House of Small Shadows by Adam Nevill Read Free Book Online Page A

dear.’
    ‘He did all this . . . for its own sake?’
    Edith smiled. ‘I think you begin to understand a little. He only began his great works when interest in his craft had gone. It was out of vogue, dear, for most of his working life. My
uncle was no scientist, and no worshipper of nature. He was an artist. A magician! And now . . . now we get letters coming to the house. People want to know if there are any more animals? Are they
valuable, dear?’
    Catherine suppressed a smile. ‘Could be. To collectors. That is what I’d like to find out.’ The door clicked open and Maude shuffled in, burdened with a tray laden with what
looked like one grand’s worth of original Wemyss ware.
    ‘And you might, Miss Howard. In good time. I’ve decided I like you enough to show you a little more. You have respect for his work. I can see it in your lovely eyes. But we must take
tea first. The cakes are home-made. Will you pour? My hands are not so good.’
    ‘Of course.’ Suddenly glad she never fled, Catherine smiled at the dog and thinking nothing of it, she said, ‘I must say old Horatio is very well trained. He never even sniffed
at the cakes.’
    What little warmth existed in Edith’s face slipped away, and her bloodless features stiffened into a grimace. ‘If you are trying to make a joke, please don’t. You are not to
make fun of my uncle’s things. Not ever. Am I understood?’

 
EIGHT
    ‘Go
in,
go on, go inside.’
    ‘But . . .’
    ‘
In. In
.’ Edith’s insistence carried the threat of anger.
    ‘Lights?’
    ‘We keep them in the dark. We don’t want them damaged.’
    ‘Then how do you see them?’
    ‘Oh, will you
get
inside, you silly girl!’
    Catherine stood inside the doorway and stared into total darkness. Behind her, in the narrow passage where she had been instructed to wheel and position Edith Mason, the footplates of the
wheelchair touched her heels, as if the elderly woman had managed to roll her chair forward a few inches by herself to add emphasis to her demand. ‘The ceiling light has not been replaced in
years. You will have to open the curtains. Would you have me draw the curtains with these hands? Are you afraid, dear. Afraid of the dark?’ Edith tittered.
    Catherine took a step inside as though the floor was ice, her hands outstretched, her eyes so wide they stung in their sockets. The air was close, humid, thick with the scent of polished wood
and the chemical taint. Which was stronger, more pungent the further she moved through the darkness.
    ‘Stay on the left. The left!’ Edith warned, though a stern tone did not disguise her mirth, if not glee, at Catherine’s discomfort.
    The low heels of Catherine’s sandals clattered and scraped across the floorboards, the sound rang hollow in what she sensed was a large room. There was nothing soft inside the space to
cushion the noise or to protect her.
    Catherine looked back at the grotesque but featureless silhouette of Edith Mason, framed by the faint ruddy light of the ground-floor passage. The figure was motionless, propped upright, the
outline of the head ungainly and vast upon wizened shoulders.
    Groping through oblivion in the unfamiliar room of a sinister house suddenly felt like a test combined with a childish dare and a horrible prank designed by a cruel mind. She was doing this for
the contract and she loathed herself for it, her actions were suddenly unacceptable to her. She was allowing herself to be goaded, to be manipulated, to be bullied for some illusory promise of
advancement. Was that not part of the reason she left London? She’d not even been here an hour and she was frightened in the dark and Edith Mason was inside her head. She grimaced at the
elderly woman’s silhouette and despised it.
    ‘Don’t pout, dear.’
    Catherine flinched.
How could she see?
    ‘You wanted to see them. That’s why you came here. You must work for your supper.’
    Part of her also wanted to shriek with laughter at the