Free The Kirilov Star by Mary Nichols Page B

true.’
    ‘Like Lydia.’ She was still not totally sure Edward had been telling the truth about Lydia, though she had to admit she was a fetching child and really no trouble.
    ‘Yes. She has come on by leaps and bounds. Her English is quite good enough for her to be sent to school.’
    ‘Boarding school?’
    ‘No. She is too young and too vulnerable. It would undo all the good we have been able to do. I think the local village school would be best. She is an intelligent child and will enjoy school and meeting other young children. I will arrange for her to go after the summer vacation.’
    ‘Have you had no news at all about her parents?’
    ‘Afraid not. I fear they have not survived. We must do our best to bring her up as they would have wished.’ He paused. ‘I think she is old enough to leave the nursery behind and have a room of her own, don’t you?’ It was said tentatively because the move represented another step Margaret had to take towards accepting the child.
    He was still kneeling at her feet, still stroking her foot, gently massaging the toes, something he knew made her squirm with pleasure. She leant forward and taking his face in her hands bent forward to kiss him. ‘You know exactly how to get round me, don’t you?’ she said, laughing.
    ‘Do I need to?’
    ‘No. We’ll do whatever you think is best.’
    He stood up, took her hands and propelled her towards the bed.
    ‘Edward, it’s the middle of the day.’
    ‘So what? I love you at any time of day, all day, every day.’
    Lydia was temporarily forgotten.
    * * *
    Lydia was given a lovely bedroom on the second floor. Unlike the nursery, it had a thick patterned carpet, curtains with a pretty pattern of flowers and leaves, a bed with a cover which matched the curtains, a tall wardrobe in which to keep her clothes, a dressing table and a little desk. Its windows looked out over the stables on one side and the terrace at the back of the house on the other. She loved it. It had a dressing room adjoining it which was made into a bedroom for Claudia. She was not told the reason for this change and would not have understood if she had. Claudia said it meant she was here to stay.
    In September Miss Graham left and Lydia went to school every day, escorted there by Claudia. The school had only one classroom divided by a curtain. The little children on one side were taught their letters by Miss Smith, the big ones on the other had lessons in English, arithmetic, geography and history given by the headmaster, Mr Connaught, who had a wooden leg. There was a pot-bellied stove in the middle of one wall, surrounded by a fireguard on which wet coats were hung when it rained, causing steam to rise from them. Shoes, boots and clogs stood drying off in sentinel rows around it.
    Lydia, bewildered and afraid, even though Sir Edward had explained why it was necessary for her to attend school, joined the little ones. It was not an unmitigated success. The other children looked on her as some kind of freak, mimicked her accent and laughed and pointed at her gymslip and pristine white blouse, her black stockings and shiny black patent shoes, something few of them could afford. She did not complain. Putting up with everything she found strange was all part of her strategy to be good enough to be allowed to go home.
    This hope died, or rather was killed outright, when Sir Edward received a letter from Baron Simenov.
    ‘They are dead,’ he told Margaret as he read it over breakfast after Lydia had gone off with Claudia to get ready for school.
    Margaret looked up sharply. ‘Who are dead?’
    ‘The Kirilovs.’ He finished reading. ‘This is a letter from Baron Simenov. He is back in London. The cause of the White Army is lost.’
    ‘What did he say about the Kirilovs?’
    ‘The count and his wife were caught and questioned on the way through Red-held territory, and in the course of a search, some precious gems were found concealed on their persons. It is