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She did not look for Carlton. She went to the library thinking she might find an entertaining book, and peeped into the billiard room – solely out of curiosity, to see what it was like – not looking for Carlton. When one of the footmen, mistaking her intentions, informed her that the gentlemen had gone out, Maria
By the time she finished practicing, the gentlemen had returned, or so she was told by another overzealous servant. Maria
The Duchess urged her to join the gentlemen for di
Moving aimlessly around her room in search of something to occupy her mind, she picked up her writing portfolio and sat down with it on her lap. She was sorry she had not kept a diary, as so many young ladies did; at least she would have more interesting things to write about than who danced with whom at the last ball, and what color ribbons she had selected for her new gown. But perhaps, she reflected, the only people who have time to write in their diaries are the ones to whom nothing ever happens.
The rain hissed against the windows. It was just the sort of night to write a long, intimate letter to a friend. But she had no such friends. The only girls she knew were casual acquaintances, daughters of the squire's friends and neighbors.
Maria
Absently she opened the portfolio, and there before her, like a scrap of her conscience that had taken visible form, was the letter from Mrs. Jay, which she had crumpled and hurled at the fire.
Her receptivity toward suggestions of the unca
Still, the reappearance of the letter was a salutary reminder of her duty. She owed Mrs. Jay an explanation that would relieve the old lady's fears and justify her own behavior. She had been wrong to respond to its criticism with anger. Mrs. Jay was moved solely by concern for her, she knew that.
She forced herself to finish the part of the letter she had left unread. It was more of the same – lectures on the evils of spiritualism. Mrs. Jay did not use the vicar's arguments. Hers was a robustly rational attitude that deplored the activity because it was a denial of the quite adequate and comforting explanations offered by traditional religion. Naturally she said this at much greater length, and it was not until the very end of the letter that she added a single sentence that caused Maria
"I find myself not so well as I would like; but at my age, Maria
To do Maria
However, she was moved to pick up her pen and dash off a few lines of reassurance. The letter was a skillful blend of candor and tactful omissions. She admitted that the Duchess dabbled in spiritualism, but did not mention her own participation. She assured Mrs. Jay that she herself had not the slightest belief in that pernicious doctrine. She described the vicar at length without going into detail about his reasons for condemning table turning, for some instinct told her that Mrs. Jay would be as disgusted by demons as she was by spirits. All in all, Maria
With a pleasant consciousness of duty done, she prepared for bed. Whether it was the idea of the approaching Sabbath – when no evil spirits are allowed to walk abroad – or the thought of her good old friend, she felt a peace of mind that had been foreign to her for many days. Still, she did not neglect to lock her door and, after a moment of silent debate, to leave a candle burning. The small, valiant flame dipped and swayed in the draft. Its vagrant movements were the last thing she saw before she fell asleep.
She woke with a start to find the room in darkness. At first she thought the unpleasantness of a bad dream must have roused her. It had been a horrid, confused mixture of the varied miseries she had suffered since arriving in London. In it she had seemed to pass, with the swift, unhindered movement of a bodiless spirit, through a dreadful twilight country of bare twisted trees and half-seen monsters, all wearing human faces:
Mrs. Pettibone and her sadistic son; Bagshot, mouthing curses; Wilson, the sinister manager of the supper club; and, worst of all, dear Mrs. Jay, who had shaken her fist and shrieked out threats of hellfire and eternal damnation.
This last terrible vision lingered even after she awoke. The limp white hands of her old friend still hovered above her head.
Maria
A low, wavering moan sounded, mounting to a scream. It came again, louder and more peremptory; and then, all at once, Maria
The moan ended in a yelp of surprise and pain, and something fell heavily across her lap. In fumbling for a better hold, Maria
She had known, as soon as her fingers touched the thin, boyish wrist, who her tormentor was. The flaring candlelight caught the young Duke on his way to the hidden passage. It gaped open. The table she had placed before it stood to one side, and Maria
Remembering the boy's propensity to fall into a fit when he was startled, Maria