at home ever did such a thing. Indeed, she hadn’t even checked to see if this door offered any sort of latch.
Fear crept up her spine, surpassing the initial surprise. Whoever—or whatever—was at the door seemed of strange intent. A sliver of light passed in from the hallway, but there the door stopped for a long, motionless moment.
And then it moved again. Cosima cowered in the darkness, hiding in the shadows behind the canopied bed. At last she saw a figure, darkly clad and large, holding what appeared to be a heavy and unwieldy bag.
“Too many this time,” the person said, evidently to no one in particular. Had the broad shoulders not already revealed this visitor a man, his deep voice would have given him away. The figure deposited his burden on the floor before the unlit firebox before pulling something from his pocket. A match. He struck it and lit the coals awaiting use, illuminating that portion of the room and sending the scent of sulfur as far as Cosima. Then he returned to the door and closed it. Evidently this door did offer a lock. Cosima heard it snap into place.
Heart pounding, she slunk beneath the bed altogether, too timid to watch. If the invader never suspected her presence, she would keep safe. But what sort of invader brought a full sack of goods?
She heard what sounded like rocks, bricks, or stones sliding against one another. Venturing from beneath the bed’s frame, she stole a quick peek over the edge of the quilt-covered mattress. With his back to her, she could see nothing more than one strong hand pulling out rock after rock, placing each one in a neat row before the light of the coal fire.
Cosima had seen Royboy do such a thing before—line up stones in a straight row. He had done it with sticks as well and once with his food, though that was only after he’d eaten far more than anyone thought his stomach could hold. Was this visitor like Royboy, then, trying to create order in some mysterious fashion, with items of no possible value for anyone else?
Unwilling to find out, she sank back under the bed. The bottom of the bed was high enough from the floor to afford her a low view as far away as where he knelt, and she saw the stripe he created lengthen with rocks of all shapes and sizes. Every once in a while he would tap two against one another, and dust would flicker in the meager light or a spark might catch hold of the flame only to instantly disappear.
Soon Cosima’s fear abated, and she wished only that he would leave. Instead he looked at the rocks as if they were some rare treasure, now and then grunting an indecipherable phrase as he studied them in the fire’s glow.
At last he stood; Cosima could tell when his knees disappeared from the floor and she saw only his shoes, a pair of sturdy black boots that were as dusty as the rocks he’d toted. She offered a quick prayer of thanksgiving, glad he seemed finished inspecting whatever sort of hoard he’d pulled out of that sack.
But he did not go to the door. When she heard more movement, she dared another peek. Her heart sank as she saw the man take off his coat, drape it on the back of the nearby chaise longue, then sit to remove his boots.
Surely he wasn’t planning to stay!
Suddenly his stockinged feet headed her way, and a moment later the bedsprings sighed and sank to accept his weight. Oh! What could she possibly do now ?
She must leave. She would wait until he fell asleep, then let herself out and find another room in which to pass the night. Hopefully she could find her way to Beryl’s room or perhaps back to the yellow room. A lumpy bed didn’t seem as unappealing now as Beryl had made it sound earlier.
Soon Cosima heard the man’s even breathing. Keeping herself to a crawl, knees and palms to polished wood, she made her way along the dark side of the bed, occasionally tugging on her long cotton nightgown when it hampered her progress. Nearer the door, eerie shadows danced from the light of the coal
Fear crept up her spine, surpassing the initial surprise. Whoever—or whatever—was at the door seemed of strange intent. A sliver of light passed in from the hallway, but there the door stopped for a long, motionless moment.
And then it moved again. Cosima cowered in the darkness, hiding in the shadows behind the canopied bed. At last she saw a figure, darkly clad and large, holding what appeared to be a heavy and unwieldy bag.
“Too many this time,” the person said, evidently to no one in particular. Had the broad shoulders not already revealed this visitor a man, his deep voice would have given him away. The figure deposited his burden on the floor before the unlit firebox before pulling something from his pocket. A match. He struck it and lit the coals awaiting use, illuminating that portion of the room and sending the scent of sulfur as far as Cosima. Then he returned to the door and closed it. Evidently this door did offer a lock. Cosima heard it snap into place.
Heart pounding, she slunk beneath the bed altogether, too timid to watch. If the invader never suspected her presence, she would keep safe. But what sort of invader brought a full sack of goods?
She heard what sounded like rocks, bricks, or stones sliding against one another. Venturing from beneath the bed’s frame, she stole a quick peek over the edge of the quilt-covered mattress. With his back to her, she could see nothing more than one strong hand pulling out rock after rock, placing each one in a neat row before the light of the coal fire.
Cosima had seen Royboy do such a thing before—line up stones in a straight row. He had done it with sticks as well and once with his food, though that was only after he’d eaten far more than anyone thought his stomach could hold. Was this visitor like Royboy, then, trying to create order in some mysterious fashion, with items of no possible value for anyone else?
Unwilling to find out, she sank back under the bed. The bottom of the bed was high enough from the floor to afford her a low view as far away as where he knelt, and she saw the stripe he created lengthen with rocks of all shapes and sizes. Every once in a while he would tap two against one another, and dust would flicker in the meager light or a spark might catch hold of the flame only to instantly disappear.
Soon Cosima’s fear abated, and she wished only that he would leave. Instead he looked at the rocks as if they were some rare treasure, now and then grunting an indecipherable phrase as he studied them in the fire’s glow.
At last he stood; Cosima could tell when his knees disappeared from the floor and she saw only his shoes, a pair of sturdy black boots that were as dusty as the rocks he’d toted. She offered a quick prayer of thanksgiving, glad he seemed finished inspecting whatever sort of hoard he’d pulled out of that sack.
But he did not go to the door. When she heard more movement, she dared another peek. Her heart sank as she saw the man take off his coat, drape it on the back of the nearby chaise longue, then sit to remove his boots.
Surely he wasn’t planning to stay!
Suddenly his stockinged feet headed her way, and a moment later the bedsprings sighed and sank to accept his weight. Oh! What could she possibly do now ?
She must leave. She would wait until he fell asleep, then let herself out and find another room in which to pass the night. Hopefully she could find her way to Beryl’s room or perhaps back to the yellow room. A lumpy bed didn’t seem as unappealing now as Beryl had made it sound earlier.
Soon Cosima heard the man’s even breathing. Keeping herself to a crawl, knees and palms to polished wood, she made her way along the dark side of the bed, occasionally tugging on her long cotton nightgown when it hampered her progress. Nearer the door, eerie shadows danced from the light of the coal
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