Something To Smile About
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Aunt Frances was not in the habit of thinking about anything but herself, which I think must be an unpleasing state to behold. So it was a pleasure indeed when she asked me to go and sit with her for a time before dinner, and when at last she said something that sounded more like sympathy than criticism! I felt so relieved when I saw how pleased she was—and then my heart skipped a beat because I knew what would come next…
Oh! It was a long while since I had seen Aunt Frances so happy as she was that day. Her face shone bright and clear; she looked younger, fresher. But even so, I could hardly believe that the conversation might have been so pleasant to Mrs. Ferrars.
She was a bit surprised at first, but by the time we were on our way back upstairs I thought she’d got used to the idea, and it didn’t seem to matter much anyhow: Aunt Frances had taken away all the attention.
My aunt’s manner towards me after that remained unchanged, except that now she treated me differently. As if, I suppose, she considered us two friends who enjoyed one another’s company! It made me feel rather ashamed of myself, although it was only for half an hour.
And it wasn’t just that, either; there was something else about it: she seemed to want to know something of me, some part of me that was not so obviously present. It was such a relief when she took hold of my hand and drew me into a corner…! She smiled at me, her eyes dancing, and whispered, “You’ve always had this gift of making me laugh, you know.”
The next morning I woke suddenly—it was so early!—and I thought I heard the sound of someone sobbing. The moment was so strange. For a moment I could scarcely breathe until it came to me that I had imagined everything.
I lay still and listened to the sound of her laughter coming down the passage: Mrs. Ferrars had gone off with a smile, leaving me to my own thoughts. That was what happened when we went home that evening, and when it began to grow dark I went upstairs and tried to sleep—but that, too, was impossible.
I had never slept through from night to night without any help or advice from Mr. Grantley—but now I felt very nervous and uncomfortable, and I found it difficult to fall asleep. I couldn’t bear to see him alone, in case he should ask me questions about Mrs. Ferrars; so I sent word that I wished to be left alone to rest.
I dozed fitfully, and when at last I fell into slumber it was in the most unnatural fashion—with an overwhelming sense of happiness and relief! I was almost frightened of myself when I woke up—but I had never experienced such an intense feeling of peace and contentment before.
When I reached my room I found that she was not there…! I was so surprised—it was only a few minutes past eight o’clock! —and I felt so light-headed, I could scarce stand upright, and my legs seemed to be moving as if I were floating, so I sat on the bed and waited for the shock to pass.
Then I called out her name and heard her voice coming along the corridor, but it came slowly and hesitantly, and I did not dare go downstairs until she came to meet me. We both knew why I had wanted to be left alone, and when she came in she laughed quietly and told me I might go to her whenever I liked—that Mrs. Ferrars had gone off with Miss de Courcy, and would probably return late.
It is not often I can say I was glad to find myself alone again, but it was true of this case. It had been so nice to feel safe under Aunt Frances’s care; it had given me such a glow of confidence and security—but when she was gone, I felt almost ashamed of myself!
And yet I couldn’t help thinking of her as having been so very kind to me… Perhaps the best thing I could do would be to take advantage of my aunt’s absence and visit Mrs. Ferrars…!
When I had done that, I felt better: I felt less lonely, knowing where she was.
And I had a surprise awaiting me. The letter from Mr. Grantley had arrived—the one that had been held for so long. I hadn’t known that he had written, though: perhaps he had sent a letter to her. But no matter how much I regretted his delay, there was nothing more to be said about that—and now he had come back to England at last, and the letter was here.
I took it out, opened it, and read the contents in silence. It was short and sweet, and it gave me pleasure to think that he had really meant what he had written, that his words had carried conviction…
That was all right: I’d been able to get over the embarrassment before, and if she had received it, that was what mattered. He had spoken well, then; his words had had a good effect. My uncle, too, had been quite moved by them. And so, if ever there was a time for us to have an interview, this would be it: there was no need for me to be afraid!
But when I had finished reading the letter, I felt something cold touch my arm: it was like a feather, lightly touching my skin. I started, wondering whether I had dreamed it, and looking around—but it happened twice, and both times she looked at me—her eyes met mine, but she made no movement. “Is anything wrong?” I asked her.
“What?” she said.
I turned round in confusion and saw Mr. Grantley standing behind me. She was holding her hand towards me, and I noticed she had changed somehow. Her expression was sad, and yet she was smiling. I was puzzled, and I could hardly believe my eyes—but he was looking at her with his old, familiar look, and she had the same smile which was like an answer.
Then I realized that Mr. Grantley was leaning against the wall, near the window, just as I had seen him in the portrait. There was no need to say aught—he had come after me! He had seen the letter, too—he had come back!
And as he turned his head to me, I could not restrain myself from running towards him and throwing my arms around his neck.
He put his hands around me, and hugged me close; his face was buried in my hair, and he murmured in my ear.
