Free The Looking Glass House by Vanessa Tait Page A

But they say he is never at home, always in London. Still. I dare say she has brought it on herself. Her home is not one you want to go into, by all accounts. Not well managed, and dreary. Who can blame him for leaving occasionally? But I must go on, Mary. I must get to the pharmacy, for relief. Good day to you, Mr Wilton, and to you, Miss Prickett. I am glad to see you out together.’
    ‘Friday next, then,’ said Mr Wilton, as they were near to the gates of Christ Church now. His bow to her was a tree trunk bending in half.

Chapter 7
    Nanny Fetcher, a woman shaped like a skittle, often spoke about the dangers of educating girls, especially as they grew older. If Mary tried to argue, Nanny liked to quote a Mr Renishaw, a man of science, who had done experiments to prove it and had concluded that the power of women’s brains was severely diminished by growing breast tissue, and that any other strain on them would put their health in peril.
    ‘Lessons are over for today,’ said Nanny. ‘Far better to fill the children’s heads with fresh air. Let nature take its course.’
    ‘I don’t know what you mean by nature,’ said Mary. ‘I should think nature ought to be suppressed, and replaced by civilization.’
    ‘Fresh air is good for them,’ Nanny replied, bending down to pick up a cardigan.
    Mary had caught a cold from somewhere, the children prob­ably, even though it was nearly summer. She was fighting a constant urge to sneeze. ‘Well, they are being photographed today, with the Acland children.’
    ‘They are not!’ Nanny smiled. ‘Mr Bultitude is waiting in the carriage now.’
    ‘The carriage?’ said Mary stupidly. ‘But I spoke with their governess only yesterday.’
    ‘A change of plan.’
    ‘Ah, yes.’ Mary nodded, as if she had forgotten. As if she had been told.
    Mrs Liddell came in, dressed to go out, and called to the children. ‘It is such a lovely afternoon, I thought we would all go to Nuneham Park. Hurry now, Bultitude is ready outside with the carriage.’
    ‘But I thought Mr Dodgson was taking our photograph,’ said Alice.
    ‘Hurry up,’ said Mrs Liddell. ‘Miss Prickett, please help the children into their boots.’
    By the time they were all seated in the carriage, Mary thought she must have had the wrong day; there had been no mention of Mr Dodgson’s visit by Mrs Liddell and she felt too awkward and congested to bring it up. Perhaps Mrs Liddell or Mr Dodgson had cancelled and forgotten to tell her. Bultitude whipped up the horses and the carriage jolted forward. Mary hoped she would not feel sick as she usually did.
    But as they were turning out of the quadrangle, Mary lurching over to the side, she saw him through the window. Mr Dodgson, heading towards them, his extra equipment piled into the wheelbarrow.
    Mary looked at Mrs Liddell in confusion, but she was staring out of the other window, her mouth curved upwards into a slight smile. Mary just had time to fix Mr Dodgson’s surprised eyes with her own before the carriage spun out of sight.
    ‘Mama – that was Mr Dodgson!’ said Alice.
    ‘Was it?’
    ‘Yes, it was! He was coming to make a photograph. Why did we leave him?’
    Mrs Liddell stared through the window. She had not meant Mr Dodgson to see them leaving, but now that he had, she could not help feel the tiniest bit pleased. How startled he looked, just like a lopsided bird fallen out of its nest. ‘If he thought I had agreed to another photograph, and to his using the Deanery as his studio whenever he pleased, he was wrong. I never agreed to it. The plan for today had always been to go to the park.’
    The carriage was passing those uncomfortable houses which a city seemed nowadays to cough up: neither smart enough to be in town nor attractive enough to be in the country. Dull-looking women loitered at their front gates, with children clinging to their arms. As the carriage passed, they turned to stare. Mrs Liddell tilted her head up so that her gaze fell