Not to Disturb by Muriel Spark Read Free Book Online Page B

going. As he opens the door a
long howl comes from above.
    â€˜Sister Barton failed to give him his injection tonight,’
says Lister, ‘and I wonder why.’
    â€˜Sister Barton is upset. She didn’t touch her supper,’
says Clovis.
    â€˜She’s suffering from fear, quite a thrilling emotion,’
says Lister. ‘People love it.’
    â€˜I sent up cold chicken breast and lettuce cut into
shreds the Swiss way, which she imagines in her inexperienced little heart to be
the right way,’ Clovis murmurs. He is standing with one hand on the belt that
encircles his narrow hips. Several gold medallions hang from chains on his
chest. Mr Samuel’s camera trains upon him, as he seems to expect it to do. He
lowers his lids. ‘Good,’ says Mr Samuel, moving round to Heloise.
    â€˜Head and shoulders only,’ says Lister at the same time
as he answers a buzz on the house-telephone. ‘Him?’ says Lister into the
telephone. The answer fairly prolonged and intelligible apparently to Lister, is
otherwise that of a bronchial and aged raven, penetrating the room, until Lister
says, ‘All right, all right,’ and hangs up. Then he turns and says, ‘We’ve got
the Reverend on our hands. He’s come on his motor-bike from Geneva. Sister
Barton has summoned him to soothe her patient.’
    â€˜I smell treason,’ says Eleanor.
    â€˜How do you mean?’ Lister says. ‘She always has been an
outsider, so treason isn’t the word.’
    â€˜Well, she’s a bitch,’ says Heloise.
    â€˜Here he is,’ says Lister, as the sound of a motor
approaches. ‘Pablo, open the door.’
    Pablo goes to the back door but the sound of the motor
recedes round the house towards the front. ‘He’s gone to the front door,’ Lister
says. ‘I’d better go myself.’
    He passes Pablo, saying, ‘Front door, front door, leave
it to me,’ and, crossing the black and white squares of the hall, admits the
Reverend.
    â€˜Good evening, Lister. I thought you’d be in bed,’ says
the white-haired Reverend who carries a woollen cap in his hand.
    â€˜No, Reverend,’ says Lister, ‘none of us is in bed.’
    â€˜Oh well, I came to the front thinking you were in bed.
The light’s on in the library, I thought the Baron might let me in.’ He looks up
the staircase. ‘He sounds quiet, now. Has he gone to sleep? Sister Barton called
me urgently.’
    â€˜Sister Barton did wrong to bring you out, Reverend, but
I must say I’m relieved to see you, and it just occurs to me after all, she may
have done right.’
    â€˜Your riddles, Lister.’ The Reverend is tall, skinny and
wavering. He takes off his thick sheepskin coat. He wears a clerical collar and
dark grey suit. He is quite aged, seeming to give out a certain life-force which
perhaps only derives from the frailty of his appearance combined with his clear
ability to come out on a windy night on a motor-bicycle.
    He nods towards the library door. ‘Is the Baron alone? —
I know it’s late but I’d like to pop in and have a word with him before going on
upstairs. I’ve many times sat up later talking to the Baron.’ The Reverend is
already at the library door, waiting for Lister merely to knock and announce
him.
    â€˜They are a party of three,’ says Lister. ‘I have orders
from the Baron, I’m sorry, Reverend, that they are not to be disturbed. Not on
any account.’
    The Reverend, happily breathing the centrally heated air
of the hall, sighs and then cocks his head slightly with sudden intelligence,
his eyes bird-like. ‘I don’t hear anybody. Are you sure that he has
company?’
    â€˜Quite sure,’ says Lister moving away, sideways,
backwards, indicating decisively the pathway that the Reverend must take. ‘Come
in with us, Reverend, and warm up. A hot drink. Whisky and water.