Free Child Friday by Sara Seale

morning, aware of a companionship she had never known with anyone else before. Even with Tim she had not experienced the strange unity which seemed suddenly between them on the empty moorland road. She saw the grey roof of Torcroft in the distance, the upper windows flashing in the sunlight.
    “The shutters are down,” Emily said with interest . “Perhaps the people are coming back.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “That house across the moor. I think Alice said it was called Torcroft . ”
    “It’s been empty for years. The owner’s abroad.” Dane spoke so sharply that she glanced up at him in surprise.
    “But people come home eventually—even if it’s only to die,” she said.
    “You’re talking nonsense,” he countered with disconcerting harshness. “The place hasn’t been lived in for years.”
    The illusion of companionship had gone, or perhaps she had only imagined it. His face, as he strode bareheaded in the sunshine, was suddenly set in forbidding lines and she could plainly see the faint scarring if his eyes in the strong light Emily kept him company in silence. She could not understand why her innocent remarks should have disturbed him but his past associations with the house across the moor were clearly unpleasant .
    “I was probably wrong—about the house, I mean. One can’t see very distinctly from this distance,” she said as they reached their own gates.
    “Very likely. In any case it’s of no importance,” he replied, and walked away from her up the drive.

 
    CHAPTER FOUR
    THE days passed swiftly, one m uch like another. In the mornings Emily sometimes worked with Dane in the study, but he seemed in no hurry to get on with his thesis and Emily found there was little for her to do except to devise holiday occupations for Alice. The little girl, though as solitarily inclined as her guardian, seemed to like her company. On wet days they would repair to the little-used drawing-room where there was an old piano, and Emily, who had once possessed a quite appreciable gift for playing by ear, taught Alice the chansonettes and carols she had learnt herself in childhood.
    Once they found Dane standing in the doorway listening to them. Emily stopped playing, wondering if their singing disturbed him, but all he said was:
    “Get a piano tuner out if you want to use the thing. It probably hasn’t been touched for years.”
    The tuner came and performed mysterious rites on the piano which seemed to fascinate Alice who, when he had gone, had the first fit of giggles Emily had ever heard from her.
    “Wasn’t he funny !” she said, and promptly sat down to perform the treble part of chopsticks like any normal schoolgirl.
    “Emily,” she said once, “you are going to stay with us always, aren’t you?”
    “I don’t know, Alice,” Emily replied evasively, reminded again of all that such a request might imply.
    “Oh, please promise—please, please promise,” the child begged.
    “What is Emily to promise?” asked Dane’s voice behind them. It was a little unnerving, Emily thought, how seldom they heard him coming unless he was using his stick.
    “To stay here always,” said Alice, looking a little alarmed.
    “Always is a long time,” he replied gravely. “Emily might not want to commit herself for so long.”
    “ You could marry her, Uncle Dane, and then she’d have to.”
    “Yes, I could do that,” said Dane, and Emily, embarrassed and unsure where all this was leading, told the child not to talk such nonsense .
    Alice ran out of the room, her cheeks hot, but Dane remained.
    “Is it such nonsense?” he enquired mildly. “You seem to have made a conquest of my ward. She’s not an easy young person to make friends with.”
    “Perhaps you haven’t tried the right way,” said Emily, her own cheeks as hot as the child’s.
    “Very probably not. I’m unused to children,” he replied, and sounded suddenly weary. “She’s afraid of my blindness, you know.”
    “Yes, I