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ve seemed very strange to him。 when his features had ceased their jumping about； there was something odd in his expression； too； something i could not； cannot fathom。 i do dislike what i cannot fathom。
we stared at each other for a few seconds； each as awkward as the other； then rather abruptly he left。
i wish mrs。 dunne would not move my books about。 how many times shall i have to tell her that a book is not finished until it is finished？ and if she must move it； why not put it back in the library whence it came？ what is the point of leaving it on the staircase？
i have had a curious conversation with john the gardener。
he is a good worker； more cheerful now that his topiary is mending； and a helpful presence generally in the house。 he drinks tea and chats in the kitchen with mrs。 dunne； sometimes i e across them talking in low voices； which makes me think she is not as deaf as she makes out。 were it not for her great age i would imagine some love affair going on； but since that is out of the question i am at a loss to explain what their secret is。 i taxed mrs。 dunne with it； unhappily； because she and i have a friendly understanding about things for the most part； i think she approves of my presence here—not that it would make any difference if she didn’t—and she told me that they talk of nothing but household matters； chickens to be killed； potatoes to be dug and the like。 “why talk so low？” i insisted； and she told me it was not low at all； at least not particularly so。 “but you don’t hear me when i talk low； ” i said； and she answered that new voices are harder than the ones she is used to； and if she understands john when he talks low it is because she has known his voice for many years and mine for only a couple of months。
i had forgotten all about the low voices in the kitchen； until this new odd…ness with john。 a few mornings ago i was taking a walk just before lunch in the garden when i saw again the boy who was weeding the flower bed beneath the schoolroom window。 i glanced at my watch； and again it was in school hours。 the boy did not see me； for i was hidden by the trees。 i watched him for a moment or two； he was not working at all but sprawled across the lawn； engrossed in something on the grass； right under his nose。 he wore the same floppy hat as before。 i stepped toward him meaning to get his name and give him a lecture on the importance of education； but on seeing me he leaped to his feet； clamped his hat to his head with one hand and sprinted away faster than i have seen anyone move before。 his alarm is proof enough of his guilt。 the boy knew perfectly well he should be at school。 as he ran off he appeared to have a book in his hand。
i went to john and told him just what i thought。 i told him i would not allow children to work for him in school hours； that it was wrong to upset their education just for the few pence they earn； and that if the parents did not accept that； i would go and see them myself。 i told him if it was so necessary to have further hands working on the garden that i would see mr。 angelfield and employ a man。 i had already made this offer to get extra staff； both for the garden and the house； but john and mrs。 dunne were both so against the idea i thought it better to wait until i was more acquainted with the running of things here。
john’s response was to shake his head and deny all knowledge of the child。 when i impressed upon him the evidence of my own eyes； he said it must be a village child just e wandering in； that it happened sometimes； that he was not responsible for all the village truants who happened to be in the garden。 i told him then that i had seen the child before； the day i arrived； and that the child was clearly working。 he was tight…lipped； only repeated that he had no knowledge of a child； that anyone could weed his garden who wanted to； that there was no such child。
i told john； with a little anger that i cannot regret； that i intended to speak to the schoolmistress about it； and that i would go directly to the parents and sort the matter out with them。 he simply waved his hand； as if to say it was nothing to do with him and i might do as i liked （and i certainly shall）。 i am sure he knows who the boy is； and i am shocked at his refusal to help me in my duty toward him。 it seems out of character for him to be obstructive； but then i suppose he began his own apprenticeship as a child and thought it never did him any harm。 these attitudes are slow to die out in rural areas。
i was engrossed in the diary。 the barriers to legibility forced me to read slowly； puzzling out the difficulties； using all my experience； knowledge and imagination to flesh out the ghost words； yet the obstacles seemed not to impede me。 on the contrary； the faded margins； the eligibilities； the blurred words seemed to pulse with meaning； vividly alive。
while i was reading in this absorbed fashion； in another part of my mind entirely a decision was forming。 when the train drew in at the station where i was to descend for my connection； i found my mind made up。 i was not going home after all。 i was going to angelfield。
the local line train to banbury was too crowded with christmas travelers to sit； and i never read standing up。 with every jolt of the train； every jostle and stumble of my fellow passengers； i felt the rectangle of hester’s diary against my chest。 i had read only half of it。 the rest could wait。
what happened to you； hester； i thought。 where on earth did you go？
．co
DEMOLISHING THE PAST
？小｜说网
the windows showed me his kitchen was empty； and when i walked back to the front of the cottage and knocked on the door； there ‘as no answer。
might he have gone away？ it was a time of year when people did go away。 but they went to their families； surely； and so aurelius； having no family； would stay here。 belatedly the reason for aurelius’s absence occurred to me： he would be out delivering cakes for christmas parties。 where else would a caterer be； just before christmas？ i would have to e back later。 i put the card i had bought through the mail slot and set off through the woods toward angelfield house。
it was cold； cold enough for snow。 beneath my feet the ground was frost…hard and above the sky was dangerously white。 i walked briskly。 with my scarf wrapped around my face as high as my nose； i soon warmed up。
at the clearing； i stopped。 in the distance； at the site； there was unusual activity。 i frowned。 what was going on？ my camera was around neck； beneath my coat； the cold crept in as i undid my buttons。 using my long lens； i watched。 there was a police car on the drive； builders’ vehicles and machinery were all stationary； and the builders were standing in a loose cluster。 they must have stopped working a little while ago； for they were slapping their hands together and stamping their feet to keep warm。 their hats were on the ground or else slung by the strap from their elbows。 one man offered a pack of cigarettes。 from time to time one of them addressed a ment to the others； but there was no conversation。 i tried to make out the expression on their unsmiling faces。 bored？ worried？ curious？ they stood turned away from the sit