Touch Not The Cat Read Online Free PDF

eyes. I still had this one to think about, myself. "I did tell Bryony's . . . Perhaps the boy knows." Bryony's lover? It would take a bit of adjustment to come to terms with the fact that my father had known. And if he had told my lover something that mattered urgently to me, then my lover could tell me, and the mystery was no mystery.
    The bee, abandoning the hyacinths, shot straight for the window like a bullet, achieved the open pane by a beewing's breadth, and was gone.
    Walther straightened in the big chair. "Well, we shall leave it, I think. Yes? You must try to forget it for the moment. When you have rested, and when the next few days are over, then you may find your mind fresher, and you will see. It is very possible that Mr. Emerson may have the answers already, or whoever of your family comes over on Friday. One of them surely will, and will take you home? It may be 'Bryony's cousin,' the one who knows it all."
    "So it may. Dr. Gothard, will you tell me something truly?"
    "If I can."
    I knew from his eyes that from a doctor that meant "If I may," but that was fair enough. I said: "If the driver of that car had brought Daddy straight up to you here, could you have saved him?"
    I saw the wariness relax into relief. That meant he would tell me the truth. "No. If he had been brought straight in he might have lived a little longer, but I could not have saved him."
    "Not even till I got here?"
    "I think not. It was a matter of hours only."
    I drew a breath. He looked at me curiously. I shook my head. "No, I wasn't thinking of anything as dramatic and useless as revenge. That's a kind of self-defeat, I always feel. But if you had said 'Yes' I'd never have slept until the police found the driver who did it. As it is, he ran away out of fear and stupidity, and maybe he's being punished enough already. If the police ever do find him—" I paused.
    "Yes?" he prompted.
    I said flatly: "I don't want to know. I mean, I don't want to be told who it is. I won't burden myself with a useless hate. Daddy's gone, and I'm here, with a life to live. Those are the facts."
    I didn't add what I was thinking: that he might not be quite gone, not from me, not from such as me.
    I would go back to Ashley, and there, perhaps . . . But I wasn't sure where that path would lead, and anyway that was another secret that was not for daylight. Walther said something about its being a sensible attitude, and something more about my being very like my father, and then we talked about the arrangements for the cremation on Friday, and for the day after that, when nothing more would remain for me but to take my father's ashes home.
    Ashley, 1835
    The wind moved in the boughs outside. Creepers shifted and tapped against the walls of the pavilion. Since the old man had been ill, the place had been neglected—mercifully, he thought, with a wryness that made the young mouth look soured and wary.
    He strained his eyes against the darkness. Still no movement, no sign. He pushed the casement open a fraction, listened. Nothing, except the rush of the overflow conduit past the maze, and the wind in the beeches. Sudden gusts combed the crests of the yew hedges towards him, as if something were flying past, invisible. A soul on its way home, he thought, and the shudder took him again.
    At least let us have some light. He shut the window, and the night sounds died. He pulled the shutters close, and fastened them, then drew the heavy curtains across.
    A candle stood on the writing table. He found a lucifer and lit it. At once the room flowered with light; golden curtains, rose-wreathed carpet, the bed's rich covering, the glittering sconces on the walls.

    If he ever came here again, he would light those, too.

Three
    Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives. . . .
    —Romeo and Juliet, III, i 
    I didn't go straight home when I got to England. The first priority was a visit to Mr. Emerson, our solicitor, to find out if he had had a letter from my father,