The Constant Nymph. Margaret Kennedy Kennedy
thought of her,’ whispered Antonia. ‘I went to her room to fetch her. But I didn’t like to go in. She … she’s got somebody in there. I heard them whispering.’
They waited some seconds longer and then Teresa, mastering her panic, stole downstairs to Linda’s door and listened. She could hear nothing at first and was just going to knock when she caught a stifled laugh and knew that Tony had been right. She crept away, up to the others, who were waiting outside a room which was now dreadfully silent.
‘It’s stopped,’ breathed Paulina.
They clung together, straining for the least sound, and all started violently when a padding footstep crossed the room.
‘That’s Gelert,’ said Sebastian reassuringly. ‘I heard him whining a minute ago.’
The dog whimpered faintly and gave two short yelping barks, ending in a long howl. Paulina whispered that it was funny that Sanger did not swear at him. But no voice came, only a furious scratching at the door and another appalling howl.
‘I’m going in,’ Teresa stated. ‘Something funny must have happened. Somebody ought to go. I don’t care if there is a row. Will you come, Tony?’
But Antonia drew back crying that she was afraid. Teresa opened the door and was nearly flung down by Gelert, who bounded past them and fled howling along the passage. Sebastian pushed in front of her and advanced into the room, remarking:
‘I’ll come with you. I expect you’d like a man.’
The lamp showed the floor all covered with sheets of music, and an overturned ink-pot and their father sprawling across the table at which he sat, his face hidden.
‘He’s fainted,’ suggested Teresa. ‘We ought to give him brandy.’
Sebastian tugged at the heavy body, trying to turn it over, his white face flushing with the strain. They both pulled and the chair with Sanger in it toppled over and went thudding to the floor. She bounded towards the table for a brandy flask, but her brother, looking at the face which gaped up at them, said:
‘It’s no use. He’s dead.’
‘Oh, no! No!’
She knelt beside her father, pouring brandy into his mouth and over his face and over the music on the floor until Sebastian took the flask from her and led her from the room, repeating:
‘It’s no use, Tessa. He’s dead. We must get people. I’ll go and look for Ike. You fetch Lewis.’
‘Oh, Lewis … I must get Lewis …’
She whispered his name to herself as she crossed the moonlit space between the house and the annexe. She had to walk rather slowly because of the ache of terror which seemed to numb all her limbs. The stairs to his door seemed difficult to climb. She stood, fingering the latch, telling him what had happened. And Lewis, who had been lying half-dressed on his bed, jumped up and began to put on his boots. His coat he wrapped round Teresa, for she was shivering, and he took her back into the house. Her father’s room was full of people. Roberto and Birnbaum were there, bending over Sanger’s body, and Sebastian was trying to mop up the ink on the floor. They were all dazed and silent until Linda, in a pink silk wrapper with all her yellow hair blazing on her shoulders, burst into the room. Trigorin followed her. When she saw what had happened she turned a queer chalky white and burst into noisy, unrestrained weeping. Her loud cries rang through the stricken house so that Caryl and Kate, coming up from the valley, heard and knew that calamity had overtaken them all.
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