Read Online Here Comes a Candle by Jane Aiken Hodge - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jane Aiken Hodge
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understand what it ’ s like to be a woman, tied to one place ... It ’ s all very well for you: you go to England, to Canada, wherever you please. And I? I stay at home, with chores for company. ”
“ And your child, Bella. Aren ’ t you forgetting her? ”
She shivered, as if a ghost ’ s hand had touched her, and gulped madeira. “ Must you keep reminding me? You know I make her worse. And what do you think that ’ s like for me, for her own mother? Jon, don ’ t you see, that ’ s why I want to get away, not to watch this girl making herself at home with my child. Taking my place! A stranger, a nobody, from God knows where ... Perhaps worse than a nobody. How do we know? ”
“ Stop it! ” At first, he had been in a fair way to being sorry for her, but her reference to Kate ’ s past caught him on the raw. He had wondered about it too often himself. “ We won ’ t talk any more about Mrs. Croston, ” he went on more mildly. “ As to your going to Boston: time enough to think of that in a week or so. ”
“ But, Jonathan! ” Too late. He had already left her.
Back in Sarah ’ s room, he stood, for a long time, silently by the bed, where, now, she lay asleep and asked himself, over again, all the old, despairing questions. At last he turned away, sighing, to shut himself up in his own room at the far end of the hall from Arabella ’ s.
Upstairs, Kate was asleep already. Much later, she woke with a start to the sound of a child ’ s frantic screaming. Sarah! She was out of bed in a flash, feeling in the dark for her dressing gown, then paused, hesitating. What good, after all, could she do, a complete stranger? She could hear movement downstairs, a door opening ... The screams were louder, desperate, an agony to hear. She felt her way to the door of her room and opened it a crack. Now she could hear Jonathan ’ s voice, a soothing murmur against the harsh persistent treble of the screams. That settled it. She closed the door as quietly as she had opened it and found her way back to bed.
The screams went on and on. In the morning it was hard to believe that she must have fallen asleep through them. Broad daylight warned her that she had slept late, and she was out of bed in a bound and hurrying into her clothes. On the floor below, a glance into Sarah ’ s room showed it empty and quiet, the bed already made up. She passed the closed doors of the other bedrooms and hurried on down the main stairway to the hall that ran from front to back of the house. There was no sound or sig n of life. A door at the far end was open onto morning sunshine, and she moved instinctively to it and looked out on a broad stretch of rather shaggy lawn that fell away toward the river. Not a sign of life anywhere. Feeling oddly lost in this silent landscape, she walked across the rough grass to the wall that edged the river. A gravel path ran along her side of it, and she turned to follow it upstream toward a small building that had caught her eye among the trees that bordered the lawn. It was, illogically, a relief to get away from the sightless windows of the house. She had a curious feeling of flight as she approached the gray building and saw, with a little shock of surprise, that it was a miniature mutation of a Greek temple. The kind of folly one might have expected to find in an English garden, it seemed oddly out of place here. Hard to imagine Jonathan Penrose spending his money on such a frivolity. But Arabella perhaps?
Arabella? Mrs. Penrose. At last, reluctantly, she made herself remember last night ’ s hostile reception. It had hurt horribly at the time, but now she could see that there might be plenty of reasons for it. Facing them, she sat down a little forlornly on the marble bench in front of the temple, castigating herself as she did so, for a coward. She ought to be in the house, finding Sarah, finding servants, asking for breakfast, asserting herself. In a minute, she would go ...
The minute drew
“ And your child, Bella. Aren ’ t you forgetting her? ”
She shivered, as if a ghost ’ s hand had touched her, and gulped madeira. “ Must you keep reminding me? You know I make her worse. And what do you think that ’ s like for me, for her own mother? Jon, don ’ t you see, that ’ s why I want to get away, not to watch this girl making herself at home with my child. Taking my place! A stranger, a nobody, from God knows where ... Perhaps worse than a nobody. How do we know? ”
“ Stop it! ” At first, he had been in a fair way to being sorry for her, but her reference to Kate ’ s past caught him on the raw. He had wondered about it too often himself. “ We won ’ t talk any more about Mrs. Croston, ” he went on more mildly. “ As to your going to Boston: time enough to think of that in a week or so. ”
“ But, Jonathan! ” Too late. He had already left her.
Back in Sarah ’ s room, he stood, for a long time, silently by the bed, where, now, she lay asleep and asked himself, over again, all the old, despairing questions. At last he turned away, sighing, to shut himself up in his own room at the far end of the hall from Arabella ’ s.
Upstairs, Kate was asleep already. Much later, she woke with a start to the sound of a child ’ s frantic screaming. Sarah! She was out of bed in a flash, feeling in the dark for her dressing gown, then paused, hesitating. What good, after all, could she do, a complete stranger? She could hear movement downstairs, a door opening ... The screams were louder, desperate, an agony to hear. She felt her way to the door of her room and opened it a crack. Now she could hear Jonathan ’ s voice, a soothing murmur against the harsh persistent treble of the screams. That settled it. She closed the door as quietly as she had opened it and found her way back to bed.
The screams went on and on. In the morning it was hard to believe that she must have fallen asleep through them. Broad daylight warned her that she had slept late, and she was out of bed in a bound and hurrying into her clothes. On the floor below, a glance into Sarah ’ s room showed it empty and quiet, the bed already made up. She passed the closed doors of the other bedrooms and hurried on down the main stairway to the hall that ran from front to back of the house. There was no sound or sig n of life. A door at the far end was open onto morning sunshine, and she moved instinctively to it and looked out on a broad stretch of rather shaggy lawn that fell away toward the river. Not a sign of life anywhere. Feeling oddly lost in this silent landscape, she walked across the rough grass to the wall that edged the river. A gravel path ran along her side of it, and she turned to follow it upstream toward a small building that had caught her eye among the trees that bordered the lawn. It was, illogically, a relief to get away from the sightless windows of the house. She had a curious feeling of flight as she approached the gray building and saw, with a little shock of surprise, that it was a miniature mutation of a Greek temple. The kind of folly one might have expected to find in an English garden, it seemed oddly out of place here. Hard to imagine Jonathan Penrose spending his money on such a frivolity. But Arabella perhaps?
Arabella? Mrs. Penrose. At last, reluctantly, she made herself remember last night ’ s hostile reception. It had hurt horribly at the time, but now she could see that there might be plenty of reasons for it. Facing them, she sat down a little forlornly on the marble bench in front of the temple, castigating herself as she did so, for a coward. She ought to be in the house, finding Sarah, finding servants, asking for breakfast, asserting herself. In a minute, she would go ...
The minute drew
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