Read Online The Spring Madness of Mr Sermon by R. F. Delderfield - Free Book Online
Authors: R. F. Delderfield
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astonishment, indignation and alarm but buried deep under these there existed an intense and burning curiosity that urged her to risk a second encounter with the man on the other side of the door, even to the extent of provoking him to commit further outrages on her person if she could determine exactly how far he was likely to go in the improbable role of satyr. Intense Curiosity warmed and excited her, so that she felt her limbs trembling and her heart pounding and it surprised her that the sensation was not entirely unfamiliar for now she recalled feeling like this once before, just once, a long, long time ago before she had married Sebastian. The memory, flickering across her mind like a distant shaft of lightning, pleased and stimulated her, so much so that desire rose in her belly like a slow, strong tide, banishing resentment and the ache in her back where she had cannoned against the door-jamb. Then his voice came to her, very flat and thin it seemed and certainly not the strident tone of a moment ago, so that suddenly she felt deflated and disappointed.
"I'm going, Sybil. I'm going away and I don't know when I shall come back. Perhaps never!" he ended dramatically.
It was a little boy threatening to hold his breath until he died. She heard him go into the dressing-room and rummage in his chest of drawers, then descend the step to the corridor and move along to the back of the house. Slowly she drew the bolt and re-entered the disordered room, moving round to the far side of the bed to gather up the ck»k, the broken pieces of lamp and the fragments of splintered wood and toss them into the window recess. Then, with great deliberation, she peeled off her foundation garment, removed
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stockings and brassiere and stood regarding herself in the mirror, patting herself here and there as she had done when Sebastian was watching her from the dressing-room. She saw her robe on the floor and picked it up, musing awhile, then threw it over the back of the chair and went softly to the dressing-room door. There was a light in the corridor and she remained on the threshold a moment, listening but hearing nothing except a goods train clank along the branch line in the valley.
"Sebastian!" she called at last but there was no answer and she pouted, moving across the dressing-room and into the corridor. "Sebastian, dear," she repeated, and wondered at the invitation in her voice. Still no answer and she began to feel vaguely frightened, hurrying back into the room, slipping on her gown and making her way along the corridor to the head of the stairs. She was standing there, one hand on the newel post, when the front door banged and the sound came to her like the first rumble of an avalanche so that she gave a little cry of alarm and darted across the landing to the window that looked over the lawn, pulling aside the curtain and peering down on to the short, curved drive.
She was just in time to see him pass out of sight behind the laurels that grew down to the gate, a slight, shadowy figure, with what appeared to be a lump on his back and a stick in his hand. She gasped with astonishment and dismay, unable for a moment to believe that she was not caught up in an extravagant film in which a sober, blameless husband walked out into the night with a bundle on his shoulder and hate in his heart.
When the Imp's time-limit had expired outside the locked door Mr. Sermon surrendered wholly to his directions. The Imp said: "Well, you've issued a challenge, now make it good!" and Sebastian obediently turned on his heel and walked through his dressing-room, into the corridor and up the stairs to the attic. He could not have said why he went to the attic until he reached there but then he knew. He went over to a rack where Sybil stored her theatrical props and took down the one possession of his own that rested there,
49
a huge khaki knapsack, with innumerable straps and pockets and buckles. Even empty, it must have weighed about six
"I'm going, Sybil. I'm going away and I don't know when I shall come back. Perhaps never!" he ended dramatically.
It was a little boy threatening to hold his breath until he died. She heard him go into the dressing-room and rummage in his chest of drawers, then descend the step to the corridor and move along to the back of the house. Slowly she drew the bolt and re-entered the disordered room, moving round to the far side of the bed to gather up the ck»k, the broken pieces of lamp and the fragments of splintered wood and toss them into the window recess. Then, with great deliberation, she peeled off her foundation garment, removed
48
stockings and brassiere and stood regarding herself in the mirror, patting herself here and there as she had done when Sebastian was watching her from the dressing-room. She saw her robe on the floor and picked it up, musing awhile, then threw it over the back of the chair and went softly to the dressing-room door. There was a light in the corridor and she remained on the threshold a moment, listening but hearing nothing except a goods train clank along the branch line in the valley.
"Sebastian!" she called at last but there was no answer and she pouted, moving across the dressing-room and into the corridor. "Sebastian, dear," she repeated, and wondered at the invitation in her voice. Still no answer and she began to feel vaguely frightened, hurrying back into the room, slipping on her gown and making her way along the corridor to the head of the stairs. She was standing there, one hand on the newel post, when the front door banged and the sound came to her like the first rumble of an avalanche so that she gave a little cry of alarm and darted across the landing to the window that looked over the lawn, pulling aside the curtain and peering down on to the short, curved drive.
She was just in time to see him pass out of sight behind the laurels that grew down to the gate, a slight, shadowy figure, with what appeared to be a lump on his back and a stick in his hand. She gasped with astonishment and dismay, unable for a moment to believe that she was not caught up in an extravagant film in which a sober, blameless husband walked out into the night with a bundle on his shoulder and hate in his heart.
When the Imp's time-limit had expired outside the locked door Mr. Sermon surrendered wholly to his directions. The Imp said: "Well, you've issued a challenge, now make it good!" and Sebastian obediently turned on his heel and walked through his dressing-room, into the corridor and up the stairs to the attic. He could not have said why he went to the attic until he reached there but then he knew. He went over to a rack where Sybil stored her theatrical props and took down the one possession of his own that rested there,
49
a huge khaki knapsack, with innumerable straps and pockets and buckles. Even empty, it must have weighed about six
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