Джон Пристли - Benighted

She could go now, walk out of this horrible room for ever. (How did she know she could? What if she were brought back in here, to lie in that bed and scream, like Rachel Femm?) She took up the candle and her eye fell on a text just above: The Lord is my Shepherd . She suddenly saw a vast herd of Rebecca Femms. What was their shepherd like? And somewhere behind all that was a beautiful idea, something to do with Betty snuggled into her pillow or with Philip smoking his pipe in the garden on summer nights; and it was all buried, suffocated. The very air of this room, atmosphere made out of dirty wool, would suffocate anything. Well, it was her turn now: she would show this room something, however badly she might be behaving. So she put down her candle, drew back the heavy curtains from the window, jerked up the blind, and, after a struggle with the rusty fastenings and the stiff cord, opened the window. The night came roaring in with a sweep of wind and rain, but the air was unbelievably fresh and sweet. She stood there for a moment, lifting her face towards the now friendly darkness, and strangely she felt the tears gathering in her eyes. A gust of wind blew out the candle. She turned away, found her bag, and walked to the door. When she came to close it from outside she could see nothing of the room, for now all was darkness there, but she seemed to hear the rain, blown in through the window, faintly pattering on the floor.

As she went back along the corridor she decided that she wouldn't tell Philip what had happened. She wanted to tell him, but that would have to wait; she couldn't tell him until things were absolutely dead right between them again, when they would begin once more to share everything, halving thoughts and swapping dreams. Things ought to be like that now, this very minute, she told herself; it would make all the difference here, in this place, where one was so lonely, lost. If she had known this was going to happen – but then of course she hadn"t. She never thought of things like this, and Philip did – it had been one of her complaints, that silly anxiousness of his – and he ought to have made the move. They could have walked into this together then, just a dark night's adventure. She had had an impulse to say something too, earlier, but you couldn't break the months of smooth politeness (Did you sleep well? Very well, thanks. Did you?) with a few words shouted in a car during an incessant downpour. And now she couldn't begin. It would be nothing but humiliating surrender, with Philip pretending elaborately to her that it wasn"t. No, this night at least she must see it through in silence.

She had probably seen the worst of it, though, and everything would now become sensible again instead of getting more and more out of hand, opening pits under your feet. (Though nerves accounted for most of it; and days and nights of rain and Penderel's company – he loved to make the simplest thing seem sinister and unmanageable, even his stupid jokes were wild, unpleasant – would account for nerves.) The rest would be merely discomfort and the writhing memory of that room. But if there were only another woman there (not that horror), someone of her own kind who would understand a word or a glance, it would be better.

Yes, everything was all right, she told herself as she pushed open the door into the hall. The men were there, looking comfortable enough. And there were signs of supper on the table. Food – even if that woman had a hand in it – would make a difference. She walked across to them, smiling. Would they notice that something had happened to her? Philip might, and he was looking at her, smiling too, though rather vaguely. Now that she saw him again, that room seemed miles away, shrank to a pin-point of terror.

She put down the bag and walked up to Philip. "You must have wondered what had become of me," she told him.

"No, they told me you'd gone to change." He was surprisingly casual.

"Didn't you think I'd been a long time?" she asked, hoping that he wouldn't think she was fishing for a compliment as she used to do in the old days.

He shook his head and smiled. "I didn't expect you back so soon. You've been quicker than usual."

It was astonishing. She felt as if she had been away for hours, just because she had gone through that adventure, been jammed into all manner of queer horrible lives for a few minutes, while they had smoked a cigarette or two and chatted by the fire. "I seem to have been away a long time," she replied lamely. It was rather frightening, this difference in the point of view, leaving you so lonely.

"Good for you, Mrs. Waverton!" Penderel called out to her from the other side of the fireplace. "You make it look like a party. I knew you would. And there's supper coming, though of course it's not polite to mention it."

It was one of his silly remarks, but for once he did not irritate her and she smiled across at him. But, strangely enough, instead of giving her his usual grin in return, he gave her a curiously unsmiling but kind, even sympathetic, glance. It was just as if he knew what had been happening. That, of course, was absurd, but still there was something very strange in his look.

"Supper will be ready in a few minutes, Mrs. Waverton," said a harsh voice at her elbow. This was that long bony creature, Mr. Femm. She had forgotten his existence, but now she looked at him with a new and rather creepy interest. "We have very little to offer you, I am afraid," he went on, "but you will understand that we were not expecting company. We have to live very simply here." He moved forward to help Morgan, who had just entered, to unload a tray. Morgan too she had almost forgotten, and now she looked curiously at his bearded sullen face and gigantic bulk. For one moment he raised his heavy head and his eyes met hers and some kind of intelligence seemed to dawn in them. Then, from behind him, a third figure appeared, to busy itself at the table. It was Miss Femm.

Philip was asking her if she was hungry. "I am; just about ready for anything," he added. "And by the way, we're probably entirely cut off by this time. It's just possible, I understand, that soon we couldn't get out of the house even if we wanted to do. Not that it matters, of course, for a few hours, an odd night. We're not too badly off here, though probably there won't be much sleep for us." It was just the kind of thing she had wanted to avoid doing, but somehow it was done before she could think. She had slipped a hand through his arm and was now pressing it close.

CHAPTER IV

Penderel left his chair, and the three of them, making a little group in front of the fire, talked in whispers. Margaret had released Philip's arm and was now feeling rather foolish. She had just caught sight of a loaf of bread and a large piece of cheese, and the solid ordinariness of them had suggested to her that she was in danger of behaving like a tired hysterical woman.

"It's absurd," said Penderel, "that we should have to be so secretive about food. Why should we have to pretend it isn't there until our hosts point it out to us? I'd like to live in a country where all guests gathered round the table and were expected to make comments as each dish appeared. They'd say: 'What's this you're putting on the table? Oh, yes, splendid! We all like that'; or 'Don't bring that cabbage in for us. We never touch it.' What do you think?"

"It would suit me," said Philip. "But I don't know how hostesses would like it."

"They wouldn"t," Margaret replied for them. "It would be beastly." She liked the glance that Philip had given her; it wasn't so blank; there was friendliness, a hint of long intimacy, in it. She smiled at him.

Philip returned the smile. "You don't understand hostesses, Penderel. I suspect you've never really been behind the scenes." But his thoughts were with Margaret. She was different somehow. She was thawing. He wished there was time and opportunity to talk, really to talk, with all cards quietly set out on the table. Perhaps there would be, later. This would be just the place for it, so remote, so strange, where, so to speak, you couldn't hide any cards as you could at home.