The Nutmeg Tree by Margery Sharp Read Free Book Online

effect.
    It wasn’t good. The hat was all right in itself, and value for money; but it didn’t suit Julia. Perhaps the events of the previous day had left too many traces: there was a faint old-pro look about her, something hardy and cheerful, but a trifle worn.…
    â€œI need my sleep,” thought Julia, tilting the hat further. It was of fine brown straw, mushroom-shaped, with a bunch of ribbons in front, but the angle at which Julia wore it was foreign to its nature. A dowager at a fête, who had been given champagne instead of claret-cup, might indeed have achieved the same effect; only it was not the one Julia sought. She took the thing off, planted it squarely on her head, and tried again. Under the straight brim her round black eyes stared in good-humoured astonishment; the full mouth, the soft chin, had no business to be there. “You’re right,” said Julia to her reflection, “but I’m damn well going to wear it all the same. Don’t you know it’s the sort of hat she’ll be looking for?”
    Before the thought of her daughter all else fled. The train was slowing down already; Julia seized her smaller suitcase and hurried into the corridor. She meant to get down the steps at once and be ready on the platform, so that when Susan rushed up there would be no impediment to their embrace—and also so that the label on her suitcase would be properly displayed. For Julia was not relying on filial instinct alone: she had prepared a special piece of cardboard, seven inches by four, with MRS. PACKETT printed in block capitals. Thus not even a stranger could help knowing who she was; and as things turned out—as they so often turned out with Julia—it was a stranger who first addressed her.
    â€œMees’ Packett?”
    â€œGo away,” said Julia sharply. He was a very little man, and she looked straight over his head, scanning the platform. No rushing daughterly figure was in sight; the few passengers and their friends were already melting away. Julia was not exactly uneasy, but she could feel uneasiness round the corner.…
    â€œMees’ Packett?” implored the man again. “Mees’ Packett, Les Sapins, Muzin?” He was holding something out to her, an envelope, which did indeed bear her name; and as Julia looked at it her heart lightened. This time at any rate she knew the hand.
    Dear Mother,—
    I am so very glad you have come, but I’m not meeting you because six-thirty A.M. at a railway station is such a ghastly place for reunions. The man who gives you this is the station chauffeur, he will bring you to Muzin, and if you like you can have a bath and some more sleep before breakfast.
    Affectionately,—
    S USAN .
    Julia folded the note away, indicated her luggage to the chauffeur, and followed him out of the station to where the car stood waiting. The freshness of the grey morning air made her shiver: as she powdered her nose again, scrutinizing her features in the little glass, she felt that Susan had perhaps been wise.
    â€œVery sensible indeed,” said Julia aloud. To her surprise, she sounded as though she were trying to convince someone. “And very thoughtful ,” added Julia angrily. Then she folded her coat over her knees and appreciated the landscape. Her dominant impression was that it went up. Just for a moment she closed her eyes; and when she reopened them, the car had come to a stop.
    2
    They appeared to be in a farmyard. Poultry fluttered round their wheels, a dog barked, and over the half-door of a stable a horse looked at them intently.
    â€œQu’est-ce que c’est?” called Julia, rapping on the glass.
    â€œMuzin,” called back the chauffeur.
    Julia looked at the horse, the horse looked at Julia. Directly over its head, fastened to the wall, was a very old sign advertising Singer Sewing Machines.
    â€œAh!” exclaimed the chauffeur with satisfaction; and leaning from his