Montefiore's Goddaughter by Elizabeth Brooks

Author:Elizabeth Brooks
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: M P Publishing Limited
Published: 2010-04-14T16:00:00+00:00

Suicide Sylvia

he first thing I noticed on my return to the bedroom was that Mrs. Veals had laid a freshly laundered night gown on top of the pillow. Of all the bizarre happenings whirling through and around me, this was hardly the most startling, yet I noticed the night gown at once. Having deposited the silver sword on my mantelpiece like a soiled trophy, I unfolded the gown and held it out at arms length. It was long, and once it had been white, but now it was yellow with age. When I held it to my face I was comforted by the homely smell of soapsuds and hot irons. I had not worn any night clothes, nor had I sunk into a dreamless sleep, for a long time. I undressed and pulled the night gown over my head.

As the garment fell around my feet, a terrible shrieking erupted inside my head, echoing back and forth from one ear to the other in a blurred rush of noise. I clutched my ears with my hands and shouted, “What is it? Stop!” (When we talked about it later on, Boris insisted that it was I who had shrieked. I retorted that it was not me, but something, or somebody, inside my head. “Well,” objected Boris, “if it was inside your head, then it must have been you, mustn’t it? It can’t have been independent of you and part of you.” But I shushed him and told him he was wrong.) The night gown hung on my body like slime; it was as though it had been drenched in pond water. I tried to lift it back over my head, but the material seemed to knot itself around my legs and cling to my body like billowing underwater vegetation. The shrieks still deafened my confused brain, and I felt as though I was drowning. I tore the gown off in a frenzy, and at once the room was still and warm and silent again.

I stood by the fire, wrapped tightly in a woollen dressing gown and trying in vain to rid myself of the watery chill and the noisome pain in my head. I reflected that this was probably some trick devised by Mrs. Veals. I seized the gown and flung it into the corridor. I found, as I touched it, that it was as dry and sweet smelling as at first.

I did not go to Traumund that night. I sent a bitterly reproachful Boris to tell Joachim and the others that I was ill; that I needed a long sleep, and that I would come the following night. I was not ill, as Boris knew, but strangely weary of the whole Traumund business, and reluctant to think or act. I wanted to sleep. Consciousness seemed, all at once, a heavy burden.

The following morning dawned foggy and I never saw the sun that day. It did not feel like a day; it felt like a pale night. I had slept deeply and, upon waking, I was listless.

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