Halton Cray (Shadows of the World Book 1) by N.B. Roberts Page A

been able to
face him again. He changed direction and made his way over to me.
    ‘What do you think of them?’ He nodded towards the
glass. ‘Do you like the Creatures of the Night?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘No? You looked fascinated!’
    ‘I don’t like these ones.’
    ‘But not because the look of them frightens you. So
why then?’
    He waited patiently to hear my answer; a serious
intent on knowing my views came over his face. He folded his arms to assert
this and turned slightly towards the window so that the light vivified his
features.
    ‘I don’t like the way they’re displayed.’
    ‘Go on.’
    ‘They’ve such a heart-breaking look about them. It
makes me sad. Don’t smirk. I know they’re stuffed. It’s just the idea of an
animal in captivity, and the look of these ones. It’s almost preternatural,
like there’s something living behind their dead eyes that knows they’re trapped
here, and they’ll never be free again.’
    I knew I’d said too much and I expected him to
laugh at me. He surprised me by looking sympathetic instead. Despite the light
hitting his face, no reflection blanched those stubborn pupils. I realised how
I now stared into them, and so quickly looked away.
    ‘You see things as they are.’ He paused, sounding
subdued, and turning he edged away. ‘They have, as you say, that look of
despondency; captured in time. That is precisely why I wanted to exhibit this
piece, and in the very room named after the lady who said, “Art is eternal, but
life is short.”’
    He went back to the other side of the room where
he fitted the key into the display unit, turned it and lifted the top off. I
felt like I’d hit a nerve with him.
    At that moment a beefy man of about forty entered
the gallery. His square-shaped face smiled as he bowled over to me.
    ‘Excuse me, miss, d’you work here?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Ah, good. I was in here earlier and there was no
one around to ask. You see that cage?’ He pointed to a horrid looking
contraption, which sat all tattered on one of the tables. ‘Can you tell me what
animal it was used to trap? My son was saying rats and I reckon birds, and he’s
made me put money on it.’ He laughed.
    ‘I’d love to be able to tell you, but I’m not the
expert here. He is.’ I gestured to Thom, who was ready to answer his question.
    The man looked at Thom and his smile melted away.
I wondered if he knew him from the look on his face. Thom walked over, and the
man, I noticed, took a slight step back. I watched his reactions carefully now,
unsure what the matter was, as Thom began explaining the years of the cages use
and its target prey. The man appeared to absorb very little of this.
    ‘Dad?’ a boy of about twelve called from the
doorway.
    ‘Josh, wait there!’ The man snapped. Turning back
to Thom, he babbled, ‘Thanks for your help. Need to get going now.’
    He left the gallery, grabbing his son’s hand and
towing him quickly away.
    ‘That was weird,’ I said to Thom.
    ‘Was it,’ he muttered, unsurprised.
    ‘I thought so. Or did you know him?’
    ‘Never seen him before.’
    I looked back at the cage. ‘How long have you been
curator?’ – Just as I asked this, some passing visitors in the nearby corridor
laughed out so loud at something that my shoulders flinched to it.
    Thom watched me. ‘Do you believe in the
supernatural?’
    Without answering my question, he focussed on
trying to prise things from me, probably so he could turn it back on me in
mockery. I determined to keep my answer imprecise and to a minimum.
    ‘I’m undecided.’
    He asked me the questions directly, and when I tried
to remain negligible, he in turn tried another tactic, viz. by assuming the
answer and putting it to me in the form of a question.
    ‘You’re startled easily, but you’re no sceptic
like Frances?’
    ‘Is Frances sceptical?’
    ‘If a ghost walked through that wall there,
rattling chains and moaning like Daniel’s wife, she would find a logical