The Unseen Read Online Free PDF Page A

Albert asks, looking up from his journal. In the rhododendrons outside the window, a blackbird pours out its liquid song.
    ‘I really don’t think so. The girl is quite stunted in her growth, and … well, I just don’t think she can have the strength in her arms for it. And she has been unwell, too.’
    ‘Oh dear. Well, if you say so, my dear.’ Hester studies her husband, and finds nothing wanting. He wears his sideburns long, framing his face like lovingly cupped hands. The style is a little grave for such a young face, Hester has always thought – she knows Albert grew the whiskers to lend himself gravity in the pulpit. The sun is making them look gold, but when wet, they are quite dark. Albert feels her scrutiny, and smiles at her. ‘What is it, darling?’ he asks.
    ‘I was just thinking what a fine figure of a man it is I wed,’ Hester says, shyly. ‘Almost a year ago now.’ Albert takes her hand. He sits in his habitual pose, with his legs crossed at the knee so that his trousers ride up a little, and she can see an inch of white skin above his socks. It makes him look vulnerable, somehow.
    ‘It is I who have been luckiest,’ he says. Hester smiles and blushes a little.
    ‘I went to see Mrs Duff this afternoon,’ she says.
    ‘And how is she?’
    ‘A little better. I took her some of my lemon cordial, the sweet one she’s so fond of.’
    ‘That was kind of you, dear.’
    ‘Her newest son is a fine little chap, and he doesn’t cry at all when I hold him. In fact, he studies me with such a calm scrutiny!As if he’s thinking terribly important thoughts about me all the time, and coming to very weighty conclusions,’ Hester laughs.
    ‘I’m sure that can’t be true of one so young,’ Albert murmurs.
    ‘No. No, I suppose not,’ Hester agrees. Albert returns to his journal. She waits a little, her heart suddenly high in her throat. Then she gathers her courage. ‘How I do long for the day when we will have a son of our own! Or a daughter, of course. I know you will be the most wonderful father,’ she says, brightly, watching her husband expectantly. When he does not reply, she feels her cheeks begin to redden. Albert still stares at his journal, but Hester sees that he is frowning, and his pen has gone still. The nib has halted in the middle of a word, pressing into the paper, and an ink spot blooms from its tip. Clearing his throat quietly, Albert glances up at last. He gives a vague smile in her direction, but does not meet her eye; and he says nothing.
    Late in the evening, Cat lies awake. The thin mattress is lumpy, horsehair sticking up through the worn ticking. She has propped the door open with the bible that was left by the bed. She likes to see the holy book lying on the floor like this, shown no more deference than a bag of sand. The words inside just as lifeless, just as heavy. Through the crack in the door the moon shines coldly, calmly. Cat lies still, listening to Mrs Bell snoring in the room at the end of the corridor. In, out; in, out. She can hear the rattling wattle of the woman’s neck. Carefully, Cat breathes all the way in. There . It is still there, at the very bottom of her lungs – the little wet bubble that will not dry out. Cat releases the breath, tries not to cough. All the bloody coughing, in prison – all night long, from every cell, as their lungs got clogged and muddied by the damp, the spores, the doctor’s foul mixture. She runs her thumbs over the ticking, counts the little bristles, one for each second, as the night ticks by and her eyes stay open. Cat can’t remember what it feels like to lie down and sleep. That peaceful surrendering of control, of power. She can’t do it any more. Now, surrender feels like death, asthough the very air in the room can’t be trusted, as if the walls themselves will turn on her if she dares to shut her eyes; the shadows come alive to consume her.
    In a very different room, on the floor below, Hester examines Albert’s