Read Online Sea Change by Robert Goddard - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Goddard
Ads: Link
followed the route Zuyler had said was the easiest, even if it was not the quickest, along the Montelbaanswal to the Amstel. He crossed the river by the first bridge to the west and traversed a deserted market-place. From the far corner of the market-place a narrow street led off between the rear walls of the houses on the Herengracht and the frontages of humbler dwellings. This, according to Zuyler, would take him to de Vries's coach-house entrance, which he would be able to recognize by the lamp-bracket on the coach-house door, worked as it was in the form of a monkey. The lamp would be lit, in readiness for the coach's return. If not lit, it could only mean that de Vries had not gone to the concert for some reason, in which case the attempt would have to be abandoned.
But it was lit. And there was the cast iron monkey beneath, grinning at him, it seemed, in the flickering glow of the lamp. Spandrel closed the shutter on his lantern, withdrew into the shadows and waited for the clock Zuyler had assured him was within earshot to strike ten, by which time Zuyler was confident the servants would all be in the basement, digesting their supper and regurgitating familiar complaints about their master.
It was a cold and nervous vigil that probably lasted no more than ten minutes but felt to Spandrel like so many hours. He half-expected the coach to return, or Hondslager to leap at him out of the darkness. Less fancifully, he feared a passer-by would notice him and become suspicious. But there were no passers-by, save one savage-looking cat carrying a mouse in its jaws, who paid Spandrel no attention whatever. Only the stars watched him. Only the night listened. Eventually, the clock struck.
The narrow door in the wall beside the coach-house entrance opened with barely a creak. Spandrel stepped through into a short alley leading to the garden. It appeared as a gulf of blackness between him and the house, where lights shone dimly in the basement. Otherwise all was in darkness. He opened the shutter on his lantern and made his way along the coach-house wall until he reached the lean-to shed at its far end. He raised the latch and eased the door open. There was the ladder, just inside, standing among the hoes and rakes. He took the hammer and chisel out of the sack and wedged them in his pockets in order to free a hand for the ladder, then set off across the garden with his burden, holding the lantern at arm's length in front of him to light the path.
He was breathing heavily by the time he reached the terrace, sweating despite the cold. He glanced down into what looked like a pantry, into which light was spilling meagrely from a room beyond. Mercifully, there was no-one to be seen. Nor, when he paused to listen, could he hear any voices. The coast was clear.
Telling himself to go slowly and carefully, he propped the ladder against the sill beneath the farthest window of the library — the one Zuyler had said he would leave unfastened — and clambered up. There was a moment's resistance from the sash. Then, with a squeak, it gave. He pushed it halfway up, hung the lantern from one of the handles on the frame and scrambled in.
He was back in the room where Estelle de Vries had plied him with tea and Ysbrand de Vries had taken his contemptuous measure of him. He imagined them sitting next to each other at the concert, Estelle relishing the music while Ysbrand relished only the envy of other men that the sight of her would inspire. Spandrel wondered if she would be secretly pleased by what he was about to do. He could not help hoping she would. Maybe it would somehow set her free. If so—
Angry with himself for wasting time on such thoughts, he turned and pulled the ladder up after him. Leaving it in position would be to invite discovery. He laid it on the floor, then retrieved the lantern and closed the window. Silence closed about him as he did so, a silence broken only by the ticking of a clock. He looked round the room, at
But it was lit. And there was the cast iron monkey beneath, grinning at him, it seemed, in the flickering glow of the lamp. Spandrel closed the shutter on his lantern, withdrew into the shadows and waited for the clock Zuyler had assured him was within earshot to strike ten, by which time Zuyler was confident the servants would all be in the basement, digesting their supper and regurgitating familiar complaints about their master.
It was a cold and nervous vigil that probably lasted no more than ten minutes but felt to Spandrel like so many hours. He half-expected the coach to return, or Hondslager to leap at him out of the darkness. Less fancifully, he feared a passer-by would notice him and become suspicious. But there were no passers-by, save one savage-looking cat carrying a mouse in its jaws, who paid Spandrel no attention whatever. Only the stars watched him. Only the night listened. Eventually, the clock struck.
The narrow door in the wall beside the coach-house entrance opened with barely a creak. Spandrel stepped through into a short alley leading to the garden. It appeared as a gulf of blackness between him and the house, where lights shone dimly in the basement. Otherwise all was in darkness. He opened the shutter on his lantern and made his way along the coach-house wall until he reached the lean-to shed at its far end. He raised the latch and eased the door open. There was the ladder, just inside, standing among the hoes and rakes. He took the hammer and chisel out of the sack and wedged them in his pockets in order to free a hand for the ladder, then set off across the garden with his burden, holding the lantern at arm's length in front of him to light the path.
He was breathing heavily by the time he reached the terrace, sweating despite the cold. He glanced down into what looked like a pantry, into which light was spilling meagrely from a room beyond. Mercifully, there was no-one to be seen. Nor, when he paused to listen, could he hear any voices. The coast was clear.
Telling himself to go slowly and carefully, he propped the ladder against the sill beneath the farthest window of the library — the one Zuyler had said he would leave unfastened — and clambered up. There was a moment's resistance from the sash. Then, with a squeak, it gave. He pushed it halfway up, hung the lantern from one of the handles on the frame and scrambled in.
He was back in the room where Estelle de Vries had plied him with tea and Ysbrand de Vries had taken his contemptuous measure of him. He imagined them sitting next to each other at the concert, Estelle relishing the music while Ysbrand relished only the envy of other men that the sight of her would inspire. Spandrel wondered if she would be secretly pleased by what he was about to do. He could not help hoping she would. Maybe it would somehow set her free. If so—
Angry with himself for wasting time on such thoughts, he turned and pulled the ladder up after him. Leaving it in position would be to invite discovery. He laid it on the floor, then retrieved the lantern and closed the window. Silence closed about him as he did so, a silence broken only by the ticking of a clock. He looked round the room, at
Similar Books
