The High House by James Stoddard Read Free Book Online

massive clawed legs and a leather edging, seated sixteen. Etchings of little mice scurried around the borders of the crystal chandelier.
    Brittle brought him to the head of the table, to his father’s black leather chair, but he took the seat beside it. Mr. Hope sat across from him, there being no other diners. They ate a vegetable broth of shredded cabbage followed by center-cut salmon steak covered with a spread composed of fresh herbs, egg yolks, butter, and capers, alongside large loaves of brown bread, and it seemed a better feast than any Carter had eaten since he left.
    “A lovely dinner,” Hope said, between mouthfuls. “And a beautiful manor as well. I’ve never seen a house quite as grand.”
    “Yes,” Carter said. “It remains so beautiful and unchanged. Now that I am here, my life away seems a fading dream, as if only the house was real.”
    “I understand. It is truly compelling; I hope to have time for a full tour before I leave. But Brittle said the will is to be read tomorrow, so I’ve spent most of the afternoon examining it.”
    “You sound concerned. Is all in order?”
    Hope hesitated as he tore at a loaf. “I am somewhat anxious. Before we came, I took it upon myself to check the tax records. They are paid in full, but both the land and the house are deeded to a trust, which makes no mention of your family’s name, neither your father, nor his father before him. It’s almost as if the house belongs to no one at all, and never has. Don’t be alarmed; I’m certain it is nothing, and my secretary is working on it. I was hoping your father’s will would shed some light.”
    “And it doesn’t?”
    Hope gave his short, barking laugh. “Perhaps I should say no more, but you’ll know soon enough. The will allows you and Duskin to remain in the house as long as you desire. It also makes you Steward of the house, ‘until the Master is chosen.’ That’s the exact wording. You have the rights, but not the property. Neither is the Master given title to the house, but is to ‘serve’ as its lord. Quite unusual. I hope I haven’t alarmed you.”
    Carter smiled. “No. Nothing about this house surprises me. It is very old, and its customs very strange. I’m unconcerned.”
    They sat smoking cigars and talking late into the evening.
    Carter found William Hope to be much to his liking; he had an honesty, almost a naivete, of thought not normally associated with lawyers. Probably the man could never pursue a successful career because of it.
    * * *
    Afterward, they bid each other good night, and Carter retired to his room. He sat down on the bed where he had not slept for many years, touching the posts and the comforters, taking off his shoes and socks to run his bare feet upon the wool carpet. The thunder rolled outside, the flashes lighting the windowpane. He looked at the scarlet azaleas on the wallpaper, the carved angel on the mahogany fireplace mantel, the saber in the silver sheath above it, and the heavy dresser with the oblong looking glass. He put out the lights and sat in the darkness, listening to the rain beating against the windows, to the creaks and groans of the ancient manor, to the wind rushing through the great trees outside, the old commonplace noises of his childhood. He was home, who had never thought to sleep in this room again.
    He went to the window, pulled back the damask curtains to view the storm, and gave a start. For an instant, a face seemed to press against the glass, gone at once, so he could not be certain he had seen it. His first thought was that it was impossible; he was on the second floor and there was no balcony. With his heart hammering in his chest, he moved his head about, seeing if some trick of the shadows had caused the effect. He suddenly saw the Bobby, standing beside the gaslight beyond the yard, looking up at Carter’s window, heedless of the rain, his face vacant in the distance, a pale blob beneath his helmet, the lightning flashes turning him