The Master of Phoenix Hall Read Free Page B

sun-spangled days that can turn London into the most beautiful city in the world, and I decided to walk for a while. The air was fresh and sparkling with a clear blue haze. The sun made silver sunbursts on the windows of shops and glittered on the cobbles. I lingered at a book stall, turning over the old second-hand volumes, finding it hard to realize that I could buy all the books I wanted now. I wandered on, pausing to watch a group of swarthy, muscular men in front of a music store moving a large piano down a flight of stairs while its owner, a small Italian music teacher, made violent gestures and cried encouragement.
    The sights and sounds and smells of London were fascinating, and I would soon be leaving them. A vendor stood behind his cart, selling hot bacon rolls, soft strips of bread wrapped around bacon and mustard. He swirled a piece of brown paper around one and gave it to me, and I bit into the delicious treat, feeling like a child on holiday. Small children were gathered around a Punch and Judy show at the next corner, crying out in excitement as the colorful puppets danced on the tiny stage. I stood beside a little girl in a blue dress and watched the show with almost as much pleasure as the children.
    Life had been hard during the past few years, and I had been as patient as it was possible to be, waiting for that change that I knew would come, despite my rather grim, realistic outlook. Now it had arrived, and I felt like a new person. Before, I had felt old and weary; I was twenty-one years old, but I might as well have been forty-one. Now I felt as young as these children and lighthearted. A whole new life was opening up for me, like a flower whose petals had been tightly closed, and I was not going to let Phoenix Hall or any of the people there cast a shadow over it.

II
    I T SEEMED that we had been riding for days. The coach was uncomfortable and crowded. Although Nan and I were the only passengers, there were a great many boxes that kept tumbling onto the floor. Nan had brought along her canary, a bright yellow bird with a little golden beak, perched disconsolately on the swing of its small gilded cage. His feathers dropped, as though he too was finding the trip unbearable. The horses galloped over the rough highway, and the wheels jogged over huge rocks, causing the whole coach to rock sideways. We could hear the driver curse occasionally and the sharp slash of his whip as he urged the horses on. Even though the windows were closed the dust was thick inside the coach. The vehicle smelled of sweat and old leather.
    â€œHow much longer will it be before we reach the inn?” Nan cried.
    â€œSurely not much longer,” I replied.
    The coach jogged violently and we were both thrown forward.
    â€œI don’t know if I can endure much more,” she protested.
    â€œPatience, Nan.”
    â€œWe’ve been riding so long!”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œI think the driver must be mad, going at this speed.”
    â€œHe is anxious to get to the inn, too,” I informed her.
    The last rays of the sun touched the sky with crimson, and it would soon be dark. Through the window I watched long stretches of rolling hills covered with dead brown grass, huge gray rocks rising up in fantastic shapes surrounded by gnarled black trees. It looked ominous and forbidding. It was completely alien to anything I had ever seen before, and I shivered when I thought about those lonely deserted stretches.
    Nan spoke comforting words to her canary and made a face at him. It was comforting to have her along, for despite her pretended anguish she was finding this a great adventure. Her face was lit up with excitement. Her golden curls were held back by a small blue bonnet, a sprig of purple velvet clustered about the brim. She wore a new dress of lilac colored linen with many rustling blue and violet petticoats. I had never seen her look so charming with her flushed cheeks and the tiny golden brown freckles