Free The Matchmaker by Stella Gibbons Page B

and the bicycles had been destroyed with their home in Ironborough. Bicycles for all five was the family ambition, and had a good fairy given Jenny, Louise and Meg one wish, they would have unhesitatingly demanded in a shout: “Bicycles!”
    “When shall we give them the cigarettes, Mother?” asked Jenny presently.
    “To-morrow, if they bring the letters.”
    “Need we give them to the nasty one? I’d much rather give them to the nice one.”
    “We’ll give them to whichever one comes. Look, there’s the camp.”
    The low sheds behind the wire were faintly visible by the starlight—for it was now dark—and the glow from their own windows, while smoke from the kitchens indicated that the evening meal was being prepared. Alda thought that the bustle and animation pervading the scene made it seem homelike, intensified as it was by the lonely sighing wind and the black sky and leafless trees; indeed, really it looked cosy, decided Mrs. Lucie-Browne.

6
     
    SHE HARDLY NOTICED the presentation of the cigarettes to Fabrio the next morning, as her attention was immediately caught, after taking the letters from him, by one which had a black border addressed in Jean’s writing. She tore it open and hastily read what she had half-expected; Mr. Hardcastle had died some days ago after a short illness which he had lacked the inclination to resist, and he was to be buried that day.
    Poor Jean, thought Alda, she didn’t care much for her father, but it must have been a shock, and there will be everything for her to settle—the lease of the flat, all that furniture—the car—and what on earth will she do with herself afterwards?
    Glancing again at the letter she discovered the answer to the last question: Jean proposed to come to Pine Cottage.
     
So I shall just leave everything to Mr. Barrowford and beetle down to you for a week or two, darling. You won’t mind, will you? I’ll sleep in the coal cellar and go Dutch in everything, of course.
    That’s all very well, thought Alda, slightly dismayed, but what about——
    “Yes, Jen, what is it?”
    “He won’t take them,” said Jenny in a tactful whisper, jerking her head towards the slender haughty figure in the porch, who was standing very erect and monosyllabically replying to the questions of Meg and Louise.
    “Oh, what nonsense,” muttered Alda, and hurried down the passage.
    “Don’t you like cigarettes?” she demanded, bluntly yet sweetly, and smiling into his sullen face. “The children bought them specially for you and your friend.”
    “Yes, go on,” urged Meg, gazing up at him through her fringe, which needed cutting. “They cost a shillun and two pennies.”
    “Meg!” exclaimed Jenny and Louise, scandalised.
    Fabrio looked down at her for a moment; then he swiftly stooped, put his hands gently about her plump body, and smartly squeezed her, twice, as if she had been a doll that squeaked, and she gave two loud, gasping laughs. Jenny and Louise laughed too; it was so funny; and Fabrio’s face changed at the sound, becoming alight with friendliness. Louise pushed the cigarettes into his pocket, crying, “Oh, you’re going to take them!” and Meg danced up and down, shouting, “Again! Again!”
    “Thank—you,” he said, smiling, and Alda thought how much better-tempered his face looked when he smiled than did Emilio’s face, which was always smiling.
    “I would-a like a-book,” he said, turning to her. “A—English book.”
    “To read?” she cried. “Of course! I’ll see what we’ve got.”
    “I—am-a learning to read English.”
    “Yes—wait a minute—I’ve got one that will be just the thing for you,” and she hurried away.
    In a few minutes she returned.
    “There!” she said, holding out to him a thick volume in a battered green and gold cover. “ I Promessi Sposi, The Betrothed Lovers , by Manzoni, you know—famous Italian writer. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. This is an English translation.”
    Fabrio reverently