Long Goodbyes Read Online Free

Benjamin or it may well be that my memory is playing tricks, and in fact his odd behaviour was a direct result of his subsequent visit to the grand house, a mission from which I could not dissuade him despite my forebodings.  
    I have mentioned my restless night and the images which kept me awake as I turned over Mr Benjamin’s account again and again. How can a man’s heart harbour such cruelty, I wondered? Was there no limit to the moral depths to which a human being might sink? How could the authorities have allowed starving souls to be cast out to even greater misery in order to satisfy the greed and covetousness of one man? And yet, it seemed, they had turned a blind eye to Sir William’s cruelty. I have always been possessed of a vivid imagination and could picture the long straggling groups of dispossessed families moving from village to village with heads lowered and feet dragging, hoping against hope to find charity or employment. I could see the pinched, prematurely-aged faces of the children, unwashed, stinking in their rags, eyes hollow and hopeless, trailing after the adults in a slow, purposeless shamble. Whatever I did to distract myself - walking, housework, letter writing - was to little avail: I was haunted by their predicament.
    I was roused from my reverie by Jack’s footsteps on the path. His face was flushed and he seemed to have a new buoyancy about him. ‘Well, there’s not much wrong with the old place after all,’ he declared breathlessly. ‘Mr Benjamin gave us to understand that I was to visit a ruin, but it is far from that.’
    ‘Indeed?’ I was surprised, I recall, because I too had listened to Mr Benjamin’s description of Sir William’s old family seat. ‘Well then, tell me what you found.’
    Jack fetched a bottle of beer from the cupboard and pulled up a chair. I busied myself preparing supper as he began to describe his visit.  
    ‘The garden is overgrown, of course,’ he said. ‘And I had to fight my way to the front steps. But once I had the door open, well, I had quite a surprise, I can tell you!’
    ‘Well, tell me!’ I urged him. I was delighted to see my husband’s face so animated, and - for a few moments at least - I forgot my earlier mood.
    Jack took a deep draught of beer. ‘It’s palatial,’ he said. ‘We could fit three of these-’ he indicated the length and breadth of our tiny lounge, ‘-into the hall alone. The furnishings are in remarkable order - some look to be very valuable. I can’t imagine how Mr Benjamin has left them to gather dust. They would fetch a pretty price at Sotheby’s.’
    ‘But how queer,’ I said. ‘Surely the furniture would not be left in a derelict house?’
    ‘That’s just it,’ Jack said. ‘It’s not derelict at all. It needs a little polish here and there, and some of the fittings are rather quaint, but I daresay it could be made habitable with a little effort.’
    ‘What are you suggesting?’ A cold thrill ran through me as I understood what had impressed itself upon Jack’s mind. ‘That we move into the grand house? That’s ridiculous.’
    Jack was on his feet now, his drink forgotten. He took me by the shoulders. ‘Look, this is a cosy, picturesque little place, right enough, but it’s not the kind of home I imagined - or intended - for our future.’
    ‘I am perfectly content here,’ I said. ‘I have no need or desire for a grand residence. I just want to be with you. To be happy. And I will be happy here, just as we are.’
    His face fell. He looked into my eyes and in the silence which fell between us I heard a blackbird chirruping in the hedgerow; the gay sound seemed to encapsulate all I had felt and hoped about our new cottage. I shook my head. ‘I don’t want to move out of this cottage. You were so pleased with it, until last night.’  
    I was close to tears. Something beyond my control had changed and I felt there was little I could do to bring things back to the way they had been. If only