Anila's Journey by Mary Finn Read Free Book Online

which is it to be?”
    He smiled, so I pointed a finger at him.
    â€œYou pour, sir. It’s a very pretty pot. I would hate to break it.”
    â€œIt’s a very ancient pot indeed. That’s well observed of you. It’s pure China porcelain, with a celadon glaze. My late aunt’s bequest to me. Mr Minch is under pain of death not to break it and certainly not to lend it to any of the other saints or scholars who work here. And above all never to a gentleman of the law, not even a judge.”
    He poured tea into the cups and we sat down, he behind his desk, I on a leather stool in front of it. He shot me a glance.
    â€œThere’s a common bird in these parts that has just such a rare green in its feathers. I wonder if you know the one I mean.”
    Well, but of course I did. If this was a test I could pass myself off reasonably.
    â€œI don’t always know the English words for all birds,” I said. “But it’s a kind of duck. A small duck that we call the whistler.”
    â€œVery good. But now, to first details. What is your name?”
    I told him.
    â€œAnd – I am estimating here – you have an English father and an Indian mother?”
    I nodded. Then I shook my head.
    â€œMy father is Irish.”
    Sing it loud, sing it proud, the princess Anila of Calcutta has not a drop of English blood!
    â€œIs it either of those who have supplied this testimonial?”
    He had the thick envelope in his hand but had not attempted to open it.
    I almost laughed. What an idea!
    â€œNo, sir, of course not. It was written by Miss Helena Hickey on behalf of her father, the artist, Mr Thomas Hickey. I have been boarding with them for these few years past. I was an assistant to Mr Hickey. But indeed it was my father who taught me how to draw.”
    He looked at me with some respect, I thought.
    â€œI understand that Mr Hickey is celebrated in Calcutta for his portraits,” he said. “But it is quite another skill that I am looking for, you understand.”
    â€œYes, sir,” I said. “And I can show you my work that suits your requirements. I have it right here with me.”
    He told me to take out my drawings while he read the testimonial. I turned away, and struggled to get the leather case out of my bag. I knew what Miss Hickey had written because she had shown me the two closely written pages yesterday and I had read them while she was out of the room. That had been extraordinary. There were my circumstances laid out as if they belonged to a character in a story. And then at the end:
    Miss Anila Tandy has rare ability to extract from Nature nothing more and nothing less than what is given. She does not embellish or decorate on the page, she regcreates the diversity of creation and the beauty of line… In addition to her natural genius for draughtsmanship she is an honest and thoughtful young person and has an original cast of mind in two languages, English and Bengali. I would much have preferred that she should remain in our household. But we move to Madras and Miss Tandy prefers to remain in Calcutta.
    â€œYou are quite a paragon, it seems,” said Mr Walker. But he said it slowly and without any trace of mockery. “I must admit that I would give a lot to have met with the writer of this missive. Though I would naturally fear for her opinion of me.”
    He reached across for my notebooks. He turned the pages, slowly, without looking up at me. Sometimes he turned back and looked over a particular one again. I wondered if I should explain the order I had made, and the names I had given the birds. But I knew that the drawings had to speak for themselves, and that they must speak louder than all Miss Hickey’s kind words.
    Mr Walker got up and went over to a shelf by the wall. He took down one of his dead birds and brought it back to the desk. It was an oriole, a black-headed one, and its legs were nailed onto a small log. My notebook was open