The High House Read Online Free Page B

hitting the water hard. He descended into the depths a great distance; had he panicked he would have drowned at once, for he did not know how to swim. Instead, he clawed his way to the edge of the well, where the uneven rocks gave him a handhold, and pulled himself up toward the bright circle of light hovering far above. The air had been knocked from him during his plunge; only an effort of will kept him from opening his mouth to breathe. He felt his pulse hammering in his temples as he narrowed the distance; after his terrors in the Room of Horrors, this seemed a return to that endless nightmare; part of him wanted very much to give in to the lure of the waters, to breathe in once and never again, a subject of sleep eternal. He struggled all the harder.
    Then his head broke the surface. He pulled air into his lungs, went under again, then rose coughing. He clung to the rocks; it was all that saved him from a bad blow as the wooden bucket splashed directly beside him. Beyond the noise of the water, he heard Brittle frantically calling his name. He managed to shout.
    “Grab the bucket!” the butler ordered.
    “I have it!”
    “Hold tight! Can you hold? Help is coming.”
    “I think so.”
    What seemed like a long time passed, during which Carter thought he saw the walls of the well closing in all around him, the circle of light becoming smaller and smaller, as if he were at the end of a long tube that was gradually squeezing shut. Looking around, he saw this was not so, yet the claustrophobia nearly cost him his grip on the rope. He closed his eyes to shut it out, found that little better, then concentrated instead upon a patch of rust on the handleplates of the bucket, which resembled a butterfly, wings outstretched. The water was icy cold.
    He gave a cry of fear as another rope flopped into the well, mistaking it at first for a water snake. A man followed the rope, descending hand over hand, his feet slipping against the slick sides. Seeing it was not Brittle, he imagined for a moment that the Bobby had overcome the butler and was coming to seize him once more. But when the figure looked down, it was the slender face of Chant. The lampman lifted the boy from the water, one-handed, with surprising strength. Still, he could not support Carter all the way up, but placed him with his legs astraddle the bucket. At his word those above raised both bucket and boy, while he supported them from below. They ascended rapidly, and once above the lip, Carter found Enoch and two other servants manning the handle, while Brittle stood beside, biting his lip.
    Enoch swept the boy into his arms, and they carried him inside, where he was given new clothes and taken swiftly to bed. His last memories before he fell into a troubled sleep was of his father, bending softly over him, examining his bruises and kissing his cheek.
    Several hours later, after he had roused and eaten, he was brought into the dining room, where, to his surprise, he found all the many members of the household assembled: the House Steward, the Groom of the Chambers, Brittle’s assistants, the housekeeper, housemaids, laundry maids, nanny, hall boy, the usher, even the valets and footmen. Enoch and Chant were there as well; Brittle stood by his master, still biting his lip. Lady Murmur sat imperiously in the little gold chaise; Duskin was not present.
    Lord Anderson sat at the head of the dining table, the household seated down its length, Carter to his right. The silence of the room was palpable; the Master’s eyes held everyone so, with a simmering look like the fire Carter had beheld in them within the Room of Horrors, but mixed with another emotion he could not comprehend. When the lord spoke, his voice was flame and ash.
    “You know what has happened. The Enemy gained entrance to the yard. He did so because the gate was left unlatched, unlocked. Whose neglect caused it?”
    The company remained silent, eyes down, not in guilt, but that their master, who they