We must go away together!
***
I felt so happy that night after I went upstairs.
Aunt Frances had given me some medicine, and when I returned to her room I felt a little sleepy. As soon as I lay down, though, sleep swept over me like a flood; and as I closed my eyes, I thought that if the next time I woke, everything would have passed—and that I should be with him! That was what I wanted most.
So I slept. I slept deeply. But when I opened my eyes again, there were lights in the hall below. It must be early morning—and I felt a sudden dread. Had they missed me? Would they come up here to find me gone?
The door opened and Aunt Frances was standing beside me. She looked at me, but she did not speak…
“Miss Grey!” she cried out. “Are you awake?”
I jumped up in fright, and then I began to laugh. For I had heard her voice and knew it to be hers—and yet it seemed to be coming from a distance… She had not called to me. I remembered what she had said, too—that she couldn’t speak to me while I was asleep—but even so, I felt relief, and laughed aloud. She had brought me back to life…
I got up and pulled the curtains shut: it was still dark outside, but the light from the street lamps showed through. Then I sat down on the bedside table. I was so relieved, and my spirits rose: it was only two o’clock, and I had plenty of time before my train departed for London.
It was then I noticed that Mr. Grantley’s letter had fallen off the chest.
***
There are certain sounds that we know to mean one thing, and that is always a source of anxiety. We hear our names, or the sound of glass breaking, and that means alarm. A scream might tell us that there’s danger nearby.
And sometimes, we feel it’s better not to listen than to risk losing consciousness—for that would bring us the pain of waking again later, without having accomplished anything.
“Mr. Grantley,” she called out loudly—as if someone was already standing there listening at the door. “Mr. Grantley!” She was saying something, I’m sure, because I felt a shudder run through me and I heard a strange noise, but there was no way of knowing where the sound came from.
She ran across the room to the window. She flung open the casement and looked down into the yard. The window was half-opened. Someone had tried to push it, and now it had been forced back against its frame.
My heart was beating hard and fast. It might be nothing—I thought that there was no reason to think the worst. Yet I had never experienced such suspense; my heart thudded and I could hardly breathe, and the whole house was cold as if a heavy shadow lay upon it.
It was my turn to call out, as Aunt Frances stood beside me.
I had a sudden feeling of joy at seeing him. But I did not want to leave her alone in the darkness. So I got up quickly, and ran to her side, pulling the curtains and shutting them tightly. Then I lit a match and turned to the door.
There was someone there—and the sound of his breathing. He was leaning against the doorpost, and he seemed to be watching my Aunt Frances with an intentness that caused me to shrink back from him.
She made a slight movement as if she meant to go to him… and suddenly, he spoke. His words reached us faintly—it seemed as if the wind was blowing through the room; but he must have spoken—he had surely spoken!
“No!” I cried out to him. “Do not go away!”
I could almost see him looking up at us from the darkness—from behind the curtain!
But the words seemed to fall dead on my ears, and I heard him sigh as if all effort were gone from his body. But Aunt Frances answered him, though her voice sounded hoarse, and her hand went out to me with a trembling touch.
“Go to the other end of the room,” she whispered, “and lie down on the floor.”
He nodded once; then I saw his head sink forward, and the light from the windows shone brightly into his face so that I could see his features clearly—a strong nose, a firm chin, fine lips, and a pair of blue eyes which seemed to look past me into another world.
I felt a pang of pity for him. He was old enough to know better. And yet he was there—watching us, listening, waiting for her response. I could hear his breathing, so deep and long. She had spoken to him as if he were deaf and dumb as if she did not even know who he was…
I turned and took hold of her arm. “Don’t be afraid,” I said to her, “he can’t hurt either of us! Don’t let him frighten you—”
She did not answer, but she put her hand upon mine, and I was aware that we both felt the same. Her touch was so warm, and I felt her hand tremble as she gripped it firmly.
I pulled the curtains closed as she held them. We could hear the sound of our feet shuffling over the floorboards. My hands shook, but I kept them close to hers, and she grasped mine more tightly.
I moved closer to her, and when she leaned down to take up a piece of wood—she seemed so frail and weak in her distress—I held out her candle for her. She held it to the window to light it, and I watched as she placed it on the chest.
“You’re sure the door’s locked?” Aunt Frances asked him anxiously.
“Yes,” he replied. “Lock the door.”
“Then get up,” I said to him as calmly as I could, “and sit near the fire in the fireplace. You’ll be comfortable there. And stay there—no matter what happens! Whatever you do, do not come into this room!”
He nodded again, and I heard him rise slowly to his knees, then to his feet, and walk towards the door. When he passed out of sight, I shut it softly and then ran to the door at the farther end of the room. As I pushed open the panel I saw that Aunt Frances was still sitting in the chair.
“We are safe,” I told her. “Come here.”
She obeyed me quietly, and then came closer to me; I put my arm around her waist and held the candle above her head. She was shaking violently.
