The Moving Finger Read Online Free PDF Page B

were—but not for le bon motif —not because of the resultant harmony—but because it is the way her mother had them.”
    He transferred his attention to me, and his voice changed. It altered from that of the rapt artist to that of the born gossip.
    â€œYou didn’t know the family at all? No, quite so—yes, through house agents. But, my dears, you ought to have known that family! When I came here the old mother was still alive. An incredible person—quite incredible! A monster, if you know what I mean. Positively a monster. The old-fashioned Victorian monster, devouring her young. Yes, that’s what it amounted to. She was monumental, you know, must have weighed seventeen stone, and all the five daughters revolved round her. ‘The girls’! That’s how she always spoke of them. The girls! And the eldest was well over sixty then. ‘Those stupid girls!’ she used to call them sometimes. Black slaves, that’s all they were, fetching and carrying and agreeing with her. Ten o’clock they had to go to bed and they weren’t allowed a fire in their bedroom, and as for asking their own friends to the house, that would have been unheard of. She despised them, you know, for not getting married, and yet so arranged their lives that it was practically impossible for them to meet anybody. I believe Emily, or perhaps it was Agnes, did have some kind of affair with a curate.But his family wasn’t good enough and Mamma soon put a stop to that! ”
    â€œIt sounds like a novel,” said Joanna.
    â€œOh, my dear, it was. And then the dreadful old woman died, but of course it was far too late then. They just went on living there and talking in hushed voices about what poor Mamma would have wished. Even repapering her bedroom they felt to be quite sacrilegious. Still they did enjoy themselves in the parish in a quiet way… But none of them had much stamina, and they just died off one by one. Influenza took off Edith, and Minnie had an operation and didn’t recover and poor Mabel had a stroke—Emily looked after her in the most devoted manner. Really that poor woman has done nothing but nursing for the last ten years. A charming creature, don’t you think? Like a piece of Dresden. So sad for her having financial anxieties—but of course all investments have depreciated.”
    â€œWe feel rather awful being in her house,” said Joanna.
    â€œNo, no, my dear young lady. You mustn’t feel that way. Her dear good Florence is devoted to her and she told me herself how happy she was to have got such nice tenants.” Here Mr. Pye made a little bow. “She told me she thought she had been most fortunate.”
    â€œThe house,” I said, “has a very soothing atmosphere.”
    Mr. Pye darted a quick glance at me.
    â€œReally? You feel that? Now, that’s very interesting. I wondered, you know. Yes, I wondered.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, Mr. Pye?” asked Joanna.
    My Pye spread out his plump hands.
    â€œNothing, nothing. One wondered, that is all. I do believe inatmosphere, you know. People’s thoughts and feelings. They give their impression to the walls and the furniture.”
    I did not speak for a moment or two. I was looking round me and wondering how I would describe the atmosphere of Prior’s Lodge. It seemed to me that the curious thing was that it hadn’t any atmosphere! That was really very remarkable.
    I reflected on this point so long that I heard nothing of the conversation going on between Joanna and her host. I was recalled to myself, however, by hearing Joanna uttering farewell preliminaries. I came out of my dream and added my quota.
    We all went out into the hall. As we came towards the front door a letter came through the box and fell on the mat.
    â€œAfternoon post,” murmured Mr. Pye as he picked it up. “Now, my dear young people, you will come again, won’t you? Such a