Madeleine nodded and told him to put in the horse--not that she could
not have done it, but she must clean herself. Accordingly, half an hour
later, there might have been seen issuing from the yard of the Spanish
Farm, over the brick bridge, along the earth road that divided the
manor pasture, out by the brick-pillared gate on to the road, surely the
oldest, most repaired of high black gigs, drawn by an old white horse
whose sonorous walk took it along at perhaps two miles an hour. Framed
in the dark aperture of the hood, upright, expressionless, sat
Madeleine, bareheaded, but in her best dress, holding the reins in a
gloved hand, basket between her feet. Silent, expressionless, she may
have been, but when she turned into the Lille-Calais road and met a
string of English transports, limbers and wagons, it was noticeable that
the Quartermaster-Sergeant, after glancing at her face, instead of
shouting to her to get out of the way, turned in his saddle and shouted
to the drivers, “Right o’ the road!”
She came to the village and crossed the empty Grand’ Place, where the
old houses stared unchanged over the notice-boards of the offices of the
Head-quarters of an English Division, and the church, newly faced with
red brick, showed the zeal of the pious Flemings. Turning sharply out of
this, she mounted, at the snail pace of the old white horse, a steep
street between little houses of people who had retired to live on about
the equivalent of forty pounds English per annum (as people do in
France). It ended in a great eighteenth-century iron grille, the entry
to the château. The central gates stood open and she drove straight
along a road deep between high banks covered with shrubs, which followed
for some fifty yards the old line of the moat, until she came under the
back part of the château where a broad terrace of gravel separated the
basement offices from the kitchen garden. Leaving the old horse, with
perfect confidence, looking down his nose into a laurel bush, Madeleine
took her basket on her arm, and entered the great square kitchen.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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