“What is wrong with you, Aunt Frances?” I demanded impatiently. “Why didn’t you send me away? Why did you not tell me to go—to leave you?”
“Leave you!” she exclaimed, in an agony of fear. “Oh, God! Do not say it!”
Her hand pressed upon mine in alarm as if she thought I was going to let her go.
“Aunt Frances!” I began, “we will be quiet. No one can reach us here. Nothing can harm us now. Come away from here! There is nothing to be afraid of, nothing to worry about—you are all right! Only thing: it might have been something worse than this!”
She looked up at me in silence, her eyes shining wildly in the light of the candle. I saw the tears welling up in them. I could feel her trembling against me, but she said no word; and so I continued: “It doesn’t matter how bad it seems at first. The worst won’t last forever! Now, try to be brave—try to trust me. And we can go back to bed.”
“I am all right!” she gasped. “And don’t talk nonsense!”
Her grip upon my hand tightened; then her voice broke out suddenly. It rose from deep within her like a cry of anguish. “How can you believe such things?” she cried out in desperation. “I never said them—never!”
The sound of her voice brought back the memory of that terrible night when we had sat in terror beside each other while the shadows gathered about the house. And I understood why Aunt Frances had tried to stop me. She feared for herself, but she also wanted to keep him from knowing the truth about me.
I put my hand on her shoulder. “I am going downstairs to make sure there is nothing in the hall. I must be alone for a little while longer.”
“No!” she whispered. “Don’t go!”
“But it is best, Aunt Frances. If I don’t see what is coming at me, I shall be able to stand anything.”
“But I do not understand!” she wailed. “Don’t go, please!”
“There is nothing to fear,” I insisted, “if you listen to me—”
“I can’t bear it!” she cried. “Stay with me—stay with me!”
“Do not be afraid!”
She clung to my hand, but she shook it off and looked up into my face, begging me not to leave her.
“Aunt Frances, listen,” I said to her. “You must try to understand. You must help me!”
“Help you?” she repeated dazedly. “How?”
“I’m not afraid,” I said to her. “Only I want to know how it works, so I can stop it! You must teach me. Tell me what you remember, and I will try to learn from your experience.”
She drew back from me as though she found her words inadequate. Then she said, “I don’t know anything!”
“You are frightened,” I urged her. “Try to think!”
“Tell me!” she implored me. “Let me think—tell me how! Don’t leave me! Stay with me!”
“All right.” My mind was racing ahead. I knew exactly what I had to do to make it work; only I had to explain it to her. “You must take hold of me, Aunt Frances. I need your hands on me to show me what you see.”
“How long?” she asked me desperately. “How many years?”
“Not much more than five minutes,” I replied quickly. “Five minutes, ten at most; you are not strong enough to stand it any longer.”
“And where? Where shall I touch you—where?”
“Anywhere!” I said to her. “Just anywhere that will help you. Just put your hands upon me, wherever will do. You don’t have to tell me how you feel—but I need your hands upon me.”
“Where—where?” Her voice sounded hollow, and in the darkness, she stared at me as though I were a stranger. “You are not afraid, are you? Are you still sure you do not know—what?”
I felt a great wave of relief at her answer. The fear that had gripped me seemed to ease a little as I answered. “Yes, yes,” I muttered. “We will be all right if you help me.”
“You cannot help me,” she said quietly.
I nodded, trying to control my impatience at her ignorance. But it would not last. We had just made love for the second time in the space of an hour, and now I had to endure her fear.
I reached over and took her hands in mine, and her fingers closed around them, holding fast. “I’ll stay with you,” she told me. “Whatever happens, I will stay with you!”
As soon as the door of the bedroom was shut behind us, she turned and grasped my arm, pressing herself close to me. I let her press close to me because she was afraid of the dark.
When we were once again alone, I took a seat by the window; but as I sat there, gazing out at the dark lawns, she drew away from me, standing up before me in the doorway. As she moved closer, she looked at me with a puzzled look, like one who is bewildered and does not understand what is going on.
“I can see better when you’re near,” I assured her. “That’s how I knew that there was danger coming—”
“Then I will stay near you, too.” She stepped into the room, keeping her hand pressed tightly upon my arm. “You can keep me safe, can’t you?”
“Aunt Frances!”
Her lips touched mine then. They were wet, cool lips, soft and trembling. I kissed her back, feeling her hand tighten even harder upon my own. “Aunt Frances!” I whispered.
“Stay,” she begged me, her voice husky.
The door was opening before me, and I went down the stairs slowly. The sun shone brightly through the windows of the parlor below, and a light breeze wafted across my bare skin as I passed the glass doors out into the hallway.
“No,” I heard her cry softly from within. “Don’t leave me! Please!”
“Wait till you hear how it goes,” I called back to her. I felt her grip on my arm. “I am here with you!”
The End