Read Online The Ghost and Mrs. Muir by R. A. Dick - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: R. A. Dick
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blotting paper in a great wooden press, labelling the faded corpses with dead Latin names.
“He’s so keen,” said Eva after one such expedition, “and I must say I do like keenness. That’s where you fail, Lucy, you are not keen.”
“I am, about my own things,” said Lucy, “but I prefer growing things to taking life.”
“Taking life!” repeated Eva. “You talk as if I were a murderess!”
“Well, aren’t you?” said Lucy.
“My dear child!” said Eva. “A few flowers and insects! Where is your sense of proportion? Besides, think what a lot Cyril is learning.”
“He could learn it just as well out of books,” said Lucy, “without destroying so much beauty. Oh, I know it’s necessary for scientists to destroy life in order to preserve it, but I cannot see that it’s essential for little boys to make these morgues of birds’ eggs and butterflies and——”
“I must start you on some knitting,” interrupted Eva. “Knitting is wonderful for the nerves, and I think you should take a tonic. You aren’t yourself—I wrote to Helen yesterday about you—‘dear little Lucy is not at all herself,’ I said, ‘and I shall stay until she is.’ ”
“I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it,” wailed Lucy into her pillow that night, “and as for you,” she went on, raising her head and looking across at the portrait of Captain Gregg, glinting sardonically down at her in the moonlight that streamed through her uncurtained windows, “as for you, you’re no help at all. You said I was to leave Eva to you, and you haven’t been near me for a week!”
“If you will remember our last conversation, you implored me not to come near you till that woman had gone away,” said the captain’s voice.
“And you said you’d do no such thing,” said Lucy.
“Perverse little creature, aren’t you?” The captain chuckled. “Well, if you ask me nicely, perhaps I’ll help you after all.”
“What will you do?” asked Lucy, doubtful again now that she had forced the issue.
“Never you mind, that’s my business.”
“You must tell me,” said Lucy, “you must tell me,” andstopped abruptly and lay flat in the bed at the sound of a door opening across the passage and footsteps shuffling in bedroom slippers.
“Are you all right?” asked Eva, coming into the room.
“Quite, thank you,” said Lucy, pulling the sheet up to her chin and peering over it at the square figure of Eva in a pale pink kimono, her hair in a tight thin plait tied with white tape, her face smeared with cold cream shining pallidly in the moonlight, her short-sighted eyes searching about the room.
“I thought I heard you cry out,” said Eva.
“Did you?” remarked Lucy nervously. She could feel the captain’s presence almost like a buffer between her and Eva, and she trembled under the bed-clothes lest he should break into the conversation.
“You must have been having a nightmare,” said Eva, settling herself on the end of the bed.
“No,” said Lucy, “I wasn’t asleep.”
“But I distinctly heard you cry out,” persisted Eva. “ ‘You must tell me,’ I thought I heard you call that out twice.”
“It must have been your imagination,” said Lucy, “voices—you know—like Joan of Arc——”
“My dear child!” exclaimed Eva. “What an idea! I can assure you that
I
have my imagination completely under control—voices indeed! Really, Lucy, I am quite worried about you. You must get away for a bit, you must go on a cruise.”
“A cruise!” said Lucy.
“Yes,” replied Eva, “lots of people go on them and have loads of fun. It would do you all the good in the world—stop all this brooding nonsense. You could go to the West Indies or the Greek Islands and meet the nicest people—you’d love it.”
“Tell her to go on a cruise herself,” roared Captain Gregg, “and drown herself.”
Lucy closed her eyes and waited for pandemonium to break over her head; but all was quiet, and she
“He’s so keen,” said Eva after one such expedition, “and I must say I do like keenness. That’s where you fail, Lucy, you are not keen.”
“I am, about my own things,” said Lucy, “but I prefer growing things to taking life.”
“Taking life!” repeated Eva. “You talk as if I were a murderess!”
“Well, aren’t you?” said Lucy.
“My dear child!” said Eva. “A few flowers and insects! Where is your sense of proportion? Besides, think what a lot Cyril is learning.”
“He could learn it just as well out of books,” said Lucy, “without destroying so much beauty. Oh, I know it’s necessary for scientists to destroy life in order to preserve it, but I cannot see that it’s essential for little boys to make these morgues of birds’ eggs and butterflies and——”
“I must start you on some knitting,” interrupted Eva. “Knitting is wonderful for the nerves, and I think you should take a tonic. You aren’t yourself—I wrote to Helen yesterday about you—‘dear little Lucy is not at all herself,’ I said, ‘and I shall stay until she is.’ ”
“I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it,” wailed Lucy into her pillow that night, “and as for you,” she went on, raising her head and looking across at the portrait of Captain Gregg, glinting sardonically down at her in the moonlight that streamed through her uncurtained windows, “as for you, you’re no help at all. You said I was to leave Eva to you, and you haven’t been near me for a week!”
“If you will remember our last conversation, you implored me not to come near you till that woman had gone away,” said the captain’s voice.
“And you said you’d do no such thing,” said Lucy.
“Perverse little creature, aren’t you?” The captain chuckled. “Well, if you ask me nicely, perhaps I’ll help you after all.”
“What will you do?” asked Lucy, doubtful again now that she had forced the issue.
“Never you mind, that’s my business.”
“You must tell me,” said Lucy, “you must tell me,” andstopped abruptly and lay flat in the bed at the sound of a door opening across the passage and footsteps shuffling in bedroom slippers.
“Are you all right?” asked Eva, coming into the room.
“Quite, thank you,” said Lucy, pulling the sheet up to her chin and peering over it at the square figure of Eva in a pale pink kimono, her hair in a tight thin plait tied with white tape, her face smeared with cold cream shining pallidly in the moonlight, her short-sighted eyes searching about the room.
“I thought I heard you cry out,” said Eva.
“Did you?” remarked Lucy nervously. She could feel the captain’s presence almost like a buffer between her and Eva, and she trembled under the bed-clothes lest he should break into the conversation.
“You must have been having a nightmare,” said Eva, settling herself on the end of the bed.
“No,” said Lucy, “I wasn’t asleep.”
“But I distinctly heard you cry out,” persisted Eva. “ ‘You must tell me,’ I thought I heard you call that out twice.”
“It must have been your imagination,” said Lucy, “voices—you know—like Joan of Arc——”
“My dear child!” exclaimed Eva. “What an idea! I can assure you that
I
have my imagination completely under control—voices indeed! Really, Lucy, I am quite worried about you. You must get away for a bit, you must go on a cruise.”
“A cruise!” said Lucy.
“Yes,” replied Eva, “lots of people go on them and have loads of fun. It would do you all the good in the world—stop all this brooding nonsense. You could go to the West Indies or the Greek Islands and meet the nicest people—you’d love it.”
“Tell her to go on a cruise herself,” roared Captain Gregg, “and drown herself.”
Lucy closed her eyes and waited for pandemonium to break over her head; but all was quiet, and she
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