Thistle and Rose by Amy Walton (sci fi books to read .txt) 📖

a pot of my own black currant jelly."

"It's a great deal out of my way," said Delia.

"If you go," continued Mrs Hunt, without raising her eyes, "you will find the row of little pots on the top shelf of the storeroom cupboard."

Delia bit her lip.

"If I go," she said, "I must shorten my music-lesson."

Mrs Hunt said nothing, but looked as amiable as ever. A frown gathered on Delia's forehead: she stood irresolute for a minute, and then, with a sudden effort, turned and went quickly into the house. Mrs Hunt stirred her tea, tasted a strawberry, and leant back in her chair with a gentle sigh of comfort. In a few minutes Delia reappeared hurriedly.

"There is _no_ black currant jelly in the storeroom," she said, with an air of exasperation.

Mrs Hunt looked up in mild surprise.

"How strange!" she said. "Could I have moved those pots? Ah, now I remember! I had a dream that all the jam was mouldy, and so I moved it into that cupboard in the kitchen. That was why cook left. She didn't like me to use that cupboard for the jam."

"And, meanwhile, where is it?" said Delia.

"Such a wicked mother to give you so much trouble!" murmured Mrs Hunt, with a sweet smile. "But, Del, my love, you must try not to look so morose for trifles--it gives _such_ an ugly turn to the features. You'll find the jelly in that nice corner cupboard in the kitchen. Here's the key"--feeling in her pocket--"no; it is not here--where did I leave my keys? Oh, you'll find them in the pocket of my black serge dress--and if they're not there, they are sure to be in the pocket of my gardening apron. My kind love to Mrs Winn. Tell her to take it constantly in the night. And don't hurry, love, it's _so_ warm; you look heated already."

In spite of this last advice, it was almost at a run that Delia, having at last found the keys and the jam, set forth on her errand. Perhaps, if she were very quick, she need not lose much time with the Professor, after all, but she felt ruffled and rather cross at the delay. It was not an unusual frame of mind, for she was not naturally of a patient temper, and did not bear very well the little daily frets and jars of her life. She chafed inwardly as she went quickly on her way, that her music, which seemed to her the most important thing in the world, should be sacrificed to anything so uninteresting and dull as Mrs Winn's black currant jam. It was all the more trying this afternoon, because, since Anna Forrest's arrival, she had purposely kept away from the Professor, and had not seen him for a whole fortnight. A mixed feeling of jealousy and pride had made her determined that Anna should have every opportunity of making Mr Goodwin's acquaintance without any interference from herself. It was only just and right that his grandchild should have the first place in his affections, the place which hitherto had been her own. Well, now she must take the second place, and if Anna made the Professor happier, it would not matter. At any rate, no one should know, however keenly she felt it.

Mrs Winn, who was a widow, lived in an old-fashioned, red brick house facing the High Street; it had a respectable, dignified appearance, suggesting solid comfort, like the person of its owner. Mrs Winn, however, was a lady not anxious for her own well-being only, but most charitably disposed towards others who were not so prosperous as herself. She was the Vicar's right hand in all the various methods for helping the poor of his parish: clothing clubs, Dorcas meetings, coal clubs, lending library, were all indebted to Mrs Winn for substantial aid, both in the form of money and personal help.

She was looked up to as a power in Dornton, and her house was much frequented by all those interested in parish matters, so that she was seldom to be found alone. Perhaps, also, the fact that the delightful bow-window of her usual up-stairs sitting-room looked straight across to Appleby's, the post-office and stationer, increased its attractions. "It makes it so lively," Mrs Winn was wont to observe. "I seldom pass a day, even if I don't go out, without seeing Mr Field, or Mr Hurst, or some of the country clergy, going in and out of Appleby's. I never feel dull."

To-day, to her great relief, Delia found Mrs Winn quite alone. She was sitting at a table drawn up into the bow-window, busily engaged in covering books with whitey-brown paper. On her right was a pile of gaily bound volumes, blue, red, and purple, which were quickly reduced to a pale brown, unattractive appearance in her practised hands, and placed in a pile on her left. Delia thought Mrs Winn looked whitey-brown as well as the books, for there was no decided colour about her: her eyes were pale, as well as the narrow line of hair which showed beneath the border of her white cap; and her dresses were always of a doubtful shade, between brown and grey.

She welcomed Delia kindly, but with the repressed air of severity which she always reserved for her.

"How like your dear mother!" she exclaimed, on receiving the pot of jelly.--"Yes; my cough is a little better, tell her, but I thought I would keep indoors to-day--and, you see, I've all these books to get through, so it's just as well. Mr Field got them in London for the library the other day."

