Арчибальд Кронин - Hatter's Castle

Without further loss of time she marched softly out of her room, descended the stairs, and in the hall put on her serge jacket and her straw hat with the brave, new, satin ribbon that Mary had bought and sewn for her. She was now dressed completely for the street in her best dressed, indeed, as she had been on the day of the examination. But she did not go out of the house; instead, she slid stealthily back into the kitchen.

Here her actions quickened. Taking hold of one of the heavy wooden chairs, she moved it accurately into the centre of the room, then turned to her heaped books upon the dresser and transferred these to the chair, making a neat, firm pile which she surveyed with a pleased expression, adjusting some slight deviations from the regular symmetry of the heap with light, fastidious touches of her fingers. "That's a real neat job, my dear," she murmured contentedly. "You're a woman that would have worked well in the house." Even as she spoke, she moved backwards from the chair, still admiring her handiwork, but when she reached the door she turned and slipped lightly into the scullery. Here she bent and rummaged in the clothes basket at the window, then straightening up with an exclamation of triumph, she returned to the kitchen, bearing something in her hand. It was a short length of clothes line. Now her movements grew even more rapid. Her nimble fingers worked feverishly with one end of the thin rope, she leaped on the chair and, standing upon the piled books, corded the other end over the iron hook of the pulley on the ceiling. Then, without descending from the chair, she picked up the letter from the table and pinned it upon her bosom, muttering as she did so, "First prize, Nessie! What a pity it's not a red card."

Finally she inserted her neck delicately into the noose which she had fashioned, taking heed that she did not disarrange her hat and, passing the rope carefully under the mane of her hair, tightened it and was ready. She stood gaily poised upon the elevation of the books like a child perched upon a sand castle, her gaze directed eagerly out of the window across the foliage of the lilac tree. As her eyes sought the distant sky beyond, her foot, resting upon the back of the chair, pushed the support from beneath her, and she fell. The hook in the ceiling wrenched violently upon the beam above, which still securely held it. The rope strained but did not break. She hung suspended, twitching like a marionette upon a string, while her body, elongating, seemed to stretch out desperately one dangling foot, straining to reach the floor yet failing by a single inch to reach it. The hat tilted grotesquely across her brow, her face darkened slowly as the cord bit into her thin, white neck; her eyes, that were

placating, pleading even, and blue like speedwells, clouded with pain, with a faint wonder, then slowly glazed; her lips purpled, thickened, and fell apart; her small jaw dropped, a thin stream of froth ran silently across her chin. To and fro she oscillated gently, swinging in the room in a silence broken only by the faint flutter of the lilac leaves against the window panes, until, at last, her body quivered faintly and was still.

The house was silent as with the silence of consummation, but after a long hush the sound was heard of some person stirring above and slowly, hdtingly, descending the stairs. At length the kitchen door opened and Grandma Brodie came into the room. Drawn from her room by the approach of another meal time and the desire to make herself some especially soft toast, she now tottered forward, her head lowered, totally unobservant, until she blundered against the body.

"Teh! Teh! Where am I going?" she mumbled, as she recoiled, mazedly looking upwards out of her dim eyes at the hanging figure which the thrust of her arm had once more set in motion and which now swung lightly against her. Her aged face puckered incredulously as she peered, fell suddenly agape and, as the body of the dead girl again touched her, she staggered back and screamed.

"Oh! God in Heaven! What what is't! She's she's " Another scream rent her! Mouthing incoherently, she turned, shambled from the room, and flinging open the front door, stumbled headlong from the house.

Her agitated gait had taken her through the courtyard and into the roadway when, turning to continue her flight, she collided with and almost fell into the arms of Mary, who gazed at her in some distress and cried:

"What's the matter, Grandma? Are you ill?"

The old woman looked at her, her face working, her sunken lips twitching, her tongue speechless.

"What's wrong with you, Grandma?" repeated Mary in amazement. "Are you not well?"

"There! In there!" stuttered the other, pointing her stark hand wildly to the house. "Nessie! Nessie's in there! She's she's hangit herself in the kitchen."

Mary's glance leaped to the house, observed the open door; with a stricken cry she rushed past the old woman, and, still holding the white box of headache powders in her hand, flung herself up the steps, along the lobby, and into the kitchen.

"Oh! God!" she cried. "My Nessie!" She dropped the box she carried, tore out the drawer of the dresser, and, snatching a knife, turned and hacked furiously at the tense rope. In a second this parted and the warm body of Nessie sagged soundlessly against her and trailed upon the floor.

"Oh! God!" she cried again. "Spare her to me. We've only got each other left. Don't let her die!" Flinging her arms around her dead sister, she lowered her to the ground; throwing herself upon her knees, with tiernbling fingers she plucked at the cord sunk in the swollen neck and finally unloosed it. She beat the hands of the body, stroked the brow, cried inarticulately, in a voice choked by sobs, "Speak to me, Nessie! I love you, dearest sister! Don't leave me."

But no reply came from those parted, inanimate lips and in an agony of despair Mary leaped to her feet and rushed again out of the house into the roadway. Looking wildly about, she espied a boy upon a bicycle bearing down on her.

"Stop!" she cried, waving her arms frantically; and as he drew up wonderingly beside her, she pressed her hand to her side and gasped, her words tumbling one upon another, "Get a doctor! Get Doctor Renwick! Quick! My sister is ill! Go quickly! Quickly!" She sped him from her with a last cry and, returning to the house, she rushed for water, knelt again, raised Nessie in her arms, moistened the turgid lips, tried to make her drink. Then, laying the flaccid head upon a cushion, she sponged the dark face, murmuring brokenly:

"Speak to me, dearest Nessie! I want you to live! I want you to live! I should never have left you, but oh! why did you send me away?"

When she had sponged the face she knew of nothing more to do and remained upon her knees beside the prostrate form, tears streaming down her cheeks, her hands pressed distractedly together.

She was kneeling thus when hurried footsteps came through the still open door and Renwick entered the room. He failed at first to observe Nessie's body, which was masked by her kneeling form, and seeing only her, stood still, crying in a loud voice:

"Mary! What is wrong?"

But, coming forward, he dropped his gaze, saw the figure upon the floor and in a flash knelt down beside her. His hands moved rapidly over the body while she watched him dumbly, agonisingly, then after a moment he raised his eyes to her across the form of her sister and said slowly:

"Don't kneel any longer, Mary! Let me let me put her on the sofa."

She knew then from his tone that Nessie was dead, and while he lifted the body on to the sofa she stood up, her lips -quivering, her breast torn by the throbbing anguish of her heart.

"I'm to blame," she whispered brokenly. "I went out to get her headache powders."

He turned from the couch and looked at her gently.