Hatter's Castle by A. J. Cronin

Author:A. J. Cronin [Cronin, A. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Chapter Eight

Next morning Mrs Brodie woke early, while it was still almost dark, but, as she stirred, she heard in the distance the first, faint, challenging cock crow, betokening, despite the obscurity, the imminent dawn of another day. Although she had waited up late on the night before, she had not seen Matthew come in, and now, after a troubled sleep, her first thought was to assure herself that he was well. As she dressed there was no need for her to be timorously silent for fear of disturbing her husband, since she was now alone in the small room that had been Mary’s, yet, from long habit, her actions were as stealthy and inaudible as the movements of a shadow. The dim light entered the window of the bedroom and vaguely revealed her ghostly, drooping figure as she shivered into her clothes. Her underclothing was so patched, darned, and repaired as to become at any time a puzzle to assume and now, in the cold obscurity of the chill February air, her insensitive, roughened fingers fumbled confusedly with the coarse, worn garments. As she dressed thus, by sense of touch, her teeth chattered slightly, giving the sole audible indication of her presence and activity.

When she had covered her body by solving the intricate riddle of her enigmatical vestments, she rubbed her hands soundlessly together to induce some sign of circulation and slid out of the room in her stockinged feet.

Matthew’s bedroom, being at the back of the house and facing east, was better illuminated; as she silently entered it she saw amongst the disordered confusion of bedclothes, the outlines of his regularly breathing form, and she too again breathed regularly with relief. His face looked leaden in the bluish pallor of the morning light, at the corners of his mouth dry sordes had formed, and sleaves of dark hair lay tangled upon his brow. Between his lips his tongue seemed to protrude slightly as though it had become too swollen and bulky for its normal confines, and with each respiration it acted as a dull sounding-board for the hoarse passage of his breath.

Mamma gently restored the blankets and coverlet to a more orderly comfort, ventured even to stroke the tumbled, locks of hair from his eyes, but as, at her touch, he stirred uneasily and muttered, she drew back, quickly removing her hand, yet leaving it poised in mid air above his head as though unconsciously she blessed him in his sleep. Her gaze, too, was like a benediction, maintained for many moments. At length, reluctantly, she slowly withdrew her eyes from his face and turned to go. On her way out of the room she observed that his coat, vest, and trousers were strewn in disarray on the floor, that his shirt had been flung into one corner, his collar and tie into another and, as though glad to render him service, she stooped, picked up the scattered garments, folded them neatly upon a chair, looked again at his sleeping face, and went quietly away.

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