Free Wait For the Dawn by Jess Foley Page A

you all right?’
    He did not turn to her, and she could not see his face, but she heard his quick, indrawn breath, and then his words, gruff in his throat:
    ‘
I
did it.’
    ‘Father –’
    ‘
I
did it,’ he said again. ‘I threw the lamp. She didn’t drop it. I threw it.’
    Lydia could feel her heart beating in her chest. She did not speak. She did not know what to say. Then he turned to face her, and she could see the glisten of tears in his eyes as he gazed into her own.
    ‘It hit the table,’ he said. ‘It hit the table and – and just – just exploded. I didn’t mean it.’ He put his hands up to his face and bent his head. ‘I was in such a temper – such a rage. It happened in a second. Like a coward I – I led the doctor to think that she’d – dropped it, the lamp, but she didn’t.’
    Lydia said, ‘Oh, but – but it was an accident.’
    ‘Yes,’ he said hoarsely. ‘It was an accident.’ He lowered his hands and added, looking off towards the darkened window, ‘I can see the images in my mind all the time. I can’t get rid of them.’
    He turned away from her then, and without another word went from the room. Lydia watched him go, the little watch clasped warm in her hand.
    *
    The May morning was pleasant and warm, and Ryllis had enjoyed an errand to the village post office. Not only had it given her the opportunity to be out in the spring air, but it had also taken her away from the house for a while. Now, however, she was on her way back to The Laurels, and her little time of freedom would soon be over.
    A part of her way took her beside a small thicket where rooks nested in great numbers, and suddenly, as she passed beneath a tree, she was startled by something falling close to her shoulder. She jumped back a little in shock, thinking that perhaps something had been thrown at her. She looked down to see what it was, and there on the ground near the tree’s roots she saw a baby bird. After looking at it for a moment, she bent, peering closer. The bird was a rook, obviously having come from one of the many nests above.
    ‘What’s wrong? Is anything the matter?’
    She started at the voice, and turned to see a young man standing a couple of yards away. She had not heard his approach. He was of middle height, with brown hair and dark eyes, and looked to be around eighteen or nineteen. He wore a cap, with a tweed jacket and dark corduroy trousers.
    ‘It’s a baby rook,’ she said to him, and added, ‘It gave me a bit of a start. It fell down right beside me as I was walking along.’
    The young man stooped, looking at the bird. It lay on its back, its half-feathered wings trembling.
    ‘It’s been chucked out of the nest,’ he said.
    ‘But why?’
    ‘The parent birds will do this to their young – if there’s something wrong with’ em.’
    She had heard of such things but had never been close to it before. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘it seems too cruel.’
    ‘Well, that’s nature’s way. What’s the point of the parentbirds spending all their energy getting food for a chick if it’s not going to live? So that’s what they do. I guess they can tell right enough if there’s something really wrong – and they get rid of it. Push it out. All the food has to go on the ones that are healthy. Makes sense, really, if you think about it.’
    Ryllis nodded. ‘Yes – but at the same time it does seem very cruel.’
    ‘Like I said, it’s nature’s way.’ He bent closer still to the bird. ‘Look at it, its legs are all deformed.’
    Ryllis stooped, bending closer, and now she could see clearly what the young man indicated. The chick’s legs were twisted up to its body, its claws clenched in tight little knots.
    ‘That would never survive a day,’ the young man said, ‘even if it got so far as getting out of the nest.’
    ‘No – I suppose not.’ She frowned. ‘So there’s no way of – of saving it, is there?’
    ‘Not a chance.’ He shook his head. ‘For a start you