Read Online The Black Swan by Philippa Carr - Free Book Online Page B

dozed a little. Then … something wakened me. It sounded like a scratching on the window. I lay staring into the darkness. The light from the street lamp showed me the outline of familiar furniture. It was something I had found comforting when I was very young. I was thankful for that street lamp. It had played a part in my life. And then it had shown me clearly the face of my father’s murderer. I could not have been so sure of him if I had not seen him standing hatless under it on that fateful night.
    Again that scratching on the window. I looked and was in time to see that it was a handful of small pebbles which had been thrown at it.
    I got out of bed and went to the window. My heart seemed to stop for a second as I caught my breath, for standing there, under the street lamp, was a figure in an opera cloak and hat. It was a man. He looked straight up at me as I stood at the window. For a few seconds we remained motionless, then suddenly he took off his hat and bowed. As he was standing under the street lamp I could see him clearly. I saw the widow’s peak, even the faint outline of the scar.
    He was smiling up at me, mockingly.
    I could not move. I just stood there, limp with horror.
    The man put his hat on his head and slowly sauntered out of sight.
    I was shivering; my limbs were shaking. What had I seen? Was it a ghost? That was my first thought. He had come back to haunt me.
    For a few moments, I stood there staring down at the deserted street. Then I went back to bed.
    I was still trembling. Then another and more terrible thought occurred to me. Was the man I had condemned not my father’s murderer? That man was still here. I had seen him this night, after the other had been hanged.
    Oh, God help me, I thought. I have condemned an innocent man.
    But the man I had seen in court was the man I had seen in the street on those two occasions. But if that were so, how could he have been down there on this night?
    He had meant me to see him. He had thrown pebbles at my window.
    Had he been real or was he a phantom come back to haunt me?

Belinda
    P EDREK WAS WAITING AT the station with the carriage when we arrived. The journey had seemed long and all through it I had been trying to forget what I had seen on the previous night. There were moments when I almost convinced myself that I had imagined the whole thing.
    I was certainly in an unusual state. I had been terribly shocked. It was just possible that I had suffered from some hallucination. That was the happiest conclusion to which I could come, although I hated to think of myself being so mentally disturbed.
    I wanted to tell Rebecca. I felt sure she would have some explanation. Indeed, I had had to restrain myself during that night from going along to her bedroom to tell her all about it.
    As we sped across the country past green fields and wooded hills, through villages and the outskirts of towns, I began to get a sense of normality, and the more I thought of what I had seen last night, the more reasonable it seemed to believe that I had imagined the whole thing.
    Pedrek embraced us all.
    He said to Rebecca, “It’s been a long time.”
    Rebecca replied, “Yes, I know, but …” and he nodded, understanding, I felt, as he always would.
    We got into the carriage and our luggage was put in beside us.
    “The children are all agog,” said Pedrek. “Nanny Billings has made a great concession. They are going to be allowed to sit up a little later tonight because you have come home.”
    “The darlings!” said Rebecca. “I’ve been away so long. I hope they haven’t forgotten me.”
    “They certainly have not!” Pedrek assured her. “Every morning, Nanny Billings tells me she is asked, ‘When is Mummy coming home?’”
    “That’s a relief,” said Rebecca. “I should have hated to have my children look on me as a stranger.”
    “Well, High Tor waits to welcome you. I can tell you, the entire household has been in the throes of feverish preparation ever