Du Maurier, Daphne Read Online Free PDF

eerie suddenly, chilled, and rather sick. What had roused Aunt Patience to such panic? What had Joss Merlyn been about to say? She was aware of a fevered and rather terrible curiosity. Her uncle waved his hand impatiently.
    “Get up to bed, Patience,” he said. “I’m tired of your death’s-head at my supper table. This girl and I understand one another.”
    The woman rose at once and went to the door, with a last ineffectual glance of despair over her shoulder. They heard her patter up the stairs. Joss Merlyn and Mary were alone. He pushed the empty brandy glass away from him and folded his arms on the table.
    “There’s been one weakness in my life, and I’ll tell you what it is,” he said. “It’s drink. It’s a curse, and I know it. I can’t stop myself. One day it’ll be the end of me, and a good job too. There’s days go by and I don’t touch more than a drop, same as I’ve done tonight. And then I’ll feel the thirst come on me and I’ll soak. Soak for hours. It’s power, and glory, and women, and the Kingdom of God, all rolled into one. I feel a king then, Mary. I feel I’ve got the strings of the world between my two fingers. It’s heaven and hell. I talk then, talk until every damned thing I’ve ever done is spilt to the four winds. I shut myself in my room and shout my secrets in my pillow. Your aunt turns the key on me, and when I’m sober I hammer on the door and she lets me out. There’s no one knows that but she and I, and now I’ve told you. I’ve told you because I’m already a little drunk and I can’t hold my tongue. But I’m not drunk enough to lose my head. I’m not drunk enough to tell you why I live in this God-forgotten spot, and why I’m the landlord of Jamaica Inn.” His voice was hoarse, and now he scarcely spoke above a whisper. The turf fire had sunk low in the hearth, and dark shadows stretched long fingers on the wall. The candles too had burnt down, and cast a monstrous shadow of Joss Merlyn on the ceiling. He smiled at her, and with a foolish drunken gesture he laid his finger against his nose.
    “I’ve not told you that, Mary Yellan. Oh no, I’ve got some sense and cunning left. If you want to know any more you can ask your aunt. She’ll pull you a tale. I heard her blathering tonight, telling you we kept fine company here, and the squire takes off his hat to her. It’s lies, all lies. I’ll tell you that much, for you’ll come to know it anyway. Squire Bassat’s too mortal scared to shove his nose in here. If he saw me in the road he’d cross his heart and spur his horse. And so would all the precious gentry. The coaches don’t stop here now, nor the mails neither. I don’t worry; I’ve customers enough. The wider berth the gentry give to me the better pleased I am. Oh, there’s drinking here all right, and plenty of it too. There’s some who come to Jamaica Saturday night, and there’s some who turn the key of their door and sleep with their fingers in their ears. There are nights when every cottage on the moors is dark and silent, and the only lights for miles are the blazing windows of Jamaica Inn. They say the shouting and the singing can be heard as far down as the farms below Rough Tor. You’ll be in the bar those nights, if you’ve a fancy for it, and you’ll see what company I keep.”
    Mary sat very still, gripping the sides of her chair. She dared not move for fear of that swift changing of his mood which she had observed already, and which would turn him from this sudden intimate tone of confidence to a harsh and coarse brutality.
    “They’re all afraid of me,” he went on; “the whole damned lot of ‘em. Afraid of me, who’s afraid of no man. I tell you, if I’d had education, if I’d had learning, I’d have walked the breadth of England beside King George himself. It’s drink that’s been against me, drink and my hot blood. It’s the curse of all of us, Mary. There’s never been a Merlyn yet that died peaceful in his