Voices in a Haunted Room

“He couldn’t have done or he wouldn’t have repudiated her,” I put in sharply.

“Imagine the pressure,” said my mother. “I don’t think he has ever been happy since they parted.”

“Don’t waste your sentiment on HRH,” said Dickon. “I think he is quite capable of taking care of himself.”

“Well, he didn’t seem so today,” said my mother. “Tell us about the Dog and Whistle.”

We sat there talking desultorily and sleepily but none of us wanted the day to end.

The candles guttered and some of them went out but no one thought of replacing them.

It was very pleasant, very intimate. There were long silences which no one seemed to notice. I suppose we were all busy with our own thoughts and they seemed to be pleasant ones.

I kept going over the incidents of the day. I could smell the river; I could taste Matty’s roast beef; I could see the shining brasses in the inn parlour; I could hear the soft lapping of water against a bank.

It had been a happy day. * The spell was broken as the fire collapsed into the grate.

“It will soon be out,” said Dickon.

“And it’s getting chilly,” added my mother.

She yawned and rose. She and I went upstairs together, her arm through mine. She kissed me at my door and I went in and lighted the candles on my dressing table.

I looked at my reflection. I seemed almost beautiful by candlelight. Candlelight can flatter, I told myself; but there was something more than that. There was a softness, a radiance, about me. It had been a day I should never forget.

I brushed my hair dreamily and thought of “Drink to me only with thine eyes.”

Suddenly I rose and locked my door.

Surely he would not attempt to come to me, not here in this house with my mother close at hand. But would he not dare anything?

That was why I must lock my door, for if he did come, how could I trust myself on a night like this?

In spite of the late night we were all up early the next morning, and my mother was already at breakfast when I went down.

“Oh, there you are!” she said. “Did you sleep well after all the excitement?”

“Not at first, but I feel surprisingly refreshed.”

“What a day! I shall never forget it. I’m glad it’s over though. I’m longing to see Jessica. I do hate leaving her so long. And you must feel the same about Amaryllis.”

I admitted I did.

“I thought we’d go back the day after tomorrow.”

“Yes, why not?”

“If Dickon can make it,” she added.

“Has he said so?”

“He’s not quite sure. But in case he does I want to go to the mercer’s this morning.

I must get some more of that lace. He said he would have it in today. Will you come with me this morning? I might want your opinion.”

“I’ll like that.”

“All right then. Ten o’clock? We can walk there. It’s not more than ten minutes away.”

“I’ll be ready.”

We went to the mercer’s shop and were some time choosing the lace. My mother also bought some pale mauve and pink ribbons which she thought would be useful for the babies’ clothes.

As we came out of the shop she said: “I know what we’ll do. We’ll have some coffee or chocolate. I do think the coffee houses are interesting.”

I agreed with her that they had become a part of London life and they were more than just a place to stop and take a drink of coffee or chocolate. One could eat there, read the papers which were available for clients, could write letters and most of all listen to the conversations of the great. Certain coffee houses were frequented by people in various walks of life; there were the political coffee houses, literary coffee houses, musical coffee houses, and there people could congregate and join in discussions on their favourite topics. Sometimes well-known men of wit and erudition frequented them. In his day Samuel Johnson had held court at the Turk’s Head or the Bedford or Cheshire Cheese; and Walpole and Addison had rivalled Congreve and Vanbrugh at the Kit Cat.

The coffee house we chose was only a few steps from the mercer’s. It was Benbow’s-named, I heard, after its founder, who had made a fortune at the gaming tables. At this hour of the day there were no wits present and I imagined the house was probably used by people like us who merely wished to stay for as long as it took to drink our coffee or chocolate.

When we went in we were effusively greeted by the owner. He knew who my mother was and she told me afterwards that she had been in the place with Dickon on their last visit to London.

He ushered us to our seats. “Here in this little alcove you will view the company in comfort,” he added with a little wink.

“This is my daughter,” said my mother.

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, my lady,” he said.

He bowed with great dignity and I said: “And I to meet you.” We were drinking the excellent chocolate when my mother said suddenly: “Oh dear, I’ve left the ribbons at the mercer’s.”

“We must go back and get them when we leave here.”

“I’ll run back now. It won’t take long. You stay here.”

She rose and Mr. Benbow came forward.