The Folly Read Free

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    “But why not?”
    A look of almost adult weariness crossed Mark’s face and he gave an unhappy little shrug. “Father has nothing to do with us.”
    Rachel was suddenly sorry for them. “I used to take a boat out on the lake,” she said. “Is there still one there?”
    Beth’s eyes lit up. “There is a blue one but we are too small to handle the oars.”
    “Come along,” said Rachel, standing up. “I will take you.”
    They walked together out of the folly and down the grassy slope to the lake. The small jetty was still there and moored to it was a rowing-boat.
    “Are we really going out on the water?” asked Mark, his eyes shining.
    “Yes, of course. It’s a lovely day and I will make sure you don’t fall in.”
    She helped them into the little rowing-boat, cautioning them to be careful and sit down gently, and then she took the oars and began to row out into the middle of the lake. The two children sat, enrapt, Mark trailing a hand in the water. The sun was very warm. Rachel shipped the oars, removed her bonnet, and then took up the oars again. She reflected that the children were unnaturally well-behaved for their age.
    “I should really take you back,” she said after a while. “I do not want to be caught trespassing.”
    “Oh, just a little longer,” pleaded Mark. “We are not in the way of having fun, you see.”
    Rachel smiled. “In that case, I will gladly risk disgrace. A little longer.”
    The children seemed content to sit there, side by side, facing her as she rowed backwards and forwards across the lake.
    And then she saw a look of fear in Mark’s face andsaw the way he grasped his little sister’s hand tightly. “What is it?” she asked sharply.
    “Papa is arrived,” he said in a whisper, “and Miss Terry.”
    Rachel began to row towards the jetty, feeling fury boiling up inside her. The children looked so scared and vulnerable.
    As she approached she saw a tall man standing on the jetty, with a thin, bitter-looking woman beside him. Charles Blackwood and Miss Terry.
    Charles Blackwood was dressed for riding in a black coat, leather breeches, and top-boots. He had thick black hair, fashionably cut, with silver wings at the sides, where his hair had turned white. He had odd slanting eyes of grass-green in a strong, handsome face. He had a tall, powerful figure.
    Miss Terry had a crumpled little face, as if years of spite had withered it like a fallen apple. Her eyes were a pale, washed-out blue. Her thin shoulders were bent as though in false humility, but there was nothing humble in her glaring eyes.
    Rachel helped the children out onto the jetty and then climbed up after them, aware, despite her temper, of her flushed face and tumbled hair. She realized she had left her hat in the boat.
    “You bad, bad children,” exclaimed the governess. “How dare you escape me! You know what this means?”
    They stood before her, heads bowed, hands clasped.
    Rachel forgot about Mannerling, forgot about her trespass, and threw back her head, her blue eyes blazing.
    “I am Miss Rachel Beverley of Brookfield House,”she said haughtily, “and yes, the children know what you mean. You will beat them as you have no doubt done many times before.” She rounded on Charles Blackwood. “Oh, it is not unusual for children to be beaten, but it goes to my heart to see them so white and frightened. Shame on you, sir, for your most abysmal neglect of them. They are charming children and deserve better. They deserve parental love and kindness. Good day to you, sir.”
    She marched off, her head high. Temper carried her straight to the drive and down it between the bordering lime-trees, where new leaves as green as Charles Blackwood’s eyes fluttered in the wind, to the lodge where the lodge-keeper stared at her in surprise as she opened the little gate at the side of the great gates and stepped out onto the road.
    Rachel was too upset to feel dismayed when, as she approached home, she saw her