Anne of Ingleside - L. M. Montgomery [81]
Inside it was not much better. The parlour into which Jenny ushered her was musty and dusty. The ceiling was discoloured and covered with cracks. The famous marble mantelpiece was only painted… even Di could see that… and draped with a hideous Japanese scarf, held in place by a row of ‘moustache’ cups. The stringy lace curtains were a bad colour and full of holes. The blinds were of blue paper, much cracked and torn, with a huge basketful of roses depicted on them. As for the parlour being full of stuffed owls there was a small glass case in one corner containing three rather dishevelled birds, one with its eyes missing entirely. To Di, accustomed to the beauty and dignity of Ingleside, the room looked like something you had seen in a bad dream. The odd thing, however, was that Jenny seemed quite unconscious of any discrepancy between her descriptions and reality. Di wondered if she had just dreamed that Jenny had told her such and such.
It was not so bad outside. The little playhouse Mr Penny had built in the spruce corner, looking like a real house in miniature, was a very interesting place and the little pigs and the new foal were ‘just sweet’. As for the litter of mongrel puppies, they were as woolly and delightful as if they had belonged to the dog caste of Vere de Vere. One was especially adorable, with long brown ears and a white spot on its forehead, a wee pink tongue, and white paws. Di was bitterly disappointed to learn that they had all been promised.
‘Though I don’t know as we could give you one even if they weren’t,’ said Jenny. ‘Uncle’s awful particular where he puts his dogs. We’ve heard you can’t get a dog to stay at Ingleside at all. There must be something queer about you. Uncle says dogs know things people don’t.’
‘I’m sure they can’t know anything nasty about us,’ cried Di.
‘Well, I hope not. Is your pa cruel to your ma?’
‘No, of course he isn’t.’
‘Well, I heard that he beat her… beat her till she screamed. But of course I didn’t believe that. Ain’t it awful the lies people tell? Anyway, I’ve always liked you, Di, and I’ll always stand up for you.’
Di felt she ought to be very grateful for this, but somehow she was not. She was beginning to feel very much out of place, and the glamour with which Jenny had been invested in her eyes was suddenly and irrevocably gone. She did not feel the old thrill when Jenny told her about the time she had been almost drowned falling in a mill-pond. She did not believe it – Jenny just imagined those things. And likely the millionaire uncle and the thousand-dollar diamond ring and the missionary to the leopards had just been imagined too. Di felt as flat as a pricked balloon.
But there was Gammy yet. Surely Gammy was real. When Di and Jenny returned to the house Aunt Lina, a full-breasted, red-cheeked lady in a none-too-fresh cotton print, told them Gammy wanted to see the visitor.
‘Gammy’s bed-rid,’ explained Jenny. ‘We always takes everybody who comes in to see her. She gets mad if we don’t.’
‘Mind you don’t forget to ask her how her backache is,’ cautioned Aunt Lina. ‘She doesn’t like it if folks don’t remember her back.’
‘And Uncle John,’ said Jenny. ‘Don’t forget to ask her how Uncle John is.’
‘Who is Uncle John?’ asked Di.
‘A son of hers who died fifty years ago,’ explained Aunt Lina. ‘He was sick for years afore he died and Gammy kind of got accustomed to hearing folks ask how he was. She misses it.’
At the door of Gammy’s room