Read Online Bleeding Heart Square by Andrew Taylor - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Andrew Taylor
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Marcus told her. His face was level with her chest now. "I won't be a moment."
She couldn't have moved even if she had wanted to. She was far too high above the floor. If she jumped off, she knew she'd break every bone in her body, and probably kill herself, and get her dress filthy as well so that Nurse would smack her too.
Marcus returned, his body almost filling the low doorway. He held out his hands to her, the fingers curled into fists.
"Look," he said gently.
Lydia stared at his big handsome face. He was smiling at her. He turned his hands over and uncurled the fingers. On each palm was a glistening slug. They looked even larger than the others, and they were moving.
"I can feel their mouths," he said. "I think they're hungry."
She began to cry.
"It's all right. Don't worry." One by one, he flicked the slugs onto the caked mud floor of the shed. He wiped his palms on his trousers and showed them, pink and empty, to her. "I'm going to make sure you're all right," he said as gently as before. "I'll look after you."
His kindness made her cry even harder.
"We have to make sure that none of them climbed up you while we weren't looking."
At the time, the logic of this had seemed impeccable. She screwed her eyes shut. She felt his hands on her legs. He gripped her knees and held them apart. She whimpered as he pushed up her skirt.
"We have to look very carefully," he said in a voice that was suddenly hoarse, and almost a whisper. "They like it especially here, you see, that's where they really like to eat. So we'd better see if they've got underneath."
It was sheer bad luck that Malcolm Fimberry chose that moment to open the door. Lydia was standing on the doorstep, a latchkey in her hand, and in another moment she might have escaped from Marcus. Her husband was standing there, bareheaded in the rain, and he looked all wrong in Bleeding Heart Square, like an elephant at the North Pole or a racehorse pulling a plough. Nothing in his life had prepared him for this situation and he didn't know what to do.
Fimberry didn't see Marcus at first. "Mrs. Langstone!" he cried. "Been shopping, I see. Let me help you with that basket."
Marcus lost his paralysis. Here at last was something he understood. "No need for that, thank you." His arm shot out and he scooped up the shopping basket. "After you, my dear."
Lydia allowed herself to be herded into the house. Fimberry flattened himself against the wall to allow them to pass. He was wearing a raincoat and carrying his hat and umbrella so he had obviously been on the verge of going out. Nevertheless he shut the door and pretended to be examining the circulars on the hall table. Marcus towered over him--indeed he towered over everything--and the hall shrank because he was inside it. He sniffed, and Lydia wondered whether there was still a trace of Mr. Serridge's rotten heart in the air.
She climbed the stairs, conscious that Fimberry was watching and listening and that Marcus's heavy footsteps were ascending behind her. She led the way into the sitting room. He put the basket on the table and pushed the door shut with his foot.
"You can't live here," he said in a voice that sounded more surprised than anything else. "It's no better than a slum."
"There's nothing wrong with it," Lydia said. "This is where my father lives. How did you find me?"
He dropped his hat on the table and peeled off his gloves. "You've no idea how worried we've been. How could you, Lydia?"
"We?"
"Your mother and I. No one else knows about this...this escapade of yours. We've told the servants you were suddenly called away. That a friend was very ill and had summoned you."
Lydia burst out laughing. "It sounds like something out of a penny novelette. Anyway, the servants won't believe you. Servants always know. I don't know how, but they do."
Marcus took out his cigarette case. "I don't find this very amusing."
"Nor do I."
"And then there's Pamela--she tried to phone you and was quite put out
She couldn't have moved even if she had wanted to. She was far too high above the floor. If she jumped off, she knew she'd break every bone in her body, and probably kill herself, and get her dress filthy as well so that Nurse would smack her too.
Marcus returned, his body almost filling the low doorway. He held out his hands to her, the fingers curled into fists.
"Look," he said gently.
Lydia stared at his big handsome face. He was smiling at her. He turned his hands over and uncurled the fingers. On each palm was a glistening slug. They looked even larger than the others, and they were moving.
"I can feel their mouths," he said. "I think they're hungry."
She began to cry.
"It's all right. Don't worry." One by one, he flicked the slugs onto the caked mud floor of the shed. He wiped his palms on his trousers and showed them, pink and empty, to her. "I'm going to make sure you're all right," he said as gently as before. "I'll look after you."
His kindness made her cry even harder.
"We have to make sure that none of them climbed up you while we weren't looking."
At the time, the logic of this had seemed impeccable. She screwed her eyes shut. She felt his hands on her legs. He gripped her knees and held them apart. She whimpered as he pushed up her skirt.
"We have to look very carefully," he said in a voice that was suddenly hoarse, and almost a whisper. "They like it especially here, you see, that's where they really like to eat. So we'd better see if they've got underneath."
It was sheer bad luck that Malcolm Fimberry chose that moment to open the door. Lydia was standing on the doorstep, a latchkey in her hand, and in another moment she might have escaped from Marcus. Her husband was standing there, bareheaded in the rain, and he looked all wrong in Bleeding Heart Square, like an elephant at the North Pole or a racehorse pulling a plough. Nothing in his life had prepared him for this situation and he didn't know what to do.
Fimberry didn't see Marcus at first. "Mrs. Langstone!" he cried. "Been shopping, I see. Let me help you with that basket."
Marcus lost his paralysis. Here at last was something he understood. "No need for that, thank you." His arm shot out and he scooped up the shopping basket. "After you, my dear."
Lydia allowed herself to be herded into the house. Fimberry flattened himself against the wall to allow them to pass. He was wearing a raincoat and carrying his hat and umbrella so he had obviously been on the verge of going out. Nevertheless he shut the door and pretended to be examining the circulars on the hall table. Marcus towered over him--indeed he towered over everything--and the hall shrank because he was inside it. He sniffed, and Lydia wondered whether there was still a trace of Mr. Serridge's rotten heart in the air.
She climbed the stairs, conscious that Fimberry was watching and listening and that Marcus's heavy footsteps were ascending behind her. She led the way into the sitting room. He put the basket on the table and pushed the door shut with his foot.
"You can't live here," he said in a voice that sounded more surprised than anything else. "It's no better than a slum."
"There's nothing wrong with it," Lydia said. "This is where my father lives. How did you find me?"
He dropped his hat on the table and peeled off his gloves. "You've no idea how worried we've been. How could you, Lydia?"
"We?"
"Your mother and I. No one else knows about this...this escapade of yours. We've told the servants you were suddenly called away. That a friend was very ill and had summoned you."
Lydia burst out laughing. "It sounds like something out of a penny novelette. Anyway, the servants won't believe you. Servants always know. I don't know how, but they do."
Marcus took out his cigarette case. "I don't find this very amusing."
"Nor do I."
"And then there's Pamela--she tried to phone you and was quite put out
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