Free The Ugly Sister by Winston Graham Page A

Why did he write in this way to me, an eighteen-year-old, with a permanently drawn-down eye? Why had he not written – if he wrote at all – to Tamsin? Did he really feel something for me? Was it some heartless charade he was indulging in? And if so, in what way did it profit him? I didn’t understand, but with a growing wilful maturity I knew I would get to the concert somehow, even if it killed me – which in the event it might well have done.
    I developed a light fever on Thursday morning, and after dinner said I would spend the rest of the day in bed and Fetch could look after me. My mother was never assiduous in her care for me, and I knew Tamsin would not come near for fear of catching the infection. Fetch came with me as far as Polvarth. She was very reluctant to be sent back, but I insisted she must go, for her absence would be more noticeable than mine. Fetch had a touch of religion in her, so I assured her she must not lie on my behalf, simply say that when she looked in on me I was sleeping. (I had built a bolster figure on my bed which would pass for a casual glance.)
    In St Mawes I hired a small boat, about the size Bram had first appeared in, that is, with oars and a single sail. Young Mr Coode, who owned it, had rented it out to members of the Spry family from time to time when our own boats were in other use, and saw no particular objection to renting it to me. Money spoke, and the blessed Uncle Davey had provided me with some.
    It was a pleasant July afternoon; a hot sun which waxed and waned with the stirring of a low drifting cloud. Far away in the west, in the brilliant sky, other great clouds towered away thousands of feet up, white and biscuit-coloured. There was so little surface wind that within the shelter of the St Mawes creek I thought I should have to row all the way; but once in the mouth of the river it breathed gently towards the land and took me at unhurried speed towards the town.
    Dressing had been difficult, but I carried shoes and blouse in a bag, trusting to luck where I should change them. My skirt I tucked into baggy canvas breeches, and an old pair of rubber boots made up the ensemble. With my scarred face and haggard eye I must have looked like a French pirate.
    There was a fair amount of shipping in the Roads, and I had to luff and tack several times before I gently laid the little cutter alongside the stone jetty of Custom House Quay, shipped the oars and jumped ashore and made her fast.
    I remembered the hotel opposite and I carried my little bag in there and ordered a cordial. When it came I asked if there was a bedroom or ladies’ withdrawing room where I might change for the concert, and this was willingly provided. The little maid who took me upstairs looked fearfully at my disfigurement but, I thought, seemed to recognize it. At least the name Miss Spry came easily to her lips. Possibly in eighteen years, because of my scarred face, I had become known in the town.
    The concert was to start at six, and I arrived at fifteen minutes before the hour and at once saw Bram. He picked his way among the crowd of people assembled on the Town Hall steps and smiled. ‘So … madame has spread her wings and come! Very pleased I am. Alas I cannot sit next to you, but I hope your company will be agreeable. No doubt you’ll spare a few words for me when the concert is over.’
    He was very handsome in a purple velvet smoking jacket with tight black braided trousers, and he looked slightly less predatory.
    My memory of that evening is in some respects unfortunately vague; (I lost my programme in the confusion of the following day). An attendant led me to a seat in the fifth row, where I sat between strangers. I had an uninterrupted view of the stage, on which the orchestra was already seated – twelve in all – and the sound of the instruments being adjusted to their proper pitch was infinitely exciting. The hall was full.
    There was a rustle of applause