"The Space Machine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Priest Christopher)

ii

The room was larger than mine, and more comfortable. There were two gas-mantles against the wall, and when Miss Fitzgibbon turned them up the room was filled with a bright, warm radiance. A coal fire burned in the grate, and the windows were richly curtained with long, velvet drapes. In one comer there was a large French bedstead, with the covers turned down. Most of the space, however, was given over to furniture which would not have looked out of place in the average parlour, with a chaise longue, two easy chairs, several rugs, an immense dresser, a bookcase and a small table.

I stood nervously by the door, while Miss Fitzgibbon went to a mirror and untangled the goggles from her hair. She placed these on the table.

When she had removed her hat, she said: “Please sit down, Mr Turnbull.”

I looked at the goggles. “I think I should leave now.”

Miss Fitzgibbon was silent, listening to the sound of the voices as they passed the bottom of the stairs.

“Perhaps it would be as well if you stayed a little longer,” she said. “It would not do for you to be seen leaving my room at this late hour.”

I laughed politely with her, but I must confess to being considerably taken aback by such a remark.

I sat down in one of the easy chairs beside the table and Miss Fitzgibbon went to the fireplace and poked the coals so that they flared up more brightly.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” she said. As she passed me I sensed that she had about her a trace of the herbal fragrance I had noticed earlier. She went through an inner door, and closed it.

I sat silently, cursing my impulsive nature. I was sorely embarrassed by this incident, for Miss Fitzgibbon clearly had no need for, nor interest in, my motoring Mask. The notion that she would persuade Sir William to experiment with my goggles was even more unlikely. I had annoyed and compromised her, for if Mrs Anson, or indeed anyone else in the hotel, should discover that I had been alone in her room at night, then the young lady’s reputation would be permanently marked.

When Miss Fitzgibbon returned, some ten minutes later, I heard the sound of a cistern hissing in the next room, and surmised that it must be a private bath-room. This seemed to be so, for Miss Fitzgibbon had apparently renewed her maquillage, and her hair was arranged differently, so that the tight bun she had been wearing had been loosened to allow some strands of her hair to fall about her shoulders. As she moved past me to sit in the other chair I noticed that the herbal fragrance was more noticeable.

She sat down, and leaned back with a sigh. Her behaviour towards me was entirely without ceremony.

“Well, Mr Turnbull,” she said. “I find I owe you,. an apology. I’m sorry I was stuffy to you outside.”

“It is I who should apologize,” I said at once. “I—”

“It was a natural reaction, I’m afraid,” she went on, as if she had not heard me. “I’ve just spent the last four hours with Mrs Anson, and she seems never to be at a loss for words.”

“I felt sure you were a friend of hers,” I said.

“She has’ appointed herself my guardian and mentor. I accept a lot of advice from her.” Miss Fitzgibbon stood up again, and went to the dresser and produced two glasses. “I know you drink, Mr Turnbull, for I have smelled your breath. Would you care for a glass of brandy?”

“Thank you, yes,” I said, swallowing hard.

She poured some brandy from a metal flask which she took from her hand-bag, and placed the two glasses on the table between us. “Like you, Mr Turnbull, I sometimes find the need for fortification.”

She sat down again. We raised glasses, and sipped the drink.

“You have lapsed into silence,” she said. “I hope I have not alarmed you.”

I stared at her helplessly, wishing that I had never set out on this naive enterprise.

“Do you come to, Skipton frequently?” she said. “About two or three times a year. Miss Fitzgibbon, I think I should bid you good-night. It is not proper for me to be here with you alone.”

“But I still haven’t discovered why you were so eager to show me your goggles.”

“I felt you might influence Sir William to consider trying them.”

She nodded her understanding. “And you are a goggles salesman?”

’No, Miss Fitzgibbon. You see, the firm I am employed by is a manufacturer of’…”

My voice had tailed away, for I had heard in the same instant the sound that now clearly distracted Miss Fitzgibbon. We had both heard, just beyond the door, a creaking of floorboards.

Miss Fitzgibbon raised a finger to her lips, and we sat in anguished silence. A few moments later there was a sharp and peremptory rapping on the door!