Short Fiction by M. R. James (inspirational books for women TXT) 📕

is proverbially treacherous, and during dinnertime Mrs. Collins sent up to ask for a little brandy, because her husband had took a nasty chill and she was afraid he would not be able to do much next day.

Mrs. Anstruther’s morning reflections were not wholly placid. She was sure some roughs had got into the plantation during the night. “And another thing, George: the moment that Collins is about again, you must tell him to do something about the owls. I never heard anything like them, and I’m positive one came and perched somewhere just outside our window. If it had come in I should have been out of my wits: it must have been a very large bird, from its voice. Didn’t you hear it? No, of course not, you were sound asleep as usual. Still, I must say, George, you don’t look as if your night had done you much good.”

“My dear, I feel as if another of the same would turn me silly. You have no idea of the dreams I had. I couldn’t speak of them when I woke up, and if this room wasn’t so bright and sunny I shouldn’t care to think of them even now.”

“Well, really, George, that isn’t very common with you, I must say. You must have⁠—no, you only had what I had yesterday⁠—unless you had tea at that wretched club house: did you?”

“No, no; nothing but a cup of tea and some bread and butter. I should really like to know how I came to put my dream together⁠—as I suppose one does put one’s dreams together from a lot of little things one has been seeing or reading. Look here, Mary, it was like this⁠—if I shan’t be boring you⁠—”

“I wish to hear what it was, George. I will tell you when I have had enough.”

“All right. I must tell you that it wasn’t like other nightmares in one way, because I didn’t really see anyone who spoke to me or touched me, and yet I was most fearfully impressed with the reality of it all. First I was sitting, no, moving about, in an old-fashioned sort of panelled room. I remember there was a fireplace and a lot of burnt papers in it, and I was in a great state of anxiety about something. There was someone else⁠—a servant, I suppose, because I remember saying to him, ‘Horses, as quick as you can,’ and then waiting a bit: and next I heard several people coming upstairs and a noise like spurs on a boarded floor, and then the door opened and whatever it was that I was expecting happened.”

“Yes, but what was that?”

“You see, I couldn’t tell: it was the sort of shock that upsets you in a dream. You either wake up or else everything goes black. That was what happened to me. Then I was in a big dark-walled room, panelled, I think, like the other, and a number of people, and I was evidently⁠—”

“Standing your trial, I suppose, George.”

“Goodness! yes, Mary, I was; but did you dream that too? How very odd!”

“No, no; I didn’t get enough sleep for that. Go on, George, and I will tell you afterwards.”

“Yes; well, I was being tried, for my life, I’ve no doubt, from the state I was in. I had no one speaking for me, and somewhere there was a most fearful fellow⁠—on the bench; I should have said, only that he seemed to be pitching into me most unfairly, and twisting everything I said, and asking most abominable questions.”

“What about?”

“Why, dates when I was at particular places, and letters I was supposed to have written, and why I had destroyed some papers; and I recollect his laughing at answers I made in a way that quite daunted me. It doesn’t sound much, but I can tell you, Mary, it was really appalling at the time. I am quite certain there was such a man once, and a most horrible villain he must have been. The things he said⁠—”

“Thank you, I have no wish to hear them. I can go to the links any day myself. How did it end?”

“Oh, against me; he saw to that. I do wish, Mary, I could give you a notion of the strain that came after that, and seemed to me to last for days: waiting and waiting, and sometimes writing things I knew to be enormously important to me, and waiting for answers and none coming, and after that I came out⁠—”

“Ah!”

“What makes you say that? Do you know what sort of thing I saw?”

“Was it a dark cold day, and snow in the streets, and a fire burning somewhere near you?”

“By George, it was! You have had the same nightmare! Really not? Well, it is the oddest thing! Yes; I’ve no doubt it was an execution for high treason. I know I was laid on straw and jolted along most wretchedly, and then had to go up some steps, and someone was holding my arm, and I remember seeing a bit of a ladder and hearing a sound of a lot of people. I really don’t think I could bear now to go into a crowd of people and hear the noise they make talking. However, mercifully, I didn’t get to the real business. The dream passed off with a sort of thunder inside my head. But, Mary⁠—”

“I know what you are going to ask. I suppose this is an instance of a kind of thought-reading. Miss Wilkins called yesterday and told me of a dream her brother had as a child when they lived here, and something did no doubt make me think of that when I was awake last night listening to those horrible owls and those men talking and laughing in the shrubbery (by the way, I wish you would see if they have done any damage, and speak to the police about it); and so, I suppose, from my brain it must have got into yours while you