The Nutmeg Tree by Margery Sharp Read Free Book Online Page B

Frenchwoman, who at once conducted her into a wide echoing hall. The Frenchwoman, in list-slippers, padded quietly as a cat, but Julia’s heels clattered; and it was perhaps then that she received the impression, which never afterwards left her, that she always made twice as much noise as anyone else in the house.
    â€œLa salle de bain,” said the old woman, proudly flinging open a door.
    â€œJe vois,” said Julia; “très chic.”
    â€œMadame will take the bath?”
    â€œToute de suite,” agreed Julia. “At any rate, as soon as I’ve got a sponge out. Éponge, savon. Dans les valises.”
    â€œMadame parle français!” exclaimed the old woman politely; and a moment later Julia wished she hadn’t, for while fetching the bags Claudia let out, in a volley of animated French, what Julia felt sure were messages from Susan, messages from Mrs. Packett, and general instructions for her own procedure. There was nothing for it, however, but to smile intelligently; and this Julia did.
    â€œ Et — c’est là la chambre de Madame! ” finished the old woman with a flourish.
    Julia stood still in the middle of it and looked about her. It was like no room she had ever seen—large, square, with white walls, bare boards, and two windows open on pines, sunshine and a view to a blue hill. There was a white bed in an alcove between two closets, a tiny dressing-table, almost concealed behind a great bunch of roses, two chairs, and another table by the windows set with a breakfast-tray and more flowers.
    â€œIt’s a bit bare,” thought Julia, “but there’s a lovely lot of room”; and unlocking the larger of her two suitcases she emptied it upon the bed. Her dressing-gown came out at the bottom, but she fished it up, and opened the other case to get her sponge-bag, and moved the roses from the dressing-table to make room for her toilet things. By the time her bath was ready, after only ten minutes’ occupation, the whole aspect of the place was so completely altered that even Julia herself felt a slight surprise.
    â€œI’ve got to be tidy,” she warned herself firmly. All ladies were tidy: they had special boxes to pack their shoes in, and special boxes for their gloves, and bags marked “Linen” for their dirty vests. Julia too would have had these things, if finances had permitted; but as they didn’t it seemed bootless to worry over details. A broad general effect was (as always) Julia’s aim; and this she now achieved by sweeping everything into a closet and shutting the door. But for the roses on the floor, and a stocking on the window-seat,—and some shoes under the table and a powder-box among the breakfast-things,—one would never have known that she had been in the room at all.
    2
    And now, surely, as she lay triumphant in that French bath, was the moment for the Marseillaise. But not a note issued from Julia’s throat. She was a little tired after her travelling, and a little sentimental still over Fred; but the chief reason for her silence was that she hadn’t yet, so to speak, been introduced. She felt odd enough herself, lying stark naked in a house where she hadn’t even met her hostess; how would Susan feel, if after such careful plans for their first meeting her mother prematurely announced her presence by a song from the bath? And since splashing would be almost as bad, Julia found herself moving carefully, almost furtively, in the water: washing her back with precaution, lying down by degrees, so that not a ripple lapped. She found herself pretending, in fact, that she wasn’t there; and if she closed her eyes the sensation was remarkably complete. Even the water, unscented, unmoving, didn’t feel quite real. It was just a warm atmosphere in which she floated disembodied, no more real than anything else.…
    â€œHere!” cried Julia, vaguely alarmed, “I