The Devil in Clevely (Afternoon of an Autocrat) by Norah Lofts Page A
Authors: Norah Lofts
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insensible, as the old horse checked and slithered to a halt.
There was a text: Underneath are the everlasting arms! And it was true. So were all the other things people said about Heaven. She'd died there in the dark and fallen--fallen through infinite space and infinite darkness, and now here she was, safely held in those strong everlasting arms. She gave a great sigh of happiness and relief, and lay back in the arms more securely. It was wonderful; it was all over--the struggles against Satan and temptation and sin; all the hard work and the way the cook at Muchanger made fun of her and called her 'Methody'; the long trudging miles to chapel...all over. No more hurry, the whole of eternity, held close like this. Everything had been worth while. Presently all the glory and beauty of Heaven would be there to be enjoyed; for the moment it was enough to lie here. She snuggled closer.
Then a very human, ordinary voice said, 'My God, I thought I'd killed you!' Not the voice of Jesus which had come from Mr Whitwell's lips in the Summerfield barn. So hard on the heels of this realisation that it seemed part of it came the awareness that what her face was pressed into was some rough cloth that smelt of smoke, of cooked onions, of hay, horses and ale.
'Wake up and speak to me,' said the voice. 'Are you hurt?' The voice was not very steady. Danny Fuller had had a fine shock; pounding along like that and having old Short check and swerve, and climbing down to find what looked like a dead girl in the road.
'Are you hurt?' he asked again.
Not without disappointment Damask came to full knowledge. She was still on earth; she must make an effort.
'I'm all right. She didn't touch me. And I kept my eyes shut, so I'm all right. How did you get here?' Her voice was languid and the few words seemed to demand all the strength she had left. She kept her eyes closed and still lay limp in his embrace.
'If we didn't touch you why did you fall down? And why didn't you get to the side of the road. You must have heard us coming.'
'Not you. Her! I heard her and I prayed and God heard me. He sent you.'
'I think you must have had a crack on the skull,' Danny said practically. The hood of her cloak had fallen back on to her shoulders and he put his hand to her head, running his fingers through her hair with a touch which made a thrill of voluptuousness move over her. She shuddered a little.
'No bump that I can find,' he said. He was sure of her identity now, having touched the hard bunch of plaits; no other girl wore her hair that way. 'You're Damask Greenway, aren't you?' Unconsciously his manner cooled. His susceptibility to girls was the greatest trouble as well as the greatest joy of his life, but his feeling for Damask was tinged with the same reserve and resentment which Sir Charles had experienced earlier in the afternoon. She was so prim and strait-laced, and she could have been pretty, but deliberately made herself plain; and that, besides being a pity and a waste, was in some curious way a rebuke to Danny and his kind. His brown, good-looking face twitched into a mischievous grin as he said: 'I'm Danny Fuller.'
That'd make her sit up I It certainly did. She opened her eyes and pulled away from him, thankful that the darkness hid the hot blush which scorched her face as she remembered how she had lain in his arms and pressed her face to his coat and thrilled to the touch of his hand in her hair. Danny Fuller, who had the worst name for running after girls of any boy in six parishes.
'I'm quite all right now, thank you,' she said in the prim way he detested.
'Well, I'm glad of that. What the hell did you think you were doing, walking in the middle of the road with your eyes shut? Isn't it dark enough?'
'I was frightened,' she said. 'She was so near me I could feel the horse's breath on me.' 'Who was?' 'Lady Alice.'
He broke into laughter. 'Only horse came near you tonight was my old Short! There were we spanking along and there you
There was a text: Underneath are the everlasting arms! And it was true. So were all the other things people said about Heaven. She'd died there in the dark and fallen--fallen through infinite space and infinite darkness, and now here she was, safely held in those strong everlasting arms. She gave a great sigh of happiness and relief, and lay back in the arms more securely. It was wonderful; it was all over--the struggles against Satan and temptation and sin; all the hard work and the way the cook at Muchanger made fun of her and called her 'Methody'; the long trudging miles to chapel...all over. No more hurry, the whole of eternity, held close like this. Everything had been worth while. Presently all the glory and beauty of Heaven would be there to be enjoyed; for the moment it was enough to lie here. She snuggled closer.
Then a very human, ordinary voice said, 'My God, I thought I'd killed you!' Not the voice of Jesus which had come from Mr Whitwell's lips in the Summerfield barn. So hard on the heels of this realisation that it seemed part of it came the awareness that what her face was pressed into was some rough cloth that smelt of smoke, of cooked onions, of hay, horses and ale.
'Wake up and speak to me,' said the voice. 'Are you hurt?' The voice was not very steady. Danny Fuller had had a fine shock; pounding along like that and having old Short check and swerve, and climbing down to find what looked like a dead girl in the road.
'Are you hurt?' he asked again.
Not without disappointment Damask came to full knowledge. She was still on earth; she must make an effort.
'I'm all right. She didn't touch me. And I kept my eyes shut, so I'm all right. How did you get here?' Her voice was languid and the few words seemed to demand all the strength she had left. She kept her eyes closed and still lay limp in his embrace.
'If we didn't touch you why did you fall down? And why didn't you get to the side of the road. You must have heard us coming.'
'Not you. Her! I heard her and I prayed and God heard me. He sent you.'
'I think you must have had a crack on the skull,' Danny said practically. The hood of her cloak had fallen back on to her shoulders and he put his hand to her head, running his fingers through her hair with a touch which made a thrill of voluptuousness move over her. She shuddered a little.
'No bump that I can find,' he said. He was sure of her identity now, having touched the hard bunch of plaits; no other girl wore her hair that way. 'You're Damask Greenway, aren't you?' Unconsciously his manner cooled. His susceptibility to girls was the greatest trouble as well as the greatest joy of his life, but his feeling for Damask was tinged with the same reserve and resentment which Sir Charles had experienced earlier in the afternoon. She was so prim and strait-laced, and she could have been pretty, but deliberately made herself plain; and that, besides being a pity and a waste, was in some curious way a rebuke to Danny and his kind. His brown, good-looking face twitched into a mischievous grin as he said: 'I'm Danny Fuller.'
That'd make her sit up I It certainly did. She opened her eyes and pulled away from him, thankful that the darkness hid the hot blush which scorched her face as she remembered how she had lain in his arms and pressed her face to his coat and thrilled to the touch of his hand in her hair. Danny Fuller, who had the worst name for running after girls of any boy in six parishes.
'I'm quite all right now, thank you,' she said in the prim way he detested.
'Well, I'm glad of that. What the hell did you think you were doing, walking in the middle of the road with your eyes shut? Isn't it dark enough?'
'I was frightened,' she said. 'She was so near me I could feel the horse's breath on me.' 'Who was?' 'Lady Alice.'
He broke into laughter. 'Only horse came near you tonight was my old Short! There were we spanking along and there you
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