The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [263]
But even with Gilpin there, as the other children obediently went forward, young Nathaniel would have none of it. Standing beside the vicar, who held his hand, he shook his head slowly but with evident determination. ‘He’s going to put up a fight, I think,’ murmured Gilpin. ‘I’m not sure what to do.’
It was Fanny, in the end, who solved the problem. ‘If I do it, Nathaniel,’ she suddenly asked, ‘will you?’ Nathaniel Furzey considered. His dark eyes rested first on her, then the doctor, then on her again. ‘I’ll go first,’ she offered. Slowly he nodded.
Taking off her cape, she offered her bare arm while all the children watched; and moments later, his eyes fixed solemnly upon her, young Nathaniel underwent the ordeal too.
‘Well done, Fanny,’ said Gilpin quietly and, indeed, she felt rather proud of herself.
She could tell that she was in high favour when, after the vaccinations were all done and the doctor thanked, Gilpin announced that he would accompany her on her way home as far as Boldre church.
There were two ways to approach the church from the school: one was to descend to the river and then climb up to the church again; the other was to take a track through the hamlet of Pilley that led across the top edge of the little valley and round to the knoll. They took the latter and, since it was nearly a mile, they had time to talk of various things along the way.
The church was coming in sight when the vicar casually remarked: ‘I noticed today, Fanny, when you were being vaccinated, that you are wearing a silver chain round your neck. I have seen you do so before, yet upon each occasion I have also noticed that whatever hangs from it is hidden under your dress. What is this pendant, I wonder?’
By way of answer, with a smile she pulled it out. ‘It’s nothing to look at,’ she said, ‘so I keep it hidden. But I like to wear it sometimes.’
Gilpin stared at the pendant curiously.
It was a strange little object, a wooden crucifix, quite black with age. Looking carefully, he could just make out some antique carving on it; but of what kind or what date it was impossible to say. Whatever kind the carving was, the pendant was a simple wooden cross and the vicar approved of it. ‘You performed a Christian act this morning,’ he said warmly, ‘and I am equally glad to see that you choose to wear this simple cross – for you must know that to me it is worth far more than any gold or silver ornament.’ She could not help blushing for pleasure at such praise. ‘But tell me, Fanny,’ he continued, ‘where does it come from?’
She had only been seven years old at the time, but she remembered it well. Her mother had taken her to the house. She supposed it was in Lymington. She wasn’t sure, but her mother had seemed to be cross about something.
The old lady had been sitting by the fire. She had appeared very old to Fanny – over eighty probably – all wrapped in shawls; but with a comfortable air: a nice, friendly old face and very bright blue eyes.
‘Bring the child here, then, Mary,’ she had told Fanny’s mother. There had been a trace of impatience in her voice. ‘Do you know who I am, child?’ she had asked.
‘No.’ Fanny had no idea. She saw the old woman glance at her mother and shake her head.
‘I’m your grandmother, child.’
‘My grandmother!’ She had felt a thrill of excitement. She had never met such a person before. Her father had been so old when he married that his own mother had died well before Fanny’s birth. As for her mother, she had always supposed it was the same. She turned to her now. ‘You never told me I had a grandmother,’ she said reproachfully.
‘Well, you have!’ the old lady exclaimed sharply.
They had had a lovely talk after that. Fanny couldn’t remember much of what they said. Her grandmother had spoken of the past and her own parents,