Eliza’s Daughter by Joan Aiken Read Free Book Online Page A

had been drowning their grief and mourning the dead in tankards of green cider with smuggled eau-de-vie added; a most perilous mix of liquors. Nobody was at all grateful to have Triz returned; quite the contrary. Biddy reviled me as a wicked little viper, always ready to do somebody an ill turn.
    â€˜Making out as how that’s Triz! That’s not Triz! How do we know that’s not some gypsy’s brat? Bringing her here! The idea! What next, I’d like to know?’
    However this argument was wholly undermined when Polly woke up, roused from her drugged slumber by all the shouting, and mumbled out, ‘Tiz! Tiz!’ and with, for her, a quite unusual demonstration of enthusiasm, went to hug her foster-sister.
    But I noticed Triz flinch away when Biddy approached her, and wondered whether her infant mind had absorbed the fact that her foster-mother had planned to dispose of her as one might part with a puppy or a kitten, turning her over to an alien group without the slightest compunction.
    In the end everybody was too tired and too drunk, I daresay, to pursue the argument further that evening. Dr Moultrie and Mr Willsworthy, figures of authority, had left, and I did not think it was the time to fire my main salvo, the fact that I had been on the cliff all afternoon and knew that Biddy never went anywhere near the shore. (Or that the lady with the odd eyes would be able to corroborate my story; if I could ever find out who she was.) In the meantime I said, ‘Triz can sleep with me; if you don’t want her,’ and carried her off to my cubbyhole, where, twined together – for there was scarcely room for one, let alone two – we passed the rest of the night, she in a sleep of utter exhaustion with her threadlike arms tight around my neck, while I lay awake for hours in a fever of worry.
    Being but a child, and only too well aware of the great and incalculable powers of adults, I feared that next day might bring yet worse troubles; that Biddy might find some means of repudiating Triz and sending her back to the gypsies; that somehow her tale would be preferred over mine; that evil and injustice would triumph, as I had seen them triumph many times before.
    Next day, however, matters turned out very differently from my expectations. (As they almost invariably do; but I am never prepared for this.)
    For a start, we all overslept, worn out with exertion, dispute, green cider and brandy.
    I was roused from my slumber by a thunderous rap on the door, and shouts.
    â€˜Open up there! Where’s Mrs Wellcome? Where’s t’other Mrs Wellcome? Show a leg, show a leg! Here’s Squire’s lady a-waiting for her babby!’
    Stupefied with late, heavy sleep, I stumbled downstairs and opened the door. Behind me I could hear the grunts of Hannah and Tom as they staggered about, trying to make themselves presentable.
    Outside the door was a pony-chaise waiting. A groom stood at the horses’ heads, and another – I knew him, it was Jeff Diswoody, head groom at the Hall – was the one who had been banging and shouting.
    â€˜Damme, what’s to do? I’d have reckoned ye’d all be up at cockcrow making the little maid ready – here’s my lady come her own self – iss! – to welcome home her nestling – who you’d think ’ud be a-waiting wreathed in roses like a May queen – what do we find? Not a soul astir!’
    I looked past him to the chaise – and there was yesterday’s lady of the cliff! Today she was dressed fine, in yellow silk and gloves, and a silken sunshade, but I knew her at once by her swivel eye – and also by the smile she gave me. She was Lady Hariot! Of course, I should have guessed it. Who else could she be?
    Here was my chance and I took it like lightning.
    â€˜Only a moment, my lady!’ I gulped, hasted back up the stairs to where Triz, like a scrawny fledgling, was blinking and rubbing her eyes in my