I for Isobel Read Free Page B

tone. ‘Wherever have you been?’
    â€˜Just outside.’
    Old Mr Welch coming in said, ‘With her head in a book, I suppose. It’s quite a bookworm you have there, Mrs Callaghan.’
    Dangerous ground.
    â€˜What are you reading now, Isobel?’ asked Miss Halwood, who was a teacher in real life.
    Oh dear, the quicksand itself.
    â€˜
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
.’
    â€˜Goodness me,’ said Mrs Halwood, ‘that’s a difficult book for a little girl.’
    With thin saintliness, Mrs Callaghan said, ‘You know you are not to take grown-up books without permission.’
    â€˜Oh, Mrs Callaghan,’ said Miss Halwood, ‘there is really nothing wrong with Sherlock Holmes.’
    â€˜A lot more moral than Biggles,’ said Mr Welch.
    â€˜Besides,’ went on Miss Halwood, ‘it would be a shame to check her when she is so advanced. I only wish some of my pupils read so well.’
    â€˜Your poor sister is outside looking for you, Isobel,’ her mother said. ‘You had better go and find her.’
    Isobel got up to go, but Margaret, coming through the door, said easily, ‘I thought you must be in here,’ and took her place.
    â€˜Do you understand all the words, Isobel?’ Miss Halwood asked.
    â€˜I guess some of them.’ Drunk on approval, she spoke with too much pride.
    â€˜That isn’t a bad way of learning, but it’s a good idea to look up one or two in the dictionary. Don’t look up so many that you get bored with reading. That would be a pity.’
    â€˜I couldn’t ever get bored with reading.’
    â€˜You’re a lucky girl, then. I’m lucky too in the same way. The only reason I’d like to be your age again is to have all the wonderful books to read for the first time.’
    â€˜How old is she?’ Mrs Halwood asked Mrs Callaghan.
    Oh, oh. How do you like that, Mrs Callaghan? Isobel saw the red rising in her mother’s face and dropped her eyes demurely. Margaret was staring with a puzzled look at her mother; her father was eating, paying no attention. Mrs Callaghan said quietly, ‘She is nine.’
    â€˜Remarkably advanced for her age,’ said Miss Halwood.
    Isobel was living in two worlds. Miss Halwood’s, where she belonged and things were solid and predictable, and the other one, where she was exulting at making her mother uncomfortable. That was a great pleasure but it was like gobbling sweets—she expected some sickness from it. Meanwhile there was the world of Sherlock Holmes, which was better than both of them. She said, ‘May I be excused, please?’ and hurried back to her chair. She fished out the book from under the seat and went back to Baker Street.
    She read until she had finished the book, then she went to the lounge to change it for
Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
, which she had seen on the shelf beside it. On the way back, she met her mother.
    â€˜I was looking for you, Isobel. I want you to go down to the shop and buy me a small writing pad.’ She handed her a two-shilling piece, then added, smiling kindly, ‘You may keep the change because it’s your birthday.’
    Well, her mother had wriggled her way out of that one, but not for nothing. Isobel took the coin and set off for the shop. She knew it was no fortune, yet there might be enough of it left to buy something that could be called a birthday present.
    In the shop she asked for the smallest writing pad and put the coin on the counter.
    â€˜That will be one and elevenpence ha’penny,’ said the shopkeeper. To her fallen face, he said, ‘It’s all right, girlie. You’ve got enough. You even get change, see.’
    He handed her the kack-coloured insult. She took it and the writing pad and plunged out.
    You couldn’t make yourself safe, no matter how you tried. They could always surprise you. She wanted to hurl the coin into the water but she