We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson Read Free Book Online Page A

frightened?” I asked Constance once, and she said, “No, not at all.” Without turning I could hear from her voice that she was quiet.
    I saw the car turn into the driveway and then saw that there were two people in it instead of one; “Constance,” I said, “she’s brought someone else.”
    Constance was still for a minute, and then she said quite firmly, “I think it will be all right.”
    I turned to look at her, and she was quiet. “I’ll send them away,” I said. “She knows better than this.”
    â€œNo,” Constance said. “I really think it will be all right. You watch me.”
    â€œBut I won’t have you frightened.”
    â€œSooner or later,” she said, “sooner or later I will have to take a first step.”
    I was chilled. “I want to send them away.”
    â€œNo,” Constance said. “Absolutely not.”
    The car stopped in front of the house, and I went into the hall to open the front door, which I had unlocked earlier because it was not courteous to unlock the door in a guest’s face. When I came onto the porch I saw that it was not quite as bad as I had expected; it was not a stranger Helen Clarke had with her, but little Mrs. Wright, who had come once before and been more frightened than anyone else. She would not be too much for Constance, but Helen Clarke ought not to have brought her without telling me.
    â€œGood afternoon, Mary Katherine,” Helen Clarke said, coming around the car and to the steps, “isn’t this a lovely spring day? How is dear Constance? I brought Lucille.” She was going to handle it brazenly, as though people brought almost strangers every day to see Constance, and I disliked having to smile at her. “You remember Lucille Wright?” she asked me, and poor little Mrs. Wright said in a small voice that she had so wanted to come again. I held the front door open and they came into the hall. They had not worn coats because it was such a fine day, but Helen Clarke had the common sense to delay a minute anyway; “Tell dear Constance we’ve come,” she said to me, and I knew she was giving me time to tell Constance who was here, so I slipped into the drawing room, where Constance sat quietly, and said, “It’s Mrs. Wright, the frightened one.”
    Constance smiled. “Kind of a weak first step,” she said. “It’s going to be fine, Merricat.”
    In the hall Helen Clarke was showing off the staircase to Mrs. Wright, telling the familiar story about the carving and the wood brought from Italy; when I came out of the drawing room she glanced at me and then said, “This staircase is one of the wonders of the county, Mary Katherine. Shame to keep it hidden from the world. Lucille?” They moved into the drawing room.
    Constance was perfectly composed. She rose and smiled and said she was glad to see them. Because Helen Clarke was ungraceful by nature, she managed to make the simple act of moving into a room and sitting down a complex ballet for three people; before Constance had quite finished speaking Helen Clarke jostled Mrs. Wright and sent Mrs. Wright sideways like a careening croquet ball off into the far corner of the room where she sat abruptly and clearly without intention upon a small and uncomfortable chair. Helen Clarke made for the sofa where Constance sat, nearly upsetting the tea table, and although there were enough chairs in the room and another sofa, she sat finally uncomfortably close to Constance, who detested having anyone near her but me. “Now,” Helen Clarke said, spreading, “it’s good to see you again.”
    â€œSo kind of you to have us,” Mrs. Wright said, leaning forward. “Such a lovely staircase.”
    â€œYou look well, Constance. Have you been working in the garden?”
    â€œI couldn’t help it, on a day like this.” Constance laughed; she was doing