Dreamlands Read Online Free

be so dismal. 
I’m glad you’re here, Georgine.  This house needs a bit of cheer.”
    A
bellow from the next room forestalled yet another silence.  Dinner was served.
    “Will
there be wine, Mrs. Caddock?” was, naturally, my first question.
    There
would be no wine.  The housekeeper despised any drink stronger than black tea,
and in all things adhered strictly to her own opinion, the one idol she held
above Christ.  The food proved as flavourless and grim as the company was
delightful, though the housekeeper did put her personal stamp on the event, periodically
finding a reason to stomp through the room, to slam down a tray or throw open,
then later drag closed, the windows.
    As
I struggled with the meal, I let Georgine have the run of the conversation,
which centered around her affection for my uncle and Arkham.  When the
housekeeper had tired of pestering us, the girl began to quiz me on the mundane
household duties which kept Mrs. Caddock so harried.  In her poor and troubled
childhood Georgine had not been afforded any education in sewing, cooking, and the
like, but her appeals in these areas to Mrs. Caddock had been rebuffed.
    “Of
course the poor dear is so busy,” she whispered.  “I would like to help her,
but she hasn’t the time to teach me.  It’s just her and the groundskeeper now. 
Did you know your uncle used to have a staff of six here, full time?”
    “Yes,
I believe I heard that mentioned at some point.  Can you tell me, how long has
it been since Eamon sat at table?”
    “I
can’t remember exactly.  It’s been more than a month, two months perhaps?”  We
sat for a minute in the lee of this unhappy fact.  “Your uncle treats me very
kindly.  Did he tell you he was friends with my mother before the War?”
    “No,
we’ve hardly had a chance to catch up.  How did they meet?”
    “She
never mentioned it to me when she was alive, but Mr. Sloan knew mother from her
singing days.  He had seen her in a cabaret in Port–  Now, what was it?  I’ve a
terrible memory for names.  It was a port in Spain.  And by a lovely coincidence,
the two of them met in the meat market in Arkham.”
    This
revelation set rusty wheels grinding to life in my head, and I studied her
sharp nose, flat cheeks, and narrow chin.  The high forehead could be that of a
Sloan, but nothing else.  Oblivious to my speculation, she continued chattering
happily.  Georgine inspired in me a euphoric calm, a sensation, I apprehended, not
unlike that of laudanum.  I felt my right eyebrow twitch, and as swiftly as that
serenity had filled me, it drained away.
    “You’ve
gone pale,” she said.  “Did I say something wrong?”
    “No,
it’s not you, Georgine,” I said, reaching to pat her hand but stroking the
tablecloth instead.  “It’s nothing at all.”  Excusing myself with what grace I
could muster, I headed for the thankfully empty kitchen, where I acquired a
glass and pitcher of water.  I had been about to congratulate myself on my steady
hands when, with the stealth of a seasoned assassin, Caddock ambushed me in the
hall.  Seeing no quick route around this obstacle, I pressed my lips together
and nodded, beads of sweat pricking up on my scalp in perfect serried ranks.
    “I
know any man with the name Sloan isn’t going to be fooled by her easy charms,” she
said, tossing her head in the direction of the dining room.
    “My
uncle’s quite taken with her, obviously,” I replied.  “The old man’s not quite as
conservative as he puts on, eh?”
    “What
are you implying?” she asked, and to my smirk said, “Don’t play the fool. 
Georgine isn't his daughter.  She’s no New England girl, more like a gypsy I’d
say.”
    “Maybe
she is,” I said, striding past.  “What of it?”
    I
returned to my chamber and, turning the lamp’s wick up for more light, changed
into the dressing gown in which I had woken the day before.  All was well, or
so I told myself.  My anxiety flared again