Fire: Tales of Elemental Spirits by Peter Dickinson, Robin McKinley Read Free Book Online Page A

the old man eventually died in 1932.

    Summer 1934
    The madness that caused the eleventh earl eventually to be known—notorious, even—as the Green Earl was not immediately apparent. The seeds from which it was to grow were probably sown soon after his great-grandfather’s death by a Miss Wells, recently engaged as governess to his two elder sisters.
    Miss Wells was a tall, plain young woman in her early thirties, with a wide mouth, wide-set eyes and a pale but not unhealthy complexion. She had a look of pleasant calm, with reserves of determination below the surface. She was a governess because she had been denied a formal education beyond the age of twelve, when her mother had fallen ill from an hereditary disease and her father had withdrawn her from school to help with the household chores. From then on she had educated herself in her spare time, choosing subjects that interested her, at first generally botanical, but concentrating more and more on native British trees, since there were subjects for her to study locally in the Forest of Dean, where her parents lived. By the time of her mother’s death and her father’s almost instant remarriage, she was a considerable expert on some of the larger species and had had technical papers published in professional journals; none of this was much practical use to a woman turned out of her home with no more than a token allowance and with no academic qualifications whatever. One of her brothers-in-law, a motoring crony of the young earl’s father, had recommended her for the post of governess, and the post had seemed right for her the moment she set eyes on the woodlands that mottled the estate. It was not surprising therefore that at almost the first opportunity she visited Dave’s Wood. Since it was the afternoon on which the girls had their riding lessons and the nursery maid had her afternoon off, she was in charge of the earl, so she took him with her. Besides, there was a Mr. Moffard, whose permission she would apparently need. If he proved difficult, she could tell him she wanted to give the earl a botany lesson.
    There was no such difficulty. Mr. Moffard seemed a courteous old man, though somewhat withdrawn. Just before leaving, Miss Wells asked him if he had any idea of the age of the magnificent oak tree that stood on the other side of the clearing opposite his front door.
    Mr. Moffard seemed to open up a little.
    ÊºNot to say for sure, ma’am,ʺ he answered. ʺSeventeen ’undred eighty-two she was there, full-grown—that’s in the diaries—an’ there’s oaks in there ’alf grown as aren’t down as full-grown for another ’undred, ’undred an’ twenty years. So give ’er a couple of ’undred on before the diaries, I reckon she was a young’un when the Armada come by.ʺ
    ÊºNot a Domesday oak, then?ʺ
    ÊºAh, no, ma’am. Fewer of those than folk make out, and what there is more dead than alive. An’ Domesday this’ld ’a’ been forest far as you could see. Thissair wood’s maybe a bit o’ that left over, but there aren’t a tree in it anythin’ near that old, not in the diaries, neither.ʺ
    ÊºDo you mean you’ve got diaries about the wood going back to—seventeen eighty, wasn’t it?ʺ
    ÊºEighty-two, ma’am. Fifth earl begun it. Liked collectin’ stuff, ’e did, anything old, almost, and gettin’ it written down in a book. Sees thissair wood, full of old trees. ‘Get ’em all writ down,’ ’e tells my great-granddad. Thassow it begun, on’y no one never told us to stop. You interested in trees, ma’am?ʺ
    Miss Wells looked at him almost shuddering with excitement.
    ÊºMore than anything in the world, Mr. Moffard,ʺ she said. ʺMay I look at your diaries?ʺ
    ÊºReally old ones, they’re over in the Library at the House, ma’am. Eighteen forty-two thissair lot go