The Map of Love Read Online Free Page A

leave of Edward and Sir Charles. Sir Charles, shaking him repeatedly by the hand, said (in his usual robust fashion) that it was a sad day for England when a man like Sir William resigns from the Leadership because of the conversion of the Party to Jingo Imperialism. He spoke harshly of Rosebery and Chamberlain calling them men of war and Sir William said it was the spirit of the age and he was grown too old to fight it. Edward became much agitated and retired to his chamber. He refused to allow me to sit with him or bring him tea.
    It is now eight weeks since Edward returned from the Soudan, and, I would have thought, time enough for him to grow well again, but for all that ails his body, I now fear that worse is a sickness of the spirit. He will not speak to me about anything of consequence and barely answers when I address him on commonplace matters. He will sit listless in the library for many hours and yet start if someone should enter of a sudden, so that I have learned to make some small noise before entering a room and to conduct a business with the doorhandle. He cannot bear the clatter of the teacup against its saucer —
    So Anna has taken to placing folded muslin napkins under the cups. She knows he will not drink his tea, but he accepts his cup from her hand and suffers her to sit with him — no, suffers her to sit in the same room, for she cannot be said to be truly with him. She cannot, for instance, guess what thoughts are at this moment in his mind. Except that they are not thoughts of a happy — or even comfortable — nature. He sits upright in the big chair, his grey woollen dressing gown belted neatly at the waist, his hair combed back, his moustache hiding his upper lip, the lower lip drawn. His eyes fix upon some object behind her left shoulder, then move to the shrouded window, then down to the floor. They never meet her own. A muscle works, from time to time, in the clean-shaven jaw. He is waiting for this formality of tea-drinking to be over so that she may leave him.
    ‘Edward,’ says Anna, ‘I have been speaking with Mr Winthrop, and he agrees that a change of air could do you good —’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Edward, dearest, we could go down to Horsham for a few days. You can ride, be out in the air —’
    ‘No, Anna. I am going nowhere.’ He still does not look at her, but his grip on the arm of the chair becomes tighter, and his voice, though not raised, pitches itself a note higher. ‘Will you please understand that? Nowhere. If you wish to go —’
    ‘But Edward, I have no wish for myself. I only thought —’
    ‘Let us not talk of this. I have no wish, no strength —’
    ‘Please, dearest, calm yourself.’
    Anna puts down her cup and rises to bend at his side. She puts her hand on his, trying to ease her fingers between his palm and the armrest. When she fails, she simply lets her hand lie on his.
    ‘You must not become agitated. We will do nothing that you do not wish. I have no desire except to help you; to help you come back to yourself. Please, dearest, will you not tell me what I can do?’
    When there is no answer, Anna bends further and places her lips and then her cheek against his brow. It feels hot and slightly damp. Edward Winterbourne pats his wife’s hand as it lies on his and disengages his own.
    ‘Please, Anna. There is no need to be so concerned. It is just a matter of resting.’
    Anna stands beside him. She knows he would not welcome her sitting down again. But this is not some womanly folly; they are all concerned. The servants go about their business with muffled tread. Visitors leave cards to which she replies with polite notes saying that Edward finds himself indisposed, but as soon as he is better … His father is concerned to the point of anger. Yesterday afternoon she had entered the library to find him speaking to the butler. When he heard her at the door he had come forward and taken her hands.
    ‘Ah, Anna. I have just asked Wilson to take all the