Read Online Touch Not The Cat by Mary Stewart - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Stewart
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heard the creak of the gate opening in the far wall, and then the pause. I stood getting my breath and trying to open my mind to reach him again. But nothing came except that muddled mixture of exhilaration and amazement and guilt. I wondered again, but this time wholly without blame, what he had been doing in the church. Whatever it was, I was with him; I had to be. I sent him all I had of love, and need and longing, and got the answer, more clearly even than the wind across the trees. Not yet. Trust me. Not yet. There was another creak as the garden gate shut fast. The latch dropped. I was alone in the garden.
I trudged back the way I had come, and, regaining the churchyard, went by the normal route to the farm.
The darkness hid the dilapidation of the big farmyard. Barns and sheds lay on the left, and on the other side the chimney stacks of the farmhouse stood up into the moonlight. The house had been empty ever since the farmlands, which were not part of the trust, were sold. The farmer who had bought the land had not found it worth his while to repair the house, which had stood empty now for years; it was used as a storehouse and even, occasionally, to house young stock. The hens roosted there, and pigeons nested in the attics. Adjoining it, and in heartening contrast, were the two farm cottages, which still belonged to Ashley. These showed whitewashed walls reflecting the moonlight, and brightly lit windows with gay curtains.
In the cottage nearest to the farmhouse the Hendersons lived; Mr. Henderson, a man well into his sixties, was sexton and gravedigger to Ashley and One Ash; his wife "did for" the Vicar, and obliged at the Court when asked. She also cleaned and mended for Rob Granger, who lived in the other cottage.
When I was a child the Grangers had lived at the big farmhouse, but a couple of years after Mr.
Granger's death, when the farm was sold, Rob and his mother moved into the cottage. Mrs. Granger herself had died not long after, and now Rob lived alone.
As I crossed the yard the door of his cottage opened, and he peered out, silhouetted against the light.
"That you, Miss Bryony?"
"Oh, Rob, hullo! How nice to see you again. Yes, it's me. How did you guess?"
"Well, I reckoned you'd be coming across for the bike. I knew you were here. I saw you come out of the church. You went after him, did you?"
I stopped dead. "You were there? Do you mean to tell me you saw him?"
"I did. Quick as a hare out of the vestry door and behind the yew walk. He stood there the best part of an hour."
"You actually watched him?"
"Aye, I did."
"And you didn't ask him what he was doing?"
"I didn't rightly like to, seeing who it was."
There was a pause of seconds. At the moment when it would have been remarkable, I asked:
"Well, who was it?"
He looked surprised. "You didn't talk to him, then? I made sure he was waiting for you."
"Apparently not. Who was it?"
Something, in spite of me, must have come through my voice. He said quickly: "You've no call to worry. It was only your cousin. One of them, that is. I couldn't tell for sure, not in that light, or lack of it.
But an Ashley; I couldn't mistake that."
"Then why did you stay to watch him?"
"I don't rightly know." He showed no resentment at the rather sharp question. "The way he came running out of the vestry . . . I didn't recognize him at first, so I went up, careful, under the bushes by the wall, where I could see. I saw the church lights go on then, for a minute, and I saw it was one of the Ashleys. I guessed that it might be you in the church. Then the main lights went off again, but you didn't come out."
"No," I said. "I—I wanted the dark."
"I guessed that. And I think he did, too. He stayed there, waiting for you."
I said nothing. I was fighting back disappointment so acute that I was afraid he would notice it. I stood looking down, uncertain what to say next. I had quite forgotten my errand to the farm.
"Won't you come in?" said Rob. "No sense in
I trudged back the way I had come, and, regaining the churchyard, went by the normal route to the farm.
The darkness hid the dilapidation of the big farmyard. Barns and sheds lay on the left, and on the other side the chimney stacks of the farmhouse stood up into the moonlight. The house had been empty ever since the farmlands, which were not part of the trust, were sold. The farmer who had bought the land had not found it worth his while to repair the house, which had stood empty now for years; it was used as a storehouse and even, occasionally, to house young stock. The hens roosted there, and pigeons nested in the attics. Adjoining it, and in heartening contrast, were the two farm cottages, which still belonged to Ashley. These showed whitewashed walls reflecting the moonlight, and brightly lit windows with gay curtains.
In the cottage nearest to the farmhouse the Hendersons lived; Mr. Henderson, a man well into his sixties, was sexton and gravedigger to Ashley and One Ash; his wife "did for" the Vicar, and obliged at the Court when asked. She also cleaned and mended for Rob Granger, who lived in the other cottage.
When I was a child the Grangers had lived at the big farmhouse, but a couple of years after Mr.
Granger's death, when the farm was sold, Rob and his mother moved into the cottage. Mrs. Granger herself had died not long after, and now Rob lived alone.
As I crossed the yard the door of his cottage opened, and he peered out, silhouetted against the light.
"That you, Miss Bryony?"
"Oh, Rob, hullo! How nice to see you again. Yes, it's me. How did you guess?"
"Well, I reckoned you'd be coming across for the bike. I knew you were here. I saw you come out of the church. You went after him, did you?"
I stopped dead. "You were there? Do you mean to tell me you saw him?"
"I did. Quick as a hare out of the vestry door and behind the yew walk. He stood there the best part of an hour."
"You actually watched him?"
"Aye, I did."
"And you didn't ask him what he was doing?"
"I didn't rightly like to, seeing who it was."
There was a pause of seconds. At the moment when it would have been remarkable, I asked:
"Well, who was it?"
He looked surprised. "You didn't talk to him, then? I made sure he was waiting for you."
"Apparently not. Who was it?"
Something, in spite of me, must have come through my voice. He said quickly: "You've no call to worry. It was only your cousin. One of them, that is. I couldn't tell for sure, not in that light, or lack of it.
But an Ashley; I couldn't mistake that."
"Then why did you stay to watch him?"
"I don't rightly know." He showed no resentment at the rather sharp question. "The way he came running out of the vestry . . . I didn't recognize him at first, so I went up, careful, under the bushes by the wall, where I could see. I saw the church lights go on then, for a minute, and I saw it was one of the Ashleys. I guessed that it might be you in the church. Then the main lights went off again, but you didn't come out."
"No," I said. "I—I wanted the dark."
"I guessed that. And I think he did, too. He stayed there, waiting for you."
I said nothing. I was fighting back disappointment so acute that I was afraid he would notice it. I stood looking down, uncertain what to say next. I had quite forgotten my errand to the farm.
"Won't you come in?" said Rob. "No sense in
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