Читать книгу Who Pays the Piper? - Dora Amy Elles - Страница 9

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Susan woke in the night and heard a cry. It must have been the cry that waked her, and just for a moment her heart beat strongly. Then she knew what it was—Cathy calling out in her sleep as she had often done in their nursery days when anything had happened to disturb or frighten her. She jumped out of bed, caught up her dressing-gown without stopping to put it on, and ran barefoot into Cathy’s room.

There were just the three bedrooms in the Little House, and because they had no maid they could have one each. When Bill stayed he got the drawing-room sofa, and said it spoilt him for his hard London bed. Cathy’s room looked to the garden. The window stood wide to a cloudy sky and a soft, damp air.

Susan shut the door behind her and felt her way to the bed. She had reached the foot, when she heard a smothered sob. She was on her knees in a moment, holding Cathy close and speaking her name.

“Cathy—what is it? Are you ill?”

The little figure trembled. A shaky voice said, “Oh, Susan!” and was choked by another sob.

“My lamb, what is it? Tell Susan——”

“It—it—was a dream—a horrible dream——”

Susan had both arms round her, rocking her like a baby.

“Silly little thing! A dream isn’t anything to be frightened about. It’s gone. You’ve waked up, and I’m here. Everything’s all right. Would you like the light?”

“Not with you——” There was a long quivering breath. “Lovely to wake up. But oh, I wish I didn’t dream.”

“You haven’t done it for a long time, have you? And it’s not true—it’s never true, darling.”

“It’s just as bad while it lasts,” said Cathy. She sat up and clutched at Susan. “It was a most horrid dream about being in a cage. I was locked in, and I couldn’t get out, and they came and pointed at me through the bars. It was just as bad as if it was true, because as long as you don’t wake up it is true in the dream.”

She shook so much that the whole bed shook too.

Susan said “Nonsense!” in a brisk voice. She leaned sideways, found a box of matches, and lit the candle. It showed Cathy very much as the nursery candlelight had showed her when she was eight years old and afraid of the dark, like a little white ghost with her hair damp on her forehead and her hands clenched together under her chin.

“There—that’s better,” said Susan. “You don’t wake right up in the dark. Shall I make you a cup of tea?”

“No—don’t go——” There was another of those long breaths. “I’ll be all right again soon, but—stay a little. I don’t want it to come back.”

Susan said, “It won’t.”

She put on her blue dressing-gown and came and sat on the bed, her hair loose on her neck and golden in the candlelight. She had been lying on her side before she woke, and that cheek was warmly flushed. Her eyes were very kind, and soft with sleep. Cathy looked at her and said,

“I don’t want you to be cold. It’s going away. Stay just a little.”

“I’m not cold,” said Susan.

“It’s really going. I think that woman frightened me. She wasn’t like anyone I’ve ever talked to before. There was something fierce about her. I expect that’s what made me have that dream.”

Susan said, “Silly little thing——” in a warm, sleepy voice. The candlelight flickered in her eyes, the flame had a halo round it. She blinked, and heard Cathy say as if from a long way off,

“Did you know he was married, Susan?”

It was like cold water in her face. The drowsy feeling left her. She said,

“Oh, yes—he told me. But they are divorced.”

Cathy said, “Oh!” The frightened feeling touched her again. She said in a whisper,

“When did he tell you that?”

“Day before yesterday, when I came up about the lily pond.”

“Why did he tell you?” said Cathy, still in that whisper.

There was no sleep in Susan now. She said in a clear, reserved voice,

“I suppose he wanted me to know.”

“She wrote to him,” said Cathy. “She said so. She wrote and said she was coming. He must have had the letter that morning before he asked you to come up and talk about the pool. If he told you then——Susan, why did he tell you then? I don’t like it—it frightens me.”

It didn’t frighten Susan, it displeased her. She said,

“It doesn’t matter, Cathy. If he knew she was coming he might have thought he would rather tell us himself that he had been married.”

“He didn’t tell us, he told you. Why did he do that?”

Susan made no answer.

All at once Cathy leaned forward and caught her wrist.

“He’s in love with you—that’s why he told you. It frightens me.”

“I think you’re being silly,” said Susan. Her voice changed suddenly. “Cathy! You mustn’t say things like that!”

“It’s true.”

Susan stood up.

“That’s all the more reason for not talking about it,” she said.