Читать книгу Iron and Smoke - Sheila Kaye-Smith - Страница 20

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A few days later she heard that Mrs Halnaker was very ill. Something had gone wrong, a specialist had been sent for, and there were grave fears that she might not recover. Jenny heard the news from Miss Mollet, and brought it to Humphrey, who had, however, already heard it from some other source.

“Isn’t it dreadful,” she cried. “Poor Mrs Halnaker! I shall go again and leave our cards.”

“Yes, do. That will make an enormous amount of difference.”

“But I expect she’s got more flowers than she can do with already, so I won’t take any this time. Oh, I do hope she’ll get well.”

“I don’t. I hope she’ll die.”

“Humphrey!”

“I don’t suppose she wants to live, poor woman. Her life must be wretched now—bound to that rotter, who’s given her hell all these years. She can’t have wanted to be burdened with another child of his. She’s got three now. Three chains.... And all the goodness gone out of life.”

“Humphrey, don’t talk like that. How can you know?”

His manner frightened her. For a moment she wondered if he could possibly have been drinking.

He laughed rather dreadfully in a way meant to be reassuring.

“I don’t know. Of course I don’t know. I’m only guessing.”

“Well, I wish you wouldn’t talk like that. It’s all dreadful.”

“Dreadful! Dreadful! How fond you are of that word.”

She swallowed her rising sobs, and walked out of the room with as much dignity as she could command. For the first time since their marriage he had really shocked and frightened her. The unkind sarcasm which had been growing in the last few days had now culminated in a cynicism and mockery that terrified her far more than any deliberate anger. She had tried to blind herself to his mood at first, but now it was impossible not to see, and the human spirit in her was outraged. He had no right to treat her so, however much he wanted a child.... She still believed him to be fretting over this, in spite of what he had said about Isabel’s children. That was probably more sarcasm. ... Some instinctive disappointment in herself made her persist in her conviction of his, and she was doubly hurt by his manner of showing it.

For a whole day she was shy and angry in his presence, and his perverse mood continued, holding them apart long after she had relented. But as her natural humility overcame her sense of outrage, she deliberately sought opportunities for reconciliation. They were rare, for she could see that he avoided her; he was out continually, riding about his estate. But one evening, coming in from a drive to Old Mogador, where she had learned Mrs Halnaker was a little better, she found him huddled forlornly by the drawing-room fire, which had been lit for the chills of the June evening. In the dim light he looked pathetic and appealingly young. For the first time he stirred in her feelings that were possessive rather than submissive, maternal and compassionate rather than diffident. She went over to him, slipping her arm about him, pressing her cheek to his, to fill the measure of her pity by the discovery that it was wet.

“Humphrey, my dear, what is it? What’s hurt you?”

He said—“Nothing. I’m all right.”

But for a moment he leaned against her, pressing his head into the hollow of her breast; then he pulled her arm so that her face was drawn down to him and their lips met. For a moment he was just a little boy, then suddenly passionate husband. Her heart throbbed with the response to both demands from him, in a conflict of ecstasy which was almost pain.