Stokers Shadow Read Online Free PDF Page B

continue,” adds Mrs. Stoker after a pause.
    And that appears to be it. Mrs. Stoker’s gaze is still on her but there is something resigned and conclusive about it, as though she is about to let her eyes drop to her book again.
    â€œI’m afraid I’m lost, Ma’am,” Mary says.
    Florence sighs. “Yes, my dear, indeed you are. This is not the place from whence you came, Mary. This is London. There are certain delicacies to consider, certain precautions to maintain.” Now Mrs. Stoker seems tired and Mary starts to feel guilty at her obtuseness. Florence fingers her book. “Let me warn you of something, Mary. It is very fashionable these days to question the advice of your elders, to believe that the young have something new and better with which to replace the old order. But you must remember that rules came into existence not through some whim or a wish to keep anyone down. Order and custom exist for a very good reason. The wisdom of ages is found in the most commonplace of rules which it is now so fashionable to deride.”
    Mary thinks for a moment.
Does Mrs. Stoker think I am trying to deride her?
she wonders.
    Then it seems Mrs. Stoker must have read the confusion on her face; she sighs and lowers her voice. “In the evening,Mary, with your bedroom light on, you can be seen from the outside.”
    â€œFrom the back garden?” Mary says, believing that Mrs. Stoker has simply made a mistake about the geography of her house.
    â€œPrecisely,” Mrs. Stoker answers to her surprise.
    â€œBut there is no one there Ma’am; just a wall and trees.”
    â€œIf it is dark how can you possibly know there is no one there?”
    There is a silence. Mary wants to humour the old lady. “I hadn’t thought of that Mrs. Stoker,” she merely blurts, half ashamed of her lie.
    â€œNow,” Mrs. Stoker says, looking more cheerful. “How are you enjoying London?”
    â€œI love it,” Mary responds quickly.
    â€œWe must make more of an effort to get out. In the meantime,” Mrs. Stoker continues, “did you get a book for yourself at the library? You must not neglect your mind.”
    Mary immediately colours. “Yes Ma’am,” she says overtaken with shyness; she does not know why she can’t tell Mrs. Stoker what she is reading, but the information is stuck as surely as liquid in a sealed bottle.
    â€œI hope it is something respectable,” Mrs. Stoker responds, perhaps sensing something in her reaction.
    â€œOh yes, Mrs. Stoker.” She almost says the title, but again halts – ashamed of stopping, ashamed she did not tell her before, and now ashamed she has created an unnecessary secret.
    â€œWell I suppose it’s all very new to you,” the old lady responds.
    Mary feels a sting, a fire on her cheek and then a sinking feeling. Mrs. Stoker thinks she is unlearned, she suddenly realizes. Blinking hard, she pushes down her pride to get past the moment.
    â€œYes Ma’am,” she says meekly, “it is.”
    T HE BREEZE STIRS in the afternoon sending flocks of birds spiralling into migration routes. A storm is brewing – a mass of living grey sliding and swelling above the city’s spires and domes. Leaves and waste paper dance scattering circles in the gutters. Through his office window, William watches their frantic movements. Then he drags himself into a standing position. He has no appointments and needs to update his mother.
    T HE WIND RIPS like giant’s breath though Florence’s garden, thieving plump green leaves long before their withering time, hectoring them in zigzags around the indignant lawn. Florence likes the wind and settles down with the book on her chest. A storm is action; the promise of change in this weary, spirit-deflating age into which her life’s journey has had the misfortune to stretch. It is the old order reasserting itself, scorning the 1920s with its grey