I, Coriander Read Free Page A

seventeen years. I want you to have different shoes, shoes of your own choosing, not shoes that will take you where you should not be going.’
    ‘But they are of my choosing,’ I cried. ‘I want them.’
    ‘Oh Coriander, you are not old enough to understand,’ said my mother. ‘You must trust me. I know what is best for you.’
    But what could be better than the silver shoes?
     
    I n our family much was made of the anniversary of my birth, and I was given presents to mark the day. This year my mother had arranged for us to take our barge upriver. I woke early on the day and lay in bed as the sunlight reflected watery shadows round my chamber, listening to the street criers as they made their way to the bridge. As soon as the watchman called the hour I ran down the corridor towards my mother and father’s bedchamber. I felt like a top spinning with excitement.
    ‘Today is my day! Wake up!’ I cried. I pulled back the drapes on the huge oak four-poster bed and jumped into the middle of it.
    ‘I know it,’ laughed my father. ‘And the street knows it too.’ He leant down and brought out a box from under the bed.
    I opened the box with trembling fingers. I was sure I knew what was in it. And there they were: plain, dead, heavy silver leather shoes. A sad imitation, a hopeless copy. Nothing like the silver shoes that had been left by the garden gate.
    I felt tears welling up in my eyes and a lump in my throat.
    ‘I am sorry, poppet,’ said my father. ‘You cannot have those shoes. We hoped you would be happy with these instead.’
    I climbed out of bed, all the excitement of the day gone, fighting back tears of disappointment.
    ‘Try them on,’ said my mother.
    I did. They hurt and pinched my toes. I turned to leave, feeling miserable.
    ‘Coriander,’ called my mother. I looked back into the bedchamber. The floor had become a sea and the bed a ship, seen from a great distance. I could hear their voices calling me from far away. It lasted a minute or less. Maybe I dreamt it. Maybe I did not. It was an image that came to haunt me, and I have often wondered what would have happened if I had done as I was told and left the silver shoes alone. Would everything then have been all right?
     
    I made my way slowly and sadly back to my bedchamber, where Danes was waiting to dress me.
    ‘Ah, what is the long face for, my little sparrow?’ she said. ‘Do you not like your new shoes?’
    I said nothing.
    ‘Oh well, you will not be wanting your present from me, then,’ said Danes, taking out from her apron pocket a parcel tied up with silk ribbon. Inside was a sewing box in the shape of a frog, beautifully embroidered, with needles, a thimble and a tiny pair of scissors as well as a fabric book of all the different stitches. So thrilled was I that for a moment I forgot my grief over the shoes.
    I was left alone with my little parcel while Danes went to attend to my mother. I could hear my father calling for hot water, and the silver shoes calling for me. For a moment I thought I must have imagined it, yet I could see where the call was coming from as if it were a wisp of smoke from my father’s pipe. I got up and followed it down the stairs to the study.
‘Coriander, Coriander, slip us on your dainty feet.
We are waiting, soft and silver, we will dance you down the street.’
    I stood there listening, and finally I took my trembling courage in both hands and opened the door.
    The study was dark. The alligator stood unmoving and all-seeing, king of the ebony cabinet, the key on its ribbon hanging out invitingly over his teeth.
    I closed the door and stood with my back against it, my hand still on the handle, my heart beating like a drum. Quietness filled the room. There I stood. A decision had to be made. Did I have the courage to do this? I told myself that I did. I just wanted to see the shoes one more time, that was all.
    I tried to move a chair over to the cabinet so that I could climb up and reach the key. The