baby out of a howling woman. Though there must be servants about the place, she had let me carry up and unpack my own bag. My mother would never have been so neglectful, even of an uninvited guest; if need be, she would have carried up the bags herself.
    Sighing, I rested my gaze on the furthest trees. From a distance their whipping back and forth in the wind resembled a carefree dance and I wished I could be out there with them. I was already regretting the impulse that had brought me here. Was it likely that I should discover secrets hidden from my aunt, who had shared this house with Robin for so many years? A childish notion! Perhaps I should be content to press the apples and go home. My parents would be surprised to hear where I had been, but nothing worse would come of it.
    It was while thinking this that I noticed a coil of smoke rising from the wood. I had not seen it previously because it had been scattered and broken; but now, as the wind died down and the dancing trees were momentarily stilled, a fragile blue trail rose against their mingled green and gold.
    ‘Charcoal-burners,’ I said to myself, ‘or tinkers,’ but thought no more of it because just then a servant came into view in the courtyard below. She let a bucket down into the well, reeled it in again, and bore it off into the house. I was struck by the ease with which she handled this bucket, which was large and appeared full to the brim; though unable to see her face, I judged her to be young and toughened by constant labour.
    There must be others who had known my uncle. That servant girl, for instance, and the boy who had come to Spadboro. I had not yet turned over all the stones.
    It was time to return to Aunt Harriet. I combed my hair and beat the dust off my garments; then, clearing my throat though there was nothing in it, I descended the stairs.
    * * *

    ‘Aunt, may I please have some paper to write to my father?’
    As soon as the words were out of my mouth I realised this was a mistake. Aunt Harriet had been speaking of her youth and her own father’s pride in her cleverness; for the first time since I arrived, her face had grown soft. Now it took on the beaky, suspicious expression that had originally greeted me.
    ‘You’re to make a report on me, is that it?’
    My intention was in fact to let my parents know where I was. I almost said so, but swallowed the words just in time.
    ‘A report on myself, rather. I was a little unwell when I left home.’

    ‘Then I’m surprised they let you travel.’
    ‘I can be stubborn.’ I smiled, saying this, to show that I was a modest man and my stubbornness of a mild and pliable sort. ‘And they thought you’d be pleased to see me – you might be lonely without my uncle –’
    She snorted with laughter. ‘Tell them I’m not lonely enough. I’ve had to repel a siege here – women coming round sighing and smirking – as if I don’t know what they want!’
    ‘What do they want?’
    ‘For me to write their children into my will, of course. They think to feast off my