Tom All-Alone's by Lynn Shepherd Read Free Book Online Page B

still.
    â€˜Indeed, Hester,’ he began, ‘I am in hopes that you will play a full part in our little community. I have been told you are a young lady of sense and usefulness; indeed it is obvious to anyone who has been but a quarter of an hour in your society. Some of your fellow boarders are occasionally a little dejected and melancholic – such a thing is quite common and normal, especially when they first come to us – but I feel sure that in such circumstances they could make a friend of you, and benefit immeasurably from being confided to your care.’
    I hardly knew what to say. ‘I hope you have not formed too high an opinion of my abilities,’ I began. ‘I am very young and I am afraid I am not clever either. I will do my best, but I amvery concerned lest you should expect too much of me and then be disappointed.’
    He waved his hand at this as if all my fears were quite groundless. ‘I think it very likely that you may prove the good little woman of The Solitary House, my dear,’ he smiled. ‘Remember the little old woman of the nursery rhyme?
    Little old woman, and whither so high?
    To sweep the cobwebs out of the sky
    â€˜The Solitary House has its own little clusters of cobwebs, Hester, like all such houses. But you will sweep every one out of the sky for us in the course of your time here. I am quite confident of that.’
    And that was how I came to be called Old Woman, and Little Old Woman, and Cobweb, and Mrs Shipton, and Mother Hubbard, and Dame Durden, and so many other things of a similar kind that I began almost to think myself the stooped and wizened creature my names seemed to imply.
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    I soon adapted so fully to the daily routine of The Solitary House that I could hardly remember any other life, and my years at the cottage with my dear mama seemed like a far-off golden dream. It was a happy and ordered existence we led, and nothing disturbed the calm serenity of our days. There was a place for everything, and a time for everything, whether reading, or baking, or laundry, or tending to the garden. I have had several different companions during the years I have lived here, but at that time we were four boarders, including myself. There was Amy, and there was Caroline, and there was Augusta. Such pretty names they all had, or so I thought. Amy was small and slight with huge grey eyes and a timid look, and a tendencyto hear noises and take fright at the slightest untoward sound or gesture. I do believe the dear little thing took to me at first sight, and by the end of the week she was following me round like a tiny devoted dog, and creeping into my bed at night, whispering that she had heard the ghost on the walk again, or there were cries in the night, or phantoms scratching in the roof above her bed. Caroline I found almost forbidding, or at least at first. I was introduced to her by Miss Darby the day after my arrival, in the big room downstairs, where she sat at a writing-table looking dissatisfied and sullen, her fingers covered with ink, her hair untidy, and her satin slippers scuffed.
    I saw her looking at my own dress, plain and serviceable as it was. ‘You think a lot of yourself, I dare say,’ she said bitterly. But I could see there were tears in her eyes, for all her angry words, so I took a seat by her and tried my best to look her friend.
    â€˜Come, come, Miss Caroline,’ I said, ‘a little care, a little tidiness – a pin here and a stitch there, and I could make you as fresh and lovely as a spring day. Lovelier far than I could ever be.’
    I put my hand in hers, but she pulled it away saying she was tired. Miss Darby shook her head and touched Caroline’s forehead, observing that it was hot, and she would have one of the maids fetch a restorative that would help to calm her. Miss Darby then said a few more quiet words to Caroline and she presently put down her pen, and straightened her dress as well as she