The Little White Horse Read Free Page B

home. For Merryweathers had lived in it for generations, and she was a Merryweather. She was ashamed of her previous dread of coming here. This was home, as the London house had never been. She would rather live here austerely than in the most luxurious palace in the world.
    And she was out of the carriage almost before it had stopped, and running up a flight of stone steps that were built sideways against the wall and led up to the great oak front door, and beating upon it with her fists to be let in. Neither her light feet nor her small fists made much sound, but someone inside must have been listening for the sound of the carriage wheels, for the great door opened almost at once, revealing the most extraordinary-looking elderly gentleman Maria had ever set eyes upon, standing upon the threshold with a lighted lantern held high in his hand.
    ‘Welcome, Cousin,’ he said in a deep, rich, fruity voice, and held out his free hand to her.
    ‘Thank you, Sir,’ she replied, and curtsied and put her hand into his, and knew that she would love him from that moment on for always.
    But her cousin was really very odd to look at, and once she started looking at him she found it very difficult to leave off. He was so tall and so broad that he seemed to fill the big doorway. His face was round and red and clean-shaven, and his big hooked nose put Miss Heliotrope’s entirely in the shade. He had three double chins, a large smiling mouth, and twinkling eyes of a warm tawny-brown, almost lost beneath bushy white eyebrows. His clothes, most scrupulously cared for, were very old-fashioned and most oddly assorted.
    He had a huge white wig like a cauliflower on his head, and his double chins were propped by a cravat of Honitonlace. His waistcoat was of pale-blue satin embroidered with yellow roses and crimson carnations, and was so beautiful that it contrasted oddly with his faded and patched riding-coat and breeches and the mud-splashed top-boots. He was slightly bow-legged, as men are who have spent most of their life in the saddle. His hands were big and red like his face, with palms as hard as leather from much holding of the bridle, but beautiful lace fell over the wrists, and on one finger was a ring with a great ruby in it that flashed like fire.
    Indeed, everything about Sir Benjamin Merryweather was warm and glowing; his round red face, his smile, his voice, his tawny eyes, his ruby ring. After he had taken Maria’s hand he looked at her very attentively, as though he were asking himself some question about her. And she trembled a little under his scrutiny, as though she feared herself lacking in some quality he looked for; yet she looked steadily up into his face and did not blink at all.
    ‘A true Merryweather,’ he said at last in his deep rumbling voice. ‘One of the silver Merryweathers, straight and arrogant and fastidious, brave and the soul of honour, born at the full moon. We shall like each other, my dear, for I was born at midday; and your moon Merryweathers and your sun Merryweathers always take a fancy for one another . . .’
    He broke off abruptly, suddenly aware of Miss Heliotrope and Wiggins, who by this time had got themselves out of the carriage and up the steps, and were standing behind Maria.
    ‘My dear Madam!’ he cried to Miss Heliotrope, after subjecting her to one long keen glance. ‘My dear Madam! Allow me!’ And bowing very low he took her hand and led her ceremoniously over the threshold. ‘Welcome, Madam!’ he said to her. ‘Welcome to my poor unworthy home.’
    And his words rang out like a note that strikes true. He did really and truly think his home unworthy to house Miss Heliotrope.
    ‘My dear Sir!’ cried Miss Heliotrope, all of a flutter, for owing to her unattractive appearance gentlemen seldom bestowed upon her these flattering attentions. ‘My dear Sir, you are
too
kind!’
    Maria, picking up Wiggins, who was snorting disagreeably because no one was paying the least attention