Read A Postillion Struck by Lightning for Free Online Page A

a big china umbrella stand painted with bulrushes and yellow flags they had Lucky Dips for tuppence. You gave Miss Ethel or Miss Maude your money and then, while they watched to see you weren’t cheating by squeezing the packets to tell what was inside, you could bury your two hands in the bran and fumble about for a little paper-wrapped parcel. Blue for a boy and pink for a girl. It was really a bit soppy and the prizes were rotten for tuppence. All I ever got was the three monkeys not seeing, speaking or hearing evil. That’s all that boys
ever
got—except once I did see a boy get a very small penknife with a picture of “R.M.S. Majestic” on it—but usually it was the monkeys. They must have bought millions and millions of them. We said “Good evening”, and then some more people came off and there was Angelica Chesterfield. Angelica had very, very long black hair, and long legs and long arms and a long nose. She was altogether long, and a year older than us. She wore a black knitted cap with a red pom-pom and a long blue coat and shiny London shoes with ankle straps and white socks and we all smiled stupidly at each other and then I took her suitcase and we started to walk.
    â€œWas it a boring journey?” I asked. She smoothed her hair, moved it over her shoulders, adjusted her pom-pom and said: “Not fearfully. Mummy put me on the train at Victoria and I had some books to look at and when we got to Seaford a lady said, ‘O! This is Seaford!’ And I got off and said to a very nice man with a dog ‘Where does the bus go from,’ and he said ‘Here,’ and I got on and now I’ve got off.” She tripped over a stone in hershiny black shoes and smiled. We turned down the lane towards the river and my sister said: “We’ve thought of some lovely things to do while you are here. We’ve found a very creepy caravan where a witch lives, and we’ll take you to a sort of cave up by Wilmington we found and we know where there’s a punt and we could go along the river and pick some waterlilies.” Angelica smiled again at us, pushed her hair over her shoulder again and said: “I like to read quite a lot.”
    â€œNot all the time?” I said.
    â€œNot
all
the time,” she agreed quietly, “but I do like it.”
    â€œBut it’s summer. It’s holidaytime!” said my sister. “You don’t
read
on holidays.”
    But Angelica smiled away and didn’t say anything. We clattered across the bridge, her brown suitcase banging my legs and my heart sinking with every footfall. It was going to be a hateful week.
    Lally was at the gate looking red and singing, a handful of wooden clothes pegs, and a big basket of washing in her arms. “Well! Here’s Her Highness!” she called. “Have a good trip did you? I expect you’re quite tired out and with that walk too. There’s ginger beer in the kitchen and supper’s at eight.”
    The room where Angelica was going to sleep was through our room, through Lally’s, and then through a little cupboard place. It was very small, with a bed, a chair and a table with a drawer. The window looked right down the meadow to High and Over; and on a clear day you could sometimes see the sea like a piece of silver paper. I put her suitcase on the table and said: “We have to tell you something. If you have to go to the lav in the night it’s under the bed.” Angelica went white. “You’ve got the prettiest one,” said my sister reasonably. “It’s got a pheasant on the bottom.” Angelica looked nervously round the room as if she expected it to rush out from under the bed or somewhere and peck her.
    My sister humped the chamber pot on to the bed and looked at it with pleasure. Angelica did a wrinkling thing with her mouth and gently pulled off her pom-pom hat. “It’s very nice,” she said flatly and