CHAPTER V
They had finished eating now and had somehow drifted into silence. Throughout supper, all six of them (Miss Femm had never spoken a word) had chatted easily, though there had been no general burst of talk; but now they were quiet. They might have been waiting for a signal, they were so curiously still. Then suddenly they were given one, for Miss Femm, who had begun to seem a mere object, turned herself into a real person again by rising from her chair and waddling away. She said nothing, gave no meaning glances, did not hesitate, but simply arose and departed. From her manner, they might have been as unreal to her as she had been to them. They stared after her in silence. If they were waiting for a signal, it was not this.
There came a second one, this time out of the encompassing night, which they had almost forgotten. It