Free The Greengage Summer by Rumer Godden Page B

had gone . . . out of truthfulness, I thought. Before we had been unhappy but it was truthful, now we seemed to be playing a game, and I walked away from them all out on to the terrace, where it
was cool and quiet. Presently it would be moonlight, a scented, moonlit, summer night, but that seemed to me to make this playing worse, expose it more. I put my elbows on the warm iron rail and
leaned my head on my hands, hiding my eyes as if I did not want to see, to look or think, but I was not left in peace for long. Fairy lights had been strung between the trees, and now they came on,
red and blue and yellow. “Ah! C’est joli!” cried a woman, and people came out on to the terrace to see. Eliot was with them, and it was then that the next odd thing happened.
    I heard my name called; Willmouse was running across the garden. He did not usually run, but now gravel spurted up behind him, his socks were falling down— Willmouse’s socks. I
ran down the steps to meet him. “Cecil, a most e’straordinary thing.”
    As soon as he reached me he began to tell it though he was half out of breath. “I was having my walk along the river when I saw a man . . .”
    I stiffened. “A . . . dark man?”
    “Like Madame Corbet,” said Willmouse and I knew he meant swarthily dark . . . as ours had been, I thought. “He came out of the bushes,” said Willmouse, “and he had
a motor-bike; it was a big new red one—at least it looked new. He wheeled it along the bank and then on to the plank bridge to the barge. . . .”
    His voice, shrill with wonder and speaking English, must have carried to the terrace. I saw Eliot come to the rail and look down.
    “On to the Marie France ?” I asked Willmouse.
    “Yes. The man looked up and down the river as if he wanted to see if anyone was there. He couldn’t see me . . .”
    “Why not?”
    “Because the bulrushes are so tall. Then do you know what he did?” Willmouse paused. He was always dramatic.
“He-wheeled-the-bike-across-the-deck-and-dropped-it-over-the-other-side,” said Willmouse.
    “Into the river ?”
    “Yes.”
    “Don’t be silly.”
    “He did. Cecil, it was a new . . .”
    “And what are you doing out so late?”
    Eliot’s voice cut across me, and it was the voice he had used that first morning when he came out of Mademoiselle Zizi’s room; I had heard it again in the courtyard at Dormans. He
had left the terrace and come down the steps. “Where have you been?” he said to Willmouse.
    “F-for my walk.” Willmouse was so startled that the words would hardly come.
    “Willmouse always goes for a walk,” I said defensively.
    “You be quiet,” said Eliot, and to Willmouse, “You know quite well you are not allowed out so late.” Willmouse opened his lips again, but, “Not a word,” said
Eliot. “I will not have disobedience. You can go to bed at once,” and he wheeled Willmouse round, a hand on his shoulder.
    “But Eliot! You never . . .” I think I wailed it. It was terrible to see Eliot taking Willmouse up the steps and marching him away like a prisoner. As for Willmouse, he
looked grey with shock.
    “Mais, Monsieur Eliot”—that was one of a group of men—“vous êtes trop dur.”
    “In England we discipline boys,” said Eliot crisply; to Willmouse he said loudly, “How often have I told you . . .” and at once I knew that Eliot was acting.
    Acting on Willmouse! I pushed my way after them to the foot of the stairs. “You have never told him,” I cried passionately.
    “Cecil, stay where you are,” said Eliot. His face made me quail, but I only stayed there until he came down, then, challenging him with a look that I hoped was hate, I walked
straight up, but the door of our room was locked. I went into Joss’s room and tried the door there; it was locked as well. I rattled the handle. “Willmouse, it’s Cecil. It’s
Cecil.” There was no answer. I was not surprised. Willmouse was always still and silent if he were offended.
    I