Night Music: Nocturnes Volume 2 by John Connolly

Author:John Connolly [Connolly, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781501118364
Amazon: 1501118366
Barnesnoble: 1501118366
Publisher: Atria/Emily Bestler Books
Published: 2015-10-06T05:00:00+00:00

IV

Mrs. Gissing arrived shortly after seven, an older man behind her whom I took, correctly as it turned out, to be Mr. Willox. They found me awake and seated at a table in the library, a cup of tea steaming before me, and more in the pot nearby. Mrs. Gissing seemed rather put out by this, as though in venturing to provide for myself I had usurped her natural place in the universe and, more to the point, threatened her livelihood, for if men began to make cups of tea for themselves then soon they might well attempt to cook meals and do laundry, and next thing poor Mrs. Gissing and her kind would find themselves out on the streets begging for pennies. As if to ensure that this would not come to pass without a struggle, she prepared to bustle her way to the kitchen to make bacon, eggs, and toast, even though I assured her that I was not hungry.

“Did you not sleep well?” she asked.

“No, I did not,” I said, then ventured a question. “Have you ever spent the night in this house, Mrs. Gissing?”

I should, perhaps, have phrased the question a little more delicately, as Mrs. Gissing appeared to feel that her reputation as a widow of good standing was being impugned. After some awkward apologies on my part, she chose to take the question in the spirit in which it was asked and confessed that she had never spent a night under Mr. Maulding’s roof.

“Did he ever complain of noises or disturbances?” I asked.

“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

I wasn’t sure what I meant either. The mind plays odd tricks, often to protect itself from harm, and it had already begun the process of consigning the events of the previous night to that place between what we see and what we dream.

“There was something in my bathtub last night,” I said. “It was a creature of some sort.”

Willox spoke for the first time.

“A rat?” he said. “We’ve had them, sir. They find ways into old houses like this. I’ll lay down some poison.”

“No, it wasn’t a rat. To be honest, I’m not sure what it was. It fled down the plughole as the water level dropped. It was more of a crustacean, I think.”

“A crustacean?”

“Like a crab, or a lobster.”

Mrs. Gissing looked at me as though I were mad, as well she might have done. Willox appeared uncertain and could have been considering whether people in London might enjoy a sense of humor different from, and stranger than, his own.

“Who would put a lobster in your bath?” said Mrs. Gissing. “Certainly not I.”

She seemed ready to take umbrage once again, so I assured her that I was not accusing her of being in the habit of putting lobsters in the bathtubs of strange men.

“And then,” I continued, “I was woken by what appeared to be a presence in the house.”

“A . . . presence?” said Willox.

“Yes. I can’t describe it any better than that.”

“Are you talking about a ghost, sir?”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” I said.

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