Girl In A Red Tunic by Alys Clare Read Free Book Online Page A

feeling very guilty because she’s putting a mother’s natural instinct to care for and help her child above her duty as a nun, he thought, trying to make sense of it all, and in addition to that she’s frantic with worry about her daughter-in-law’s fragile mental state and her grandson’s dumbness.
         Great God, he reflected, no wonder she’s so distressed.
         He was just making a solemn promise to himself that he would do all that he could to help her when he saw her coming back. Now there was a tall young man walking beside her, carrying a small child dressed in a short blue tunic and thick hose.
         As they approached, he wondered if anyone else had had the same thought: that these three people were so alike that, even had you not known them, you would have guessed that the same blood just had to run in their veins. Leofgar was taller than his mother but shared her broad shoulders and her upright bearing; his hair was dark (and Josse knew full well that Helewise’s was reddish-fair) and his skin had the same golden glow. The little boy’s colouring was light, like his grandmother’s, and the well-shaped mouth, although now set in a solemn line, looked as if it were made for smiles and laughter.
         What pointed them out as close relatives, though, was their eyes.
         Struggling to sit up, Josse held out a hand to this sad man who was the son of his dearest friend and said, ‘I am in my infirmary bed and you are troubled, young Leofgar. This is no time for lengthy and formal introductions – I shall only say that I’m Josse and I’m delighted to meet you.’
         Amusement filled Leofgar’s eyes – making him look even more like his mother – and, taking Josse’s hand, he said, ‘The delight is all mine, sir. My mother has told me all about you.’
         Not all, Josse hoped. That would be too much for anyone to absorb in a few hours and anyway he fervently hoped that the tenderest parts of all remained his own secret.
         ‘And this is Timus?’ Josse turned to look at the child.
         ‘Yes. Timus, say hello to Sir Josse,’ Leofgar commanded.
         But the little boy was timid and hid his face in his father’s tunic, turning his head only a fraction so he could look at Josse out of the corner of his eye.
         Josse remembered a trick that had once amused one of his nephews. Making sure that Timus was still looking at him, he raised both hands and, with an expression of deep concentration, pretended to wrench off his left thumb, tucking it down into the palm of that hand. Then he put his right hand behind his left and, sticking up the thumb, slid it up and down as if it were the detached left thumb.
         Timus had come out of hiding now and was openly staring, eyes wide with fascination. Then, as Josse looked with exaggerated and horrified amazement at his wayward thumb, suddenly the boy laughed.
         The sound was so sweet and so infectious that, almost without realising it, the three adults began to laugh too. But then Leofgar said, ‘You are a magician, Sir Josse. That is, I believe, the first time in a week that my son has laughed.’
         Josse gave him a vague grin; he was busy with the next trick. As once more he held up his hands, Timus struggled round in his father’s arms to get a better view; Leofgar, with a raised eyebrow at Josse, who nodded, carefully placed the child down on Josse’s bed. Josse caught Timus’s eye and said softly, ‘Watch.’
         Frowning and narrowing his eyes as if he were having trouble seeing, Josse threaded an imaginary needle. Then, wincing in pretend pain, he stuck the imaginary needle through each of the fingers of his left hand, starting with the little one and ending with the thumb. He gave the invisible thread a twitch, which brought all his fingers snapping together, then, pushing hard and going ‘Ouch!’, he pretended to push the needle into his left ear and pull it out of his right.