Free Bird of Prey by Henrietta Reid Page A

that he was the loveliest child she had ever seen; almost too perfect in features, with golden hair cut in a thick pageboy bob against his snowy neck: his cheeks and lips were of apple-blossom delicacy of tint, and the whole lighted by beautiful dark blue eyes fringed with golden-brown lashes, which curled almost girlishly against his cheeks. It was quite easy to understand how this lovely child had been spoiled by his adoring mother. Together they made a beautiful and arresting picture, for the child was dressed in a tunic of soft green velvet which gave him the appearance of a diminutive medieval pageboy.
    It was plain, however, that Robin’s disposition did not match his appearance. The blue eyes were sullen and unfriendly as he gazed at Caroline. “I don’t want her to take care of me,” he said resentfully. “Why don’t you take me with you to London, Mummy? I shouldn’t be any trouble, not really.”
    But Grace, who was handing a small suitcase to Caroline, replied absently, “Of course you can’t come, darling. It’s utterly impossible, so don’t ask me again. I think you’ll find everything in his case,” she told Caroline. “I didn’t bother to put much in. After all, I’ll be away only a few days. By the way, he takes milk and biscuits at eleven. Now you will be good, won’t you, Robin, and not give Caroline any trouble? You’ll read your picture
    books and Mummy will bring you a nice present from Town.”
    With these few words and a kiss blown to Robin she hurried back to the car and Caroline found herself standing with Robin’s small suitcase in her hand, looking at her new charge, who ignored her and stared resentfully after the departing car.
    Caroline felt awkward in her new role. Dismayed by Robin’s obvious antagonism, she said hesitantly, “We’d better go indoors and you can look at your picture-books, Robin.”
    “I’ve seen them already,” he replied crossly.
    She reached for his hand, but he tucked it firmly behind his back and trailed sullenly after her into the house.
    Caroline decided that perhaps the best thing to do would be to ignore him for a while until he became acclimatised, for it was obvious her efforts to conciliate the child were being ignored.
    He followed her into the kitchen and stood watching while she tidied up the leaves and cones which were strewn around the table, knowing better than to leave the slightest untidiness for Mrs. Creed.
    But as she finished she looked around, only to discover that he had disappeared. He would have to be found as soon as possible, before he got up to mischief, she knew.
    As she hurried through the kitchen door into the corridor that connected with the main part of the house, she heard a faint tinkling sound of music. Guided by it, she located the source and found herself in one of the great drawing-rooms. Here Robin stood at a round marble table listening engrossed to the tinkling music of an antique musical-box. As she entered the tune was coming to a close and Robin picked up the box and began to wind it up again.
    “Careful! ” Caroline admonished fearfully.
    Mulishly he wound on, the touch of his childish fingers rough. Apparently he wound it too tightly, because when he had finished no sound issued. He shook it, then gaining no results, his eyes darkened ominously. Before Caroline could prevent him, he knocked it sharply against the edge of a shining walnut table on which stood several pieces of delicate glass.
    “Oh, do stop!” Caroline ordered, panic-stricken.
    Ignoring her, he gave it another sharp rap on the table. The frail mechanism gave a final croaking sound and seemed to disintegrate in his hands, spilling cogs and pieces of mechanism about the carpet.
    “What have you done?” Caroline cried, appalled.
    Her wail was echoed by Mrs. Creed, who entered at that
    unpropitious moment.
    “The silly thing’s broken,” Robin told her. “ It won’t play any more.”
    “What on earth is the child doing here?” the