Too Close to the Sun
Read Too Close to the Sun Online
Authors: Jess Foley
| Too Close to the Sun |
| Jess Foley |
| Random House (2010) |
Synopsis
When Grace Harper is orphaned, her world falls apart. Life has always been hard, and now she and her little brother Billy are left homeless and alone. But Grace must put her grief and fear aside, and think practically. Accepting a job as companion to the wealthy, lonely Mrs Spencer means that she and Billy have a roof over their heads, but just as Grace starts to find her feet disaster strikes again. Things look desperate, and when she is offered marriage and the good life for herself and Billy, Grace is tempted. But is her suitor to be trusted? Or is she, in her search for safety for her little family, flying too close to the sun?
Too Close To The Sun
Jess Foley was born in Wiltshire but moved to London to study at the Chelsea School of Art, then subsequently worked as a painter and actor before taking up writing. Now living in Blackheath, south-east London, Jess’s first novel,
So Long At The Fair
, was published in 2001.
Praise for
So Long At The Fair
‘Jess has really captured the sense of a family united against great odds. The heroine, Abbie, is strong but flawed as all good heroines should be and as we follow her triumphs and trials we see her change from a girl to a woman in the most dramatic and satisfying of ways’ Iris Gower
‘A jolly good read … Abbie is a great character, buffeted by fate but a powerful woman of her time’ Susan Sallis
Also by Jess Foley
So Long At The Fair
Jess Foley
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781446429792
Published by Arrow Books in 2003
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Copyright © Jess Foley 2002
Jess Foley has asserted the right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
First published in the United Kingdom in 2002 by Century
Arrow Books
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 0 09 941577 1
For Victoria
Chapter One
On the day that was to see the course of Grace’s life change they had found a spent rocket in the hedgerow by the stile. Billy saw it and hooted with excitement. Moving to the hedge he stretched up his hand, then with a little moan sank back.
‘It’s too high. I can’t get to it.’
Giving a sigh as if she were indulging him, Grace stepped to the hedge, reached up and caught the rocket by its stem.
‘Here you are. Though what you want it for I can’t imagine.’
The rocket was just one of many fireworks that had been set off last month in celebration of Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee. The whole village had had a party on the green, and the bonfire and fireworks that had followed in the evening had provided a spectacle such as Billy had never seen in all his eight years.
‘Will it go again?’ he asked, and Grace said, ‘No, unfortunately it won’t. It’s all used up. You might as well throw it back where it was.’
‘You sure it won’t go again?’
‘Absolutely sure.’
Billy looked at the rocket for moment longer, then, with a shrug, moved and threw it into the hedgerow. That done, he resumed the conversation that had been interrupted by his sight of the rocket.
‘Will you be going away, Grace?’
At his words Grace turned and glanced down at the top
of his head as he limped along at her side. His thick brown hair had been touched by the sun and in its highlights shone a dull auburn. When she remained silent, he lifted his freckled face and looked up. ‘Will you?’ These days he seemed to be full of insecurities and questions.
‘I’ve told you already,’ she said, ‘it depends how things work out. I must wait and see what happens.’
‘Pappy said when you get married you’ll be leaving us anyway.’
‘
Get married
,’ she said. ‘If that’s going to happen I’d be glad if somebody would let
me
in on the secret.’ Grace was just twenty. A slim girl of just above middle height, she had the beauty that youth itself possesses and also that inherited from her mother. She had dark eyes, and hair of a rich chestnut that could shine tawny gold in the sun. Now, her wide, pink mouth was compressed in impatience. ‘Seems like I’m the last to know some things,’ she said.
Billy looked up at her. ‘And your Mr Stephen – would he be the last to know as well?’
Grace nodded at the look, and smiled. ‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Just make sure you’re not too clever for your own good.’
Having taken short cuts to avoid the roads, they were following a narrow footpath traversing a meadow. Up ahead was a stile, then just one more meadow and they’d be close to their destination. After the recent rains the green of the grass was rich and lush. Birds skimmed the air in their foraging for food, and butterflies danced over the hedgerows.