"What a pity they must be covered," said Delia, glancing from one pile to the other; "the children would like the bright colours so much better."

"A nice state they would be in, in a week," said Mrs Winn, stolidly, as she folded, and snipped, and turned a book about in her large, capable hands. "Besides, it's better to teach the children not to care for pretty things."

"Is it?" said Delia. "I should have thought that was just what they ought to learn."

"The love of pretty things," said Mrs Winn, sternly, "is like the love of money, the root of all evil; and has led quite as many people astray.--All these books have to be labelled and numbered," she added, after a pause. "You might do some, Delia, if you're not in a hurry."

"Oh, but I am," said Delia, glancing at the clock. "I am going to Mr Goodwin for a lesson, and I am late already."

Mrs Winn had, however, some information to give about Mr Goodwin. Julia Gibbins, who had just looked in, had met him on the way to give a lesson at Pynes.

"So," she added, "he can't possibly be home for another half-hour at least, you know; and you may just as well spend the time in doing something useful."

With a little sigh of disappointment, Delia took off her gloves and seated herself opposite to Mrs Winn. Everything seemed against her to-day.

"And how," said that lady, having supplied her with scissors and paper, "do you get on with Anna Forrest? You're with Mr Goodwin so much, I suppose you know her quite well by this time."

"Indeed, I don't," said Delia. "I haven't even seen her yet; have you?"

"I've seen her twice," said Mrs Winn. "She's pretty enough, though not to be compared to her mother; more like the Forrests, and has her father's pleasant manners. If _looks_ were the only things to consider, she would do very well."

"What's the matter with her?" asked Delia, bluntly, for Mrs Winn spoke as though she knew much more than she expressed.

"Why, I've every reason to suppose," she began deliberately--then breaking off--"Take care, Delia," she exclaimed; "you're cutting that cover too narrow. Let me show you. You must leave a good bit to tuck under, don't you see, or it will be off again directly."

Delia had never in her life been so anxious for Mrs Winn to finish a sentence, but she tried to control her impatience, and bent her attention to the brown paper cover.

"It only shows," continued Mrs Winn, when her instructions were ended, "that I was right in what I said the other day about Mr Bernard Forrest's marriage. That sort of thing never answers. That child has evidently been brought up without a strict regard for truth."

"What has she done?" asked Delia.

"Not, of course," said Mrs Winn, "that poor Prissy could have had anything to do with that."

The book Delia held slipped from her impatient fingers, and fell to the ground flat on its face.

"My _dear_ Delia," said Mrs Winn, picking it up, and smoothing the leaves, with a shocked look, "the books get worn out quite soon enough, without being tossed about like that."

"I'm very sorry," said Delia, humbly.--"But do tell me what it is you mean about Anna Forrest."

"It's nothing at all pleasant," said Mrs Winn, "but as you're likely to see something of her, you ought to know that I've every reason to believe that she's not quite straightforward. Now, with all your faults, Delia--and you've plenty of them--I never found you untruthful."

She fixed her large, round eyes on her companion for a moment, but as Delia made no remark, resumed--

"On the evening of your last working party but one, Julia Gibbins and I saw Mr Oswald of Leas Farm driving Anna Forrest from the station. Of course, we didn't know her then. But Julia felt sure it was Anna, and it turned out she was right. Curiously enough, we met Mrs Forrest and the child in Appleby's shortly after, and Mrs Forrest said how unlucky it had been that there was a confusion about the day of her niece's arrival, and no one to meet her at the station; but, fortunately, she said, Anna was sensible enough to take a fly, so that was all right. Now, you see, my dear Delia, she _didn't_ take a fly," added Mrs Winn, solemnly, "so she must have deceived her aunt."

Mrs Winn's most important stories had so often turned out to be founded on mistakes, that Delia was not much impressed by this one, nor disposed to think worse of Anna because of it.

"Oh, I daresay there's a mistake somewhere," she said, lightly, rising and picking up her flowers and her violin-case. "I must go now, Mrs Winn; the Professor will be back by the time I get there--good-bye."

She hurried out of the room before Mrs Winn could begin another sentence; for long experience had taught her that the subject would not be exhausted for a long while, and that a sudden departure was the only way of escape.

A quarter of an hour's quick walk brought her to Number 4 Back Row, and looking in at the sitting-room window, as her custom was, she saw that the Professor had indeed arrived before her.

His dwelling was a contrast in every way to that of Mrs Winn. For one thing, instead of standing boldly out before the world of Dornton High Street, it was smuggled away, with a row of little houses like itself, in a narrow sort of passage, enclosed between two wide