"Brian Lumley - Aunt Hester" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lumley Brian)

time came for Albert to set out to meet his girl, I walked off in the opposite direction, across the autumn
fences and fields to ancient Castle-Ilden.

I arrived at the little old village at about eight, just as dusk was making its hesitant decision whether or
not to allow night’s onset, and went straight to Aunt Hester’s thatch-roofed bungalow. The place stood
(just as I remembered it) at the Blackhill end of cobbledMain Street , in a neat garden framed by cherry
trees with the fruit heavy in their branches. As I approached the gate the door opened and out of the
house wandered the oddest quartet of strangers I could ever have wished to see.

There was a humped-up, frenetically mobile and babbling old chap, ninety if he was a day; a frumpish fat
woman with many quivering chins; a skeletally thin, incredibly tall, ridiculously wrapped-up man in scarf,
pencil-slim overcoat, and fur gloves; and finally, a perfectly delicate old lady with a walking-stick and
ear-trumpet. They were shepherded by my Aunt Hester, no different it seemed than when I had last seen
her, to the gate and out into the street. There followed a piped and grunted hubbub of thanks and general
genialities before the four were gone – in the direction of the leaning village pub – leaving my aunt at the
gate finally to spot me where I stood in the shadow of one of her cherry trees. She knew me almost at
once, despite the interval of nearly a decade.

“Peter?”

“Hello, Aunt Hester.”

“Why, Peter Norton! My favourite young man – and tall as a tree! Come in, come in!”

“It’s bad of me to drop in on you like this,” I answered, taking the arm she offered, “all unannounced
and after so long away, but I –”

“No excuses required,” she waved an airy hand before us and smiled up at me, laughter lines showing at
the corners of her eyes and in her unpretty face. “And you came at just the right time – my group has just
left me all alone.”

“Your ‘group’?”

“My séance group! I’ve had it for a long time now, many a year. Didn’t you know I was a bit on the
psychic side? No, I suppose not; your parents wouldn’t have told you aboutthat, now would they?
That’s what started it all originally – the trouble in the family, I mean.” We went on into the house.

“Now I had meant to ask you about that,” I told her. “You mean my parents don’t like you messing
about with spiritualism? I can see that they wouldn’t, of course – not at all the Old Man’s cup of tea –
but still, I don’t really see what it could have to do with them.”

“Notyourparents, Love,” (she had always called me ‘Love), “mine – and yours later; but especially
George, your uncle inAustralia. And not just spiritualism, though that has since become part of it. Did you
know that my brother left home and settled inAustraliabecause of me?” A distant look came into her
eyes. “No, of course you didn’t, and I don’t suppose anyone else would ever have become aware of my
power if George hadn’t walked me through a window …”

“Eh?” I said, believing my hearing to be out of order. “Power? Walked you through a window?”

“Yes,” she answered, nodding her head, “he walked me through a window! Listen, I’ll tell you the story