It was Saturday, almost 10.30. They had set off from Green Shipton almost an hour before, the two of them, carrying two framed pictures, oil paint on canvas. The frames, made and fitted by their father, had been fashioned of elm, and carved and polished with the greatest care. Prior to Grace and Billy setting out, their father had
wrapped each frame in a protective covering of burlap, then tied each with string, in such a way as to form a little handle for carrying. The canvases were fragile, and it would not do for any damaging pressure to be put on them. Grace carried one picture, and Billy the other.
On the right of the path a few yards ahead lay a pond, where sometimes the cattle came to drink. Fringed by trees and shrubbery, it seemed a mysterious little spot in the middle of the green expanse of the meadow.
‘I don’t like this pond,’ Billy said as they drew nearer to it.
‘Why not?’
‘I just don’t.’
In its shadows vaguely threatening, it lay only four or five yards from the edge of the footpath. Not that one could see much of the water itself, overhung as it was by the foliage that crowded its banks.
‘Is it really so deep?’ Billy said.
‘I’ve no idea how deep it is.’
‘Some boys – they said a whole cow drowned in it.’
‘Oh? And when was this supposed to have happened?’
‘They didn’t say.’
‘Well, not in my lifetime; I’d have heard of it.’
‘That’s what they said anyway.’
‘Perhaps they made it up. Or perhaps it’s an old legend.’
‘What’s a legend?’
‘Well, it – it’s a story that’s been kind of – handed down – and perhaps nobody knows after so long whether it’s true or not.’ She paused, glancing down at him again. ‘Did they say anything else, the boys?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Well –’ she wondered how best to put it, ‘were they – being unkind to you?’
‘No,’ he said at once. ‘No, they were fine.’
‘Oh – that’s all right, then.’
There had been a few occasions in the past when some
lout or other had taken the opportunity to have some fun at Billy’s expense, once or twice reducing him to tears. And at such times, Grace would never forget, their mother’s protective wrath had been formidable. Small and slim, Mrs Harper had never given a thought to her lack of physical power, but had approached the victimizer as if having all the strength in the world. And like a tigress defending her cub, she had known no fear. Grace had seen her on one occasion when she had confronted a boy from a neighbouring village, a boy who had picked on Billy as an easy victim for his ridicule, focusing on his ungainly gait. But the boy had reckoned without Mrs Harper. She had run from the house with hair and apron flying, dashing at the boy and at the same time unleashing a torrent of reprimand that had him rooted to the spot. She had not used any physical violence, had not attempted to strike the boy; Grace had never known her to strike anyone, though where Billy was concerned, Grace was fairly sure that she might not have held back in particular circumstances if moved enough.
As they walked, Grace looked down at him with a smile. He was not tall for his eight years, added to which he was slight and fine-boned – like Grace herself, taking after their mother’s side of the family, though Grace was taller than her mother had been. ‘You’ll look after Billy, won’t you?’ her mother had said several times during those final days. He had been in her thoughts right up to the last, in ways that Grace herself never could have been. But Grace had not quite the needs of Billy. Should it come to it, Grace thought, she could manage on her own. Billy, though, was a different matter.
As they reached the last stile Billy came to a stop with a little groan. Grace halted beside him. ‘What’s up?’ she said. ‘Is it getting too much for you?’
‘Oh, it’s such a hot day,’ he said. ‘I need a rest.’
‘Come on, then, let’s sit down for a minute.’
With Grace leading they moved a few yards alongside the hedgerow, and there in the shade of a small hawthorn tree Grace set down the wrapped picture, very carefully leaning it against the tree’s trunk. With admonitions to be careful, Billy did likewise with his package.
As Billy sat down beside her, Grace pushed her straw hat to the back of her head. Running her hands over her hair, her palm came away damp with perspiration. ‘Oh,’ she sighed, ‘it’s not the day for doing anything.’ Taking her hat off, she sank back until she was lying full length in the grass. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘it would be so nice to have no responsibilities, to have nothing to do.’