It was the realization that there was a vast emptiness within that had gone unexplored his whole life because he had been too busy with what was going on outside himself. He felt like a hollow shell and remembered Lady Barclay’s asking him if there was anything within the shield of charm he donned for public viewing.
He had joked about it, told her he was charm through to the very heart. He was not sure his heart did anything more than pump blood about his body. Except that hedidlove. He must not be too harsh with himself. He loved his family.
“You have gone very quiet again, Percy,” Aunt Edna remarked.
“I am just enjoying the fact that you have all come such a distance for my sake,” he told her. And the thing was that he was not lying—not entirely so, anyway.
He wanted his peace and quiet back.
What?
He had always avoided both as he would the plague.
The gathering began to break up after the tea tray had been removed. Some of the older generation as well as Meredith went off to bed. A few of the cousins were going to the billiard room and invited Sidney and Arnold to join them. A couple of the uncles were going to withdraw to the library for a drink and a look at the reading choices.
“Come with us, Percy?” Uncle Roderick suggested.
“I think I am going to get a breath of fresh air,” he said. “Stretch my legs before I lie down.”
“Do you want company, Perce?” Arnold asked.
“Not necessarily,” he said.
His friend bent a look on him.
“Right,” he said. “The outdoors by the sea on a February night does not really call to me, I must admit. Enjoy your... solitude?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Billiards, Arnie?” Cyril asked, and the two of them went off together in pursuit of most of the other young people.
Percy stepped outside after donning his greatcoat and gloves and hat and then deliberately going and fetching Hector from the second housekeeper’s room, though why he bothered he did not know. The dog would surely have found a way of following him anyway. His name would more appropriately be Phantom rather than Hector.
It was a little before eleven o’clock. It wasnottoo late for a stroll before retiring for the night. Itwastoo late, far too late, to make a social call. But what about a call of necessity?
May I seek refuge here occasionally?he had asked her.
He could not possibly call on her at eleven o’clock at night. It would seem he had come for one thing only.
And would that be true?
His steps took him to the right outside the front doors and around the path that led past the dower house. Would he walk on past, though?
He would let her decide, he thought, or, rather, her lamp or candles or whatever she used to see in the dark when she was not sleeping. If her house was in darkness, he would walk on by. If there was light within, he would knock on her door—unless the light came from an upstairs room.
There was light in the sitting room.
Percy stood at the gate for what might have been five minutes until his feet inside his shoes—he had not changed into boots—turned numb with cold and his fingers inside his gloves tingled unpleasantly. Even his nose felt numb. He willed the light to move, to proceed upstairs, to give him the cue to move away and go home.
And he willed it to stay where it was.
Hector had given up sitting at his feet. He was lying there instead, his chin on his paws. He was beginning, Percy thought, looking down at him in the dim light of the moon, to look almost like a normal dog. Which was just as well, since he seemed to be stuck with the mutt. And, annoyingly, he felt love begin to creep up on him.
Damned dog.
The light stayed where it was.
Percy opened the gate and closed it quietly behind him after he and Hector had stepped through. He did not want to signal his arrival. There was still time to escape. He lifted the knocker away from the door, hesitated, and released it. It made a horrible din.
Lord, it was probablyaftereleven by this time.
