Free The Unseen by Katherine Webb Page B

ripe with the stink of camphor.
    ‘Thank you, Cat,’ Hester says, her pulse still racing. Cat stands still, watching her. Hester glances at her, and again feels a rush of unease. ‘What were you doing out here in the dark? Why didn’t you bring a lamp, or put the lights on?’ she asks. Cat blinks, and regards her steadily.
    ‘I can see quite well in the dark,’ she replies.
    ‘“Black Cat”,’ Hester murmurs, the nickname coming unbidden to her lips. She sees Cat stiffen.
    ‘Where have you heard that?’ the girl asks abruptly. Hester swallows nervously.
    ‘Oh, nowhere … sorry, Cat. I didn’t mean to … Thank you for bringing me this. Please do go to bed yourself now. I won’t need anything else,’ she says hurriedly.
    ‘I’ll bring you the cocoa you asked for as soon as it’s ready,’ Cat contradicts her.

    ‘Oh, yes, of course. Of course. Thank you, Cat. Sorry.’ Hester retreats back into her room, unsure what she is apologising for. Cat is still standing in the dark corridor when she shuts the bedroom door behind her.
    Albert returns not long afterwards, with a distracted look on his face. He pats Hester’s shoulders uncertainly when she flies into his arms the second he enters the room.
    ‘Albert! I’m so pleased to see you,’ she murmurs into his chest.
    ‘Are you all right, Hetty?’
    ‘Oh, yes. It’s just … the storm. It startled me as I walked home, that’s all,’ she says breathlessly. ‘I had to drink some cocoa to warm up again.’
    ‘Come now, there’s nothing to be frightened of. As Saint Paul said: “God makes His angels spirits – that is, winds – and His ministers a flaming fire.” In the wind that blows, there are living spirits; God’s angels guide the thunderclouds, and the mighty thunderclap may be a shock vibration of the air, as today’s men of science tell us, but it is also more than that – it is the voice of God Himself!’ Albert smiles, his eyes alight. Hester smiles back at him, unsure how to respond.
    ‘Let’s get into bed. It’s chilly tonight,’ she says.
    ‘Very well. It is rather late – I shan’t read for long.’ His habit is to read scripture for at least half an hour every night; with quiet concentration, like a pupil who knows he will be tested.
    When at last Albert closes his book, lays his spectacles upon it and places both on the bedside table, Hester smiles. He turns out his lamp, slides lower in the bed, meshes his fingers across his chest. But his eyes stay open. Hester leaves her lamp on, and lies facing him. The storm is abating, but still the wind blows, and throws rain hard against the window pane. The room, with Hester’s lamp the only light, seems like a close cocoon, shielding them from the wild night. Perhaps it is this, perhaps it is the fright she had earlier in the evening, but Hester feels a powerful need for comfort. She yearnsto be touched, to be held by her husband. She looks at his smooth face, at the warm glow of his skin, coloured from all the time he spends out of doors.
    They have never even lain naked together, he on top of her or vice versa. She has never felt the press of his skin against her chest, and thinking of this makes Hester’s throat dry, makes her heart rise up and half choke her. Without a word, she moves closer to Albert, until she can lay her cheek on his shoulder. He does not move, or speak. He can’t claim to be tired when clearly his mind is oddly alert tonight. After a minute, when there is no protest at her touch, Hester raises her face again. Albert is so close she can’t focus her eyes on him properly. He is a creamy-coloured blur, soft shades of gold and brown and milky white in the half light. The smell of him fills her nose. The soap he uses to shave with, the gentle tang of his skin underneath it.
    ‘Oh, Albert,’ she breathes, and all her love and desire for him rush into those two words, making her voice deeper, more resonant. She lets her hands run over his chest, pressing