Read Online Dorothy Eden by Sinister Weddings - Free Book Online
Authors: Sinister Weddings
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“Julia! Is that you? Come here. I want to talk to you.”
She had been put back to bed, and now she sat bolt upright in the middle of an enormous four-poster. A bed-jacket of fluffy white wool enhanced her white-rabbit appearance. She looked like a child’s toy. But what surprised Julia was that the vague look had gone from her face and it was sharp and alert. Obviously, she was having one of her occasional intelligent periods. She patted the edge of the bed and said,
“Sit down, my dear. On the bed. I’m afraid you won’t find an empty chair. I can do nothing myself, and now Mrs. Bates has gone there is no one I can ask to do things. Kate hasn’t learned to manage a house this size yet, and that girl in the kitchen can do nothing but flirt.”
She smiled as Julia sat down, and her face took on a kind of spectral warmth so that for a moment she was more like a human being.
“Now tell me, how do you like Heriot Hills?”
Julia looked round the gloomy room and hesitated.
“I—I’ve scarcely decided.”
“Of course not. It’s all too strange. I remember when I came here. There were no trees at all, only bare hills with those horrid thorny bushes, and patches of snow. I used to hang my crinolines over the gooseberry bushes to save them from the frost. I was very unhappy. I longed to go home.” Then she said, “How’s Jonathan?”
“He’s very frail. He always talks about you.”
Again the ghostly smile crept over the tiny old face, there was a flirtatious coyness in the faded eyes.
“Ah! Sentimental Jonathan. I imagine he always hoped I would find I had made a mistake and go back to him. It doesn’t pay to be sentimental.” Her voice became sharp and querulous. “He ought to have known better. I hope that you will know better. Don’t let Harry make you unhappy. He’s a bad boy.”
Julia leaned forward.
“Mrs. Blaine, it’s Paul I am marrying.”
The awareness flickered and vanished in the old lady’s eyes. They were a cloudy sky without light.
“Why does everyone say Harry isn’t here? He is. He came in here last night and talked to me. He said you were the prettiest of them all.”
“Of them all?”
“Girls,” the old lady twittered. “Harry likes girls.”
“So does Paul, I think,” Julia murmured.
“But he’s slower than Harry. Much slower.”
Julia thought of Dove, and sly-eyed Lily. Her bewilderment grew. This Harry must have been some character.
“Paul takes after his father,” the old lady said. “Harry takes after me.” She chuckled. “The way I twisted poor Jonathan round my little finger. But he was sweet. Tell him I was asking after him.”
“Mrs. Blaine,” Julia said earnestly, “Harry isn’t here. You know he isn’t here.”
A gleam, like the sun through clouds, shone in Georgina’s eyes. Then it vanished. She spoke in her high silly bird’s voice.
“You all think I’m crazy. But I’m not. You’ll meet Harry before long. You won’t be able to escape, a pretty girl like you.”
Julia gazed pityingly at the vacant face. The image in Uncle Jonathan’s mind was the real Georgina. This was just a sad little shadow.
Nevertheless the odd conversation was disturbing. Julia went across the overgrown garden following a track that led beneath the drooping birches and the firs on to the open hillside. Then the mountain wind came pure and cold in her face, and the evening held only the sound of lambs crying and the stirring of the snowgrass in the wind. She climbed to the top of a low hill, and stood looking across the lonely landscape that spread in a shadowy line of hills broken by the smoky blue of a lake, and isolated clumps of trees, to the towering mountains. Looking at the mountains the same intense loneliness that she had felt last night with Davey overcame her. It wasn’t so much loneliness as premonition. Those great giants with their snowcaps were waiting, watching, holding their breath over something. Overwhelmingly she thought of
“Julia! Is that you? Come here. I want to talk to you.”
She had been put back to bed, and now she sat bolt upright in the middle of an enormous four-poster. A bed-jacket of fluffy white wool enhanced her white-rabbit appearance. She looked like a child’s toy. But what surprised Julia was that the vague look had gone from her face and it was sharp and alert. Obviously, she was having one of her occasional intelligent periods. She patted the edge of the bed and said,
“Sit down, my dear. On the bed. I’m afraid you won’t find an empty chair. I can do nothing myself, and now Mrs. Bates has gone there is no one I can ask to do things. Kate hasn’t learned to manage a house this size yet, and that girl in the kitchen can do nothing but flirt.”
She smiled as Julia sat down, and her face took on a kind of spectral warmth so that for a moment she was more like a human being.
“Now tell me, how do you like Heriot Hills?”
Julia looked round the gloomy room and hesitated.
“I—I’ve scarcely decided.”
“Of course not. It’s all too strange. I remember when I came here. There were no trees at all, only bare hills with those horrid thorny bushes, and patches of snow. I used to hang my crinolines over the gooseberry bushes to save them from the frost. I was very unhappy. I longed to go home.” Then she said, “How’s Jonathan?”
“He’s very frail. He always talks about you.”
Again the ghostly smile crept over the tiny old face, there was a flirtatious coyness in the faded eyes.
“Ah! Sentimental Jonathan. I imagine he always hoped I would find I had made a mistake and go back to him. It doesn’t pay to be sentimental.” Her voice became sharp and querulous. “He ought to have known better. I hope that you will know better. Don’t let Harry make you unhappy. He’s a bad boy.”
Julia leaned forward.
“Mrs. Blaine, it’s Paul I am marrying.”
The awareness flickered and vanished in the old lady’s eyes. They were a cloudy sky without light.
“Why does everyone say Harry isn’t here? He is. He came in here last night and talked to me. He said you were the prettiest of them all.”
“Of them all?”
“Girls,” the old lady twittered. “Harry likes girls.”
“So does Paul, I think,” Julia murmured.
“But he’s slower than Harry. Much slower.”
Julia thought of Dove, and sly-eyed Lily. Her bewilderment grew. This Harry must have been some character.
“Paul takes after his father,” the old lady said. “Harry takes after me.” She chuckled. “The way I twisted poor Jonathan round my little finger. But he was sweet. Tell him I was asking after him.”
“Mrs. Blaine,” Julia said earnestly, “Harry isn’t here. You know he isn’t here.”
A gleam, like the sun through clouds, shone in Georgina’s eyes. Then it vanished. She spoke in her high silly bird’s voice.
“You all think I’m crazy. But I’m not. You’ll meet Harry before long. You won’t be able to escape, a pretty girl like you.”
Julia gazed pityingly at the vacant face. The image in Uncle Jonathan’s mind was the real Georgina. This was just a sad little shadow.
Nevertheless the odd conversation was disturbing. Julia went across the overgrown garden following a track that led beneath the drooping birches and the firs on to the open hillside. Then the mountain wind came pure and cold in her face, and the evening held only the sound of lambs crying and the stirring of the snowgrass in the wind. She climbed to the top of a low hill, and stood looking across the lonely landscape that spread in a shadowy line of hills broken by the smoky blue of a lake, and isolated clumps of trees, to the towering mountains. Looking at the mountains the same intense loneliness that she had felt last night with Davey overcame her. It wasn’t so much loneliness as premonition. Those great giants with their snowcaps were waiting, watching, holding their breath over something. Overwhelmingly she thought of
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