A Legal Fiction - (The Decayed Gentlewoman) by Elizabeth Ferrars

Author:Elizabeth Ferrars [Ferrars, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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CHAPTER NINE

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She went running towards the little red car before Colin had had time to answer.

Not that he had anything to say just then. For a moment he remained staring at the house, expecting to see the door burst open again, to hear shouts and pounding footsteps. But the dark front of the house remained as it was. Only the one chink of light showed between the curtains of the upstairs room, like a mocking little smile on an otherwise expressionless face.

The darkness and emptiness of the place sent a chill through Colin. He swung away from the gate and went running after Ginny.

She was tumbling into the driving seat. He heard her quick, sobbing breath as she leant across the car, pushed the farther door open, tipped forward the seat beside her and helped him to slide the picture on to a pile of rugs and coats in the back of the car.

As soon as he was in it himself, before he had even slammed the door shut, she sent it bouncing off the verge into the road and back towards the village.

Colin waited until they had circled the green and shot out on to the main road before he said, “Ginny, what in God’s name—?”

“Don’t!” she cried in a high-pitched voice. “Don’t talk to me!”

“But I’ve got to know—”

“Wait! I’ll tell you all about it presently. I can’t now. I just can’t talk or think. Wait a little.”

He slid down lower in his seat, looking at the pallor of her face, then at the road ahead.

She was driving too fast. The rain was growing heavier and the road was greasy. He could feel the car swerve and skid as she took a corner. He thought of suggesting that he should take over the driving, but guessed that nothing would make her stop yet to change places.

Near the crest of a small hill she had to jam on the brakes, because she had been trying to pass a lorry when another car, appearing over the hill, came bearing down on them. The other car braked, swerved almost into the ditch, and passed with the driver mouthing curses at her.

“Sorry,” she said to Colin, whose head had almost hit the windscreen. “Sorry, that was bad.”

After that she was more careful, but the way that she crouched over the wheel and the tension of her jaw told Colin that it was not yet time to start talking.

Suddenly she left the Oldersfield road, taking a sharp turning to the left into a narrow road with a bad surface and high hedges on both sides.

He asked, “Where does this take us?”

“It’s a short cut on to A 22,” she answered.

“And where does that go?”

“Croydon.”

“Why are we going to Croydon?”

“Because I think the easiest way to get on to A 1 from here is to go slap through London. Don’t worry, I know the way.”

“That’s fine,” said Colin, “even if that little matter is quite the least of my worries.

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