Hawksmoor by Peter Ackroyd

Author:Peter Ackroyd [Ackroyd, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: prose_contemporary, Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9780141042015
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd (UK)
Published: 2010-05-10T03:34:21+00:00

WHAT A Clock is it, dear Mr Dyer? I have let my Watch run down.

It is almost six o'clock, I replied as I took off my dark Kersey-coat and placed it upon a Pin by the doorway. Mrs Best gasps at this and, looking down on me from the Stair-head as I entered the street Door, puts a Hand up to her Breast. And this Thought ran around in my Head for a Moment: you damn'd confounded pocky Whore.

The time goes so swiftly, says she, I wish I were able to Recover it a little and that, Mr Dyer, in more ways than One.

Time cannot be restored, Mrs Best, unless it be in the Imagination.

Ah the Poets, the Poets, Mr Dyer. Then she looks on me again and says sighingly: I would have no need for the Memory of Things past if that which were Present were more agreeable. She put her hand upon the Rail as she spoke and then cried out: more Dust, and I cleaned here only yesterday!

It was my Desire to make my self pleasing to her at this Point, for in the wide World who was there to trust besides? Are you Sick, I asked her.

I am I know not how, she replies as she comes down the Stairs to me, but I sicken for want of Company: I must entertain my self with my little Dogge and Catte; I am a poor Widow, as you see, Mr Dyer, and in this antient House there are so many Noises to Disturb me. Then she laugh'd giving me a little Push, and I smelt the Liquor upon her Breath.

Well Mrs Best, they say these old Houses have as many ghostly Tenents as a Mossoleum, so you will not starve from want of chitchat.

It is not Words but Deeds I require, she replied, and you know, Mr Dyer, I do not have a bit of Nun's flesh about me.

At this I stepped back from her and was at a Loss what to say, but even then Nat Eliot came from my Closet and I called up to him, Nat you Rogue, come down to the Kitchin and employ your self about my Supper. And Mrs Best said to him also: tell Mr Dyer about the Gentleman, Nat.

Which Gentleman, I asked.

He left no Name is that not right, Nat?

And no message neither, added Nat.

And this Image was drawn in my Mind: Mr Hayes, the maggot-headed Rogue and no good Surveyour and writer of Letters that threaten me, had come to the Door of my Lodgings when he knows that I am not withinne, so that he might Disturb me and Confound me and Perplex me. I have watched him these last Seven days, since I left my own Note to him. And I beleeve that he follows me where he may.

Mrs Best was talking above my Thoughts, and I could hear her latest Noises like the tolling of a Bell: Nothing, says she, is to be heard of

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