Atlas by Lucinda Riley PDF EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Lucinda Riley
- Language: English
- Genre: 20th Century Historical Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Boulogne-Billancourt,
Caris, France
The diary is a present from Monsieur and Madame Paul Landowski. They
say that, because I don’t speak yet they know that I can write, it would be a
good idea if I tried to note down things that I think. At first, they thought I
was just plain stupid, that I had lost my wits, which in many ways I have.
Or more accurately, perhaps I have just exhausted them, having lived by
them for so long. They are very tired, and so am I.
The reason they know that I at least have some sense left is because they
asked me to write. To begin with, they tried to make me write my name, age
and where I had come from, but I learnt long ago that writing such things
on paper can get you into trouble, and trouble is something I want no more
of ever again. So, I sat at the table in the kitchen and copied out a piece of
poetry that Papa had taught me. Of course, it was one that would not betray
where I came from before I arrived under a hedge in their garden. Nor was
it one of my favourites, but I felt the words suited my mood, and were
enough to show this kind couple – whom fate had thrown in my path when
death was knocking at my door – that I could communicate. So I wrote:
Tonight I’ve watched
the moon and then
the Pleiades
go down
The night is now
half-gone; youth
goes; I am
in bed alone
I wrote it in French, English and German, none of which was the
language I’d used since I’d been old enough to talk (which I can, of course,
but just like words on paper, anything spoken – especially in haste – can be
used as currency). I admit to enjoying the look of surprise on Madame
Landowski’s face as she read what I’d written, even if it wasn’t helpful to
her in discovering who I was, or who I belonged to. Elsa the maid had a
look in her eye which suggested that I should be posted back to where I had
come from as soon as possible when she slammed down a bowl of food in
front of me.
Not speaking is no hardship. It is over a year since I left the home I had
known for as long as I could remember. In that time, I’ve only used my
voice when absolutely necessary.
From where I am writing this, I can look out of the tiny attic window.
Earlier, I watched the Landowski children come up the path. They had been
to school and looked very smart in their uniforms – Françoise in white
gloves and a straw hat they call a boater, and her brothers in white shirts
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