Free Sleep in Peace by Phyllis Bentley

school.
2
    It was the Hinchliffes’ habit to hear each other’s homework, and Edward by a few well directed questions had ascertained that Grace’s history lesson for the morrow was properly prepared. Since Mr. Hinchliffe was a governor of the new Hudley Girls’ High School, which Grace attended, the family took a special interest in everything connected with the establishment, and Edward was subjecting the history textbook to a critical scrutiny now. He flicked the leaves rapidly with his thin bony fingers. Its brown paper cover was inscribed, in Grace’s firm round hand:
Grace Mary Hinchliffe
, II
Cromwell Place, Hudley, West Riding, Yorkshire, England, Europe, The World
. Edward thought this inscription showed a remarkable grasp of categories, for one so young as his sister. He said so, with his usual authoritative calm, and laid down the book in a symmetrical position on the dining-room table; whereupon Frederick pounced on it. Balancing the book, with the firm ease of one performing a highly familiar action, on one hand, and turning the leaves eagerly with the other, Frederick plunged his nose into the pages almost as if to smell their quality. After a moment he opined that there was a certain wild poetry in Grace’s description, which was not devoid of generous and lofty feeling; indeed there was something Byronic about it—he believed in point of fact Byron had inscribed something in just that way: a book, a desk, a bench at Eton, something of that kind. It was an interesting point; possibly of some significance; he would look it up, and collect other instances of such inscriptions; several had already occurred to him now.
    â€œByron was a very wicked man,” said Mrs. Hinchliffe, not, however, troubling to raise her eyes from her mending.
    â€œHe was a noble poet!” asserted Frederick in his deep rich tones.
    Grace, slightly irritated by his over-emphasis, observed that her inscription was neither categoric nor Byronic, but Grace-Hinchliffean.“Graceful, in fact,” she concluded with her wide radiant smile.
    â€œA legitimate contention,” approved Edward. “It expresses your personal view of the cosmos, you mean.”
    It was one of the Hinchliffe boys’ family jokes to talk to each other (as their father sometimes between pride and irritation remarked) as if they were a leader in
The Times;
they collected words for this purpose in genial competition, as other boys collected stamps. Grace grinned delightedly as she perceived that they were off on this tack now.
    â€œThis book is written in a singularly flat and ugly style,” said Frederick on a note of distress, throwing the book down with his usual vehemence.
    â€œIt’s totally inadequate on the Industrial Revolution,” supplemented Edward in a corroborating tone.
    â€œIt’s an approved textbook—one of those recommended by the Board,” put in Mr. Hinchliffe from the hearth, lowering his newspaper and looking at them sideways. As his children said nothing he immediately raised the paper again, imagining that he had closed the discussion.
    â€œCharles’s faith in the Board of Education is one to move mountains,” commented Edward in a low tone.
    â€œI don’t like to hear you call your father Charles, Edward,” Mrs. Hinchliffe reproved him.
    â€œIt’s a term of honour—it stands for Councillor Henry Hinchliffe,” argued. Edward mildly.
    â€œBesides conferring great convenience of reference,” added Frederick.
    â€œAll the same, I don’t like to hear you say it,” objected Mrs. Hinchliffe. She raised her mild blue eyes, then half-closed them, pursing her lips and looking down her nose at her children with some severity.
    â€œSorry, Mother,” said Edward.
    â€œThe name carries no connotation of disrespect,” persisted Frederick.
    â€œI don’t like to hear you
say
it,” repeated Mrs. Hinchliffe. A note of