The Devil's Mask Read Online Free PDF Page B

is.’
    â€˜They’re appreciative of the gesture, as I’ve said.’
    â€˜I’ll wager they are!’
    â€˜And your hip?’
    Reminded of the injury, Father’s eyes darkened. He rose from his seat and stumped to the worktable on which lay the disassembled components of his twelve-gauge pheasant gun. He lifted the barrel to the light and winked down it. He is a young forty-eight, vigorous still, and proud of his prowess both as a shot and in the saddle. Yet he fell from his horse late last winter, injured his leg, and to his dismay hadn’t been able to shake off the hurt. The sound of his stick on the hall floor had told me that the hip still hadn’t mended, and despiteknowing how he would hate to be reminded of the injury, it seemed I had done exactly that. He replaced the barrel carefully amidst the felt cleaning rags, and slapped his hip with a feigned lack of concern.
    â€˜Damnable. It’ll mend. But the going’s slow. That said –’
    â€˜I wonder whether the riding is helping?’
    â€˜The riding has nothing to do with it.’
    â€˜Really?’
    â€˜Yes. Lounging around never cured anything,’ he replied. ‘Now, the sun’s past the yardarm. What can I get you to drink?’
    One of Bright House’s cellar-rooms is stocked with a good range of wine, bought on the advice of Father’s old friend, George Heard. Father himself appreciates the value of the collection more than the subtleties of its taste, but is generous with it nevertheless. The offer signalling a truce, I sat back in one of the leather armchairs before the fire while he went to retrieve a bottle. Perhaps Sebastian guessed at the development; he stopped playing upstairs; silence flooded the study. Then the quieter noises – the lapping of flames, Father’s uneven footsteps on the wooden floor, the wind through treetops in the garden – or was it distant caterwauling – asserted themselves. The lurcher, curled asleep before the fire, stiffened as the cat-noise broke in upon its dream. Its forelegs twitched and its lip curled to reveal yellow incisors. Did it imagine itself sinking them into the cat, silencing it, as the screech faded?

Seven
    Father’s mood lifted as the evening progressed. I hoped this had to do with the wine, and not the arrival of Sebastian and John, yet undoubtedly he relaxed in their presence. John, in particular, has a knack of putting him at ease. He has always had a slow-moving complicity around Father that both I and Sebastian lack; it hangs in the heavier set of his bones and fuller figure; you can hear it in the near-ponderous manner of his speech. Wherever a conversation begins with John, it always seems to move towards a joke, with him the willing butt.
    â€˜The bear was on a long chain,’ he was saying now. ‘We stopped to watch it down by St Nicholas Market. Every time its owner jerked its collar the thing would stand up on its hind legs and clap. Two jerks and it would attempt to keep upright on just the one leg. Hilarious. The man had a tin whistle the bear would dance to. The funniest apparition you ever saw, the great thing lumbering in time to the music on the cobbles! I had to join in, of course, just for a turn, but I got a bit carried away.’
    â€˜I’ll wager,’ nodded Father. ‘Two left feet.’
    â€˜Not at all. Inigo himself must admit I’m the better dancer. It was just the damned chain.’
    â€˜What happened?’ I asked.
    â€˜I became entangled. Briefly. Just long enough to lose myfooting. In short, I fell headlong into the bear. We ended up in the street.’
    â€˜Fool!’ Father laughed silently.
    â€˜Marvellously strong smell on the thing,’ John said slowly. ‘And long teeth. Not to worry, though. The owner pulled it back promptly, well out of reach.’
    â€˜And you informed Jonas Adams of our proposal,’ said Father. ‘After this