Victoria and the Nightingale Read Free

devices while he went off to discuss the matter with the housekeeper and decide whether
    or not they ought to inform Sir Peter.
    Victoria closed her eyes and fought against returning nausea. Try as she would she couldn’t shut the horror of the accident out of her mental vision, and every time it recurred she felt swamped by the nightmare of it, and she wanted to run away somewhere where it couldn’t possibly pursue her. It was like falling into uneasy dozes and dreaming horrifying dreams.
    She was so thankful that Johnny was upstairs somewhere in this great house, and that he was safely tucked up in bed with a kindly Scottish housekeeper to attend to him, and an equally kindly maidservant to make a fuss over him.
    Poor Johnny. . . . It was what he wanted ... endless fussing and cosseting, and no harsh awakening to realities on the morrow.
    For she was horribly afraid that on the morrow Johnny would learn that he no longer had a parent.
    It was very quiet in the library, and no intrusive noises shattered the utter peace and tranquillity of it. She opened her eyes and, in the one subdued light that the butler had left burning, as well as the glow from the electric fire, she could see the glass-fronted bookshelves and the beautiful bindings they protected, the chrome leather of the chairs and the deeper chrome of the carpet, the French windows standing open to what remained of the night.
    In an hour or so now the cocks would be crowing, and the light of dawn would appear in the sky. Already she thought she could detect a faint lightening of the sky toward the east, and there was that breathless hush that precedes the dawn. The air was cool, and there was the moist scent of roses floating in through the French windows. Far, far away, or so it seemed, a stable clock chimed the hour, and grandfather clocks all over the house joined in in a musical medley.
    Victoria felt herself drifting off into another one of those uneasy—even terrifying—dozes, and she tried to force herself to keep awake. She must have partially succeeded, for when she opened her eyes again the stable chimes were still quivering in the atmosphere, and two people had come in through the French window and were standing looking down at her in astonishment.
    “How extraordinary,” a woman with a brittle, amused voice exclaimed. “You don’t think we’re seeing things, do you, darling? I mean—you were rather generous with the champagne tonight.”
    “Don’t be silly.” The man spoke sharply. “This young woman isn’t a figment of our imagination. She appears to be taking a rest here.”
    “And she looks as if she might be the family ghost. She’s awfully pale.”
    “And she’s obviously in some sort of trouble.” He coughed. “Excuse me—”
    Victoria sat up with a jolt and grasped at the arms of the chair. If someone had presented her with a mirror just then she would have understood why they both continued to stare so hard.
    “You are real, aren’t you?” Even he sounded doubtful. “Of course.”
    “Then you must have found your way in through the window. Are you looking for someone? Do you want something?”
    She shook her head.
    “Only to hear how Johnny is. And I think the doctor will be here any moment. . . .”
    But at that moment the door opened, and in came the doctor. He was a middle-aged man who had been in bed when he was sent for, and he wore his pajamas beneath an overcoat. He was accompanied by the housekeeper in a thick wool dressing gown, and the butler who was still in his formal black coat and pinstriped trousers. At sight of the two people who were standing staring at Victoria he looked mildly surprised, and then hurriedly explained.
    “There’s been an accident, Sir Peter. This young person was involved in it, and there’s a child upstairs who has been put to bed by Mrs. Grainge and at the moment seems to be settling down quite comfortably. I thought the doctor ought to take a look at this young woman