Джон Пристли - Benighted

Sir William felt he wanted to do something. He turned to Mr. Femm. "Who's this fellow, Morgan? Your man? Is he as bad as all that? Couldn't you tackle him about it – tell him to get to bed?"

Mr. Femm, who did not look happy, shook his head. "I have seen him once or twice like this before. Being little better than a brute, he is very close to Nature, and these upheavals have a bad effect upon him, and then he takes to drink and that makes him worse."

"Could I tackle him?" Sir William looked masterful. "I'm used to dealing with some pretty tough customers. He's the big rough chap I saw at the door here, isn't he?"

"He is. Very big, very rough, very strong." A tiny smile crept into Mr. Femm's face. "He is also dumb."

"Dumb!" Sir William was taken aback. Somehow he couldn't see himself trying to reason with somebody who was dumb.

Mr. Femm nodded. "Very strong, very stupid, and dumb. I said he was very close to Nature." He nodded again and then walked away. Sir William stared and began to whistle soundlessly. This fellow was as odd as his servant. He joined the Wavertons at the fire.

After they had all risen from the table, Gladys and Penderel found themselves standing together. There were several yards and the width of the table between them and the others, who were close to the fire. This isolation was accidental, but they were in no hurry to put an end to it. The mood of candour and revelation had passed, leaving them rather shy and awkward with one another, but something had been carried over from that shared feeling. Their faces were still strange but their feet were on common ground.

Gladys looked about her and gave a little shiver. "Glad I'm not here alone," she told him. "This place'd give me the horrors."

Penderel was curious. "D"you mean absolutely alone?"

"No, I didn't really. I meant just with the people here."

"The Femms?" He hoped that that was what she did mean.

She met his glance and nodded. "Yes. There's something a bit queer about the man, but that little fat woman, with the voice – there's something about her . . ." She finished the sentence by wrinkling her nose.

Penderel hadn't troubled himself much with the thought of Miss Femm. "She's probably a harmless old creature, though she certainly does remind one of a slug."

Gladys kept the wrinkle on her nose for a few moments more, then let it go and smiled. "What's the time?"

He couldn't tell her. "Sorry. No watch."

"Fancy a man without a watch!" she cried, though the thought seemed to please her. "But I never have one neither. Can't be bothered somehow. Why don't you?"

"I hardly ever want to know how it's going – the time, I mean; and if I do, there's always somebody ready to tell me. Some people never seem to think about anything else. I don't think I like watches and clocks. We ought to go back to hour-glasses and sundials, things that deal with time quietly and don't for ever pester you with their sixty seconds to the minute."

She seemed to be looking at him rather than listening to him. "You're a funny boy," she said at last. "I expect you've been told that before."

Was this something real, only defeated by language, or was she becoming heavily arch? "No, I haven"t," he replied lightly. "I haven't been told anything for ages. I've been spending most of my time with men, and men, you know, never say things like that, never really tell you anything about yourself."

"I can tell you something about myself ," she said, making a droll little grimace.

"What's that?" He put on a look of mock gravity.

She curved a hand round her mouth. "I'm dying for a drink."

"So am I," he assented, heartily. "This confessional business has made me thirstier than ever. Well, what about a drink? There's some gin left there."

"Ugh! Not for me. I've not come to mopping straight gins yet. That'll be the last act. You wouldn't like to see me soaking gin now, would you?"

He admitted that he wouldn"t. And he meant it. It was curious how the idea revolted him. He had a quick shuddering thought of gay and impudent youth, of something that deliciously held the balance between the urchin and the woman, rotted away: a mere trick, of course, of associations, but nevertheless very curious.

"Isn't there anything else?" she went on. "One whisky now, and I'd face the rest of the night cheerfully. Sir Bill there, the greedy pig, swallowed all we had as soon as we came in. If you want to know how those men make so much money, that explains it. They're greedy pigs."

Penderel looked at the table and rubbed his chin. "I'm with you about the whisky. But there's none here."

"Well, it's a damn shame, now, isn't it? Why don't you carry a flask?"

He stared at her and suddenly struck his left palm with his right hand. "Why," he cried, "what a fool I am!"

"Of course you are." She made a mocking little face. "But what's the big idea?"

"I don't carry a flask as a rule, but I had one to-day. I'd forgotten all about it. You can hardly believe it, can you? But it's true. I had one, I had one, full of good whisky. I remember having one little drink out of it, when we started off again just after dinner."

"What about it, then?" she asked him. "You're not going to be a greedy pig, are you? You're not going to tell me now that little girls oughtn't to drink whisky?"

"Don't be silly. I'll go and get it and we'll share what there is, just the two of us."

"That's the spirit." Then her face seemed to change a little and now she really smiled at him. "Just the two of us. We don't want Bill in this – he doesn't deserve any either – and the others won't want any. Where is it?"

"In my raincoat pocket, I suppose," he replied. "I'll go and see." He went over to his coat, but returned shaking his head. "It's not there. I must have left it in the car, somewhere on the seat."

Her face fell. "If that isn't just my luck. What's the good of having a flask out there? We can't start climbing over rocks and wading through rivers to find it."

"But this car's here, just round the corner," he said. "You're forgetting that. I can easily slip out and get the flask."

"Of course!" she cried. "I was thinking of our car. Just a minute then, and I'll come to the door with you. I'll put my boots on first."

"Have you got a torch?" he asked. When he discovered that she had, having carried Sir William's through the darkness, he continued: "Well, if you let me have that, I can get the flask in a minute. No need for you to bother yourself, you know." But he hoped she would.

When she returned, wearing her boots and coat and carrying the torch, she said: "No, I'll come to the door with you. It'll be something to do and perhaps we'd better have our drink there. I've shocked your friend – Mrs. What"s-her-name – Waverton – enough for to-night. Besides, Bill will be wanting to butt in." The others were clustered round the fire and were paying no attention to them. Gladys was eager to go, to do something. It would be a little adventure. She didn't want to stand there, waiting for him.

They left the big door open behind them and stood at the top of the three steps outside, sheltered from the rain by a small porch. The night was as black as ever and still roared gustily, and the light from behind only showed them a gleaming slant of rain and pools in the sodden gravel. For a minute or so they made neither movement nor sound but simply stood close together, looking out. Somehow it was as if all things had narrowed to one perilous rim.

"Give me London," said Gladys, her mouth close to his ear. "London every time. You never see a night like this there. It never seems so bad. Ugh! I'd get the horrors here. And, mind you, I've struck some rotten places in London, but you always feel you've only to make a little dash for it and everything's all right, there's the lights and the buses and policemen just outside. But look at this."