Free The Wind of Southmore by Ariel Dodson Page B

phase which Arlen dreaded. Most of Aunt
Maud’s outlook on life seemed to be that nothing was right and that
everything, particularly her niece, had been sent to try her, but
her industrious phases were even worse. She would suddenly start a
seemingly endless round of baking or cleaning or tidying books in
the library, which usually meant throwing them away. Arlen could
remember many occasions of sneaking out at night to rescue
discarded volumes from the rubbish heap.
    Furthermore, she always wanted to enlist Arlen’s help, and
she seemed to purposely time such moods for when Arlen had
something particularly interesting to do. Today was no
exception.
    “ I need you to run down to the village, dear,” she said firmly.
“It’s been a while since that room of yours was cleaned properly.
We’ll need some new sponges and detergent, and you’ll need another
scrubbing brush.”
    Arlen
stood still, dismayed, fervently trying to think up some excuse.
Why did Aunt Maud always choose such moments? This was too
important to wait. And why her room again? Aunt Maud had given it a
thorough scrubbing only a fortnight before.
    “ Oh, but Auntie – ” Alice, thinking it might be better if she
were the one to protest, tried in vain.
    “ Now, Alice, I think you can be spared for a little while. Go
on with your walk, dear, and get some colour into those cheeks.
They’re far too pale. Arlen, I’ll give you a list.”
    Arlen was
rolling her eyes behind her aunt’s back as she counted out the
money. Alice shrugged her shoulders. What should she do?
    “ I’ll be as quick as I can,” Arlen mouthed. “Wait for
me.”
    “ OK,” Alice nodded, and watched, a little forlornly, as Arlen
left, almost at running speed, jingling the change in her
pocket.
    Aunt Maud
had vanished upstairs again, and it seemed that the only thing left
for her to do was to explore the grounds until Arlen came back. She
left through the kitchen door and stood blinking in the dull grey
light, still brighter than the unelectrified interior of the
castle, and tried to decide which way to go.
    It was
then that she saw it.
    A strange
glinting, flashing on and off like a beacon, just touching the
corner of her eye from somewhere in the castle grounds beyond her
immediate vision. It was deep and red and bright, and it seemed to
be winking at her.
    Frustrated and curious, she turned in the direction she
thought it must be. She could see it clearly now, a sharp red
flashing, dancing in midair, moving somewhere in the distance
towards the back of the castle, near the sea. Arlen had not taken
her through there, and she vaguely wondered why. Feeling dully
determined, almost as if she couldn’t help it, she started in
search of the source.
    It wasn’t
very pretty. No wonder no tourists ever came here. A far cry from
the manicured lawns and tidy borders of most English castles that
flocked with millions of visitors each year, the grounds which now
lay before her were wild and unkempt and looked as though they had
not known a gardener for many years. The greenery consisted mainly
of gorse and a few straggling trees. The lawn was patchy and
ill-looking in the thin, sandy soil. There were no flower beds,
although a few ragged blossoms drooped bright heads amongst the
weeds.
    Behind
her, she could hear the sea, a constant pounding against the rocks
and walls of the castle, like a dull sonorous heartbeat. She stood
and listened until the thumping seemed to move in rhythm with her
own heart and become a part of her, and she rocked for a moment on
her feet, unsteadily. The wind caressed her cheek gently,
playfully, seeming to coax her on with small, insistent gusts. From
some line beyond her vision she could still see the glinting, now
flashing purposefully, as if sounding to the ocean’s steady beat,
beckoning her onwards with its deep glow.
    She could
not tell what it was, could almost not remember how she had found
herself outside, but she did know that she had to find that