The Alington Inheritance by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online Page A

through blood—” He stopped himself, half horrified by the sound of his own words. The stammer came on him again. “It’s t-true,” he said on an altered note. His voice trembled and died away. There was silence between them.
    After some time Jenny moved. She said in a low voice, “It’s not—your business,” and found him looking at her.
    “I th-think it is,” he said. “I th-think it’s the b-business of anyone who loves you. I do l-love you, Jenny.” The tone of his voice got through her anger. She said, “I know you do. I don’t want you to—not like that.” He gave a groan and put his head down on the mantelshelf. After a moment he said,
    “It d-doesn’t matter about m-me. I don’t want you to g-get hurt— th-that’s all.”
    Jenny stood irresolute. She didn’t know what to say or what to do. And then Alan stood up.
    “You’ll th-think of what I’ve said. It’s all t-true, you know.” The tears were running down his face, but he didn’t seem to be thinking about that. He said, “Oh, Jenny—” and went out of the room. ,
    Chapter VIII
    Jenny washed up the tea things and put away the cakes. Her hands moved mechanically over the china. She felt dazed, and she wanted to stay like that. She had had an anaesthetic once when she had fallen out of a tree and dislocated her shoulder. The doctor wasn’t quite sure if there was further damage and she had had a whiff of anaesthetic. She remembered coming out of it, and how she hadn’t had any feeling, and how gradually the pain had come in again and the dreamy feeling had thinned out and gone away. She thought this was the same. It was going to hurt. It was going to hurt very much like her shoulder had done, only worse, because the things that happened in your body were never as bad as the things that happened in your mind.
    When she had quite finished washing up and putting the things away she went up to the schoolroom. She didn’t know where Alan was. She thought he had gone out, and that meant that she was quite alone, because Mrs. Bolton, who went out on Wednesdays, might as well not be there, for she never came upstairs at all and had her bedroom in what had been the housekeeper’s room. It gave her a lonely feeling in one way, but it was rather nice in another. Only tonight the house felt very echoey and lonely. She wished she had gone with the little girls, she wished she had done anything different from what she had done.
    And then she heard the car. It came rolling to a stop at the front door, and she went to the window to look. Mrs. Forbes and Mac got out. Jenny’s heart gave a jerk. At the sight of Mac’s tall figure her heart had begun to ache quite dreadfully. It was just like that time with her shoulder—the pain got worse and worse, until suddenly it was too much for her. She pulled the curtain across the embrasure and sank down upon the window seat behind it in a flood of silent tears. Everything swept over her at once—Garsty—and the loss of her home—and what Alan had said about Mac. She fought against that. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t—it wasn’t true. But out of the depths of her there came a little clear voice that said, “It’s true, and you know it.”
    She had forgotten everything but the bitterness which had swept over her, when she heard footsteps on the stairs outside. Mac—she would have known his step anywhere. She shrank down behind the curtains. She couldn’t meet him—not like this.
    And then there was another step, and a voice—Mrs. Forbes’ voice.
    “Isn’t she there?”
    The door opened and Mac came in. The light went on. Jenny shrank back behind the curtains. He said,
    “No, she isn’t. She and Alan must have gone down to get the children.”
    Mrs. Forbes came across from her bedroom. The faint scent she used came in with her. It was very faint indeed, like the last reflection in water before the light goes. The thought went through Jenny’s mind like a background to what she was feeling.