December Bride by Sam Hanna Bell

Author:Sam Hanna Bell [Bell, Sam Hanna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature
ISBN: 9780856408908
Publisher: Blackstaff Press Ltd
Published: 1951-01-01T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Mr Sorleyson sat at his study table. He pushed away the books before him and one fell unheeded on the floor, spilling loose sheets of paper over the carpet. His open hands, twitching a little, were laid on the space that he had cleared. He stared unseeingly at Madame Lebrun and her Daughter on the opposite wall. Slowly a change came over his whole appearance. He drew himself upright in his chair, his body rigid and erect. Unexpected lines and ridges marred the curve of his smooth pleasant cheeks. His habitual expression of kindliness and irresolution gave way to one of turmoil and distress. He pressed his hands on the table until the polished mahogany around his fingers misted with sweat. He sat like that for a long time then suddenly he slumped back in his chair, and on his face there was the look of a man who had awakened from a long and restless sleep. He had come to a decision. For a moment a faint moisture of self-pity rose in his eyes. He plucked his spectacles off, wiped them, and forced them on again, springing the legs painfully behind his ears in exasperation.

He rose and went down to the sitting room. His wife, her pretty feet drawn under her chair, sat at the fire, knitting. As he entered she laid her knitting in her lap, and smiled up at him with tired sweetness. ‘I was just longing for a cup of tea, dear. Will you stay and have one with me?’

‘Yes,’ he replied, sitting down opposite her.

In a short time she was back with a tray on which sat two cups and saucers, buttered barmbrack, and their intimate little supper teapot in its woollen cosy. He cleared the leather pouffe of scissors and needles and the evening paper so that she could set down the tray.

He didn’t speak to her as he sat there, eating his bread and sipping his tea and staring into the fire. But there was nothing unusual about that, she never expected him to speak to her, much. He is thinking of his sermon, she reassured herself, in accordance with the pitiable game of make-believe that she had played for years. Then suddenly he looked across at her. ‘Victoria, I’ve decided to – to ask for a transfer to Belfast.’ The last six words came in a rush. For once she was startled. ‘But – I thought you were happy, Edwin. Don’t you remember, you said you had a sense of fulfilment here?’

He beat his hand impatiently on the arm of his chair. ‘Yes, yes, but there’s no scope here! I feel that I could be of more use in Belfast. Anyway, it’s time I had a change in the city.’ He was quite irritable by now, not so much with her as with himself. What he had meant to say, calmly and with no further discussion, was, ‘Victoria, I’ve decided to leave the church and take up teaching, perhaps.’ But his

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