Read Online Mansfield with Monsters by Katherine Mansfield - Free Book Online Page B

bridegroom tarry?” said Mug as though only now observing that it was only the three of them at the front door.
    â€œNever mind all that, Face. It’s time we headed for home and hearth. Do tell that husband of yours good-night from us, darling.”
    â€œQuite. Leave him and Eddie to their whisky.” He squeezed Bertha’s hand as he shook it and sailed out the door with a wave, declaring that: “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”
    â€œGood-night, good-bye,” she cried from the top step, feeling that this self of hers was taking leave of them for ever. She watched them walk down the path and disappear into the shadows as though the night had swallowed them whole.
    When she got back into the drawing-room Eddie was alone by the fire.
    â€œI wonder if you have seen Bilks’ new poem called ‘Table d’Hôte’,” said Eddie softly. “It’s so wonderful. In the last Anthology. Have you got a copy? I’d so like to show it to you. It begins with an incredibly beautiful line: ‘Why Must it Always be Tomato Soup?’ ”
    â€œYes,” said Bertha. And she moved noiselessly to a table opposite the drawing-room door and Eddie glided noiselessly after her. She picked up the little book and gave it to him; they had not made a sound.
    He wandered back to his seat to look it up and she went back to the door and eased it open a crack. She saw Harry striding out of his study carrying Miss Fulton’s coat. Miss Fulton stood a few steps down the hall with her back to him and her head bent. He advanced on her, tossed the coat down at her feet, put his hands on her shoulders and turned her violently to him.
    â€œWhere were you this afternoon? Why didn’t you come? I crossed the river to wait for you!” he hissed.
    â€œI couldn’t,” she murmured, eyes down at the floor. “I was… detained.”
    His lips said: “You can’t do this to me. I adore you,” and Miss Fulton laid her moonbeam fingers on his cheeks and smiled her sleepy smile. Harry’s nostrils quivered; his lips curled back in a hideous grin while he whispered: “To-morrow, you must meet me, I have had our private little hotel across the river restocked and fortified,” and with her eyelids Miss Fulton said: “Yes.”
    He grabbed her by her arm and kissed her mouth and then her neck, his fingers caressing her skin so that her silver dress slipped off the shoulder on the left side.
    Bertha saw the red gash across the pale skin just as Harry’s fingers brushed over the dried wound on her left shoulder blade. Roughly, he bent her round to examine the mark.
    â€œIt’s just a scratch. It’s nothing,” Miss Fulton pleaded.
    Bertha wanted to burst through the doorway and rush in between them, or to scream at her to flee, but she couldn’t move or speak.
    â€œHere it is,” said Eddie, walking up behind Bertha. “ ‘Why Must it Always be Tomato Soup?’ It’s so deeply true, don’t you feel? Tomato soup is so dreadfully eternal. Oh, I say!”
    At the sound of his voice, Harry spun round face them, allowing Miss Fulton a moment’s distraction to break free from his grip. It was as though she understood Bertha’s thoughts entirely. The exit to the street blocked by Harry’s bulk, she darted to the back door of the drawing-room.
    â€œPlease,” Bertha wished silently, “let her flee, let her escape.”
    Miss Fulton’s slender fingers wrapped around the door handle. She held it for a moment longer and then looked back up the hall towards Bertha as she stepped out of the drawing-room.
    â€œGood-bye,” whispered Bertha.
    Miss Fulton turned, opened the door and ran out into the darkness. Harry didn’t chase her but marched back into his study. Bertha started to cross the hall but as she neared the study Harry strode through the door, wielding his shotgun.
    â€œHarry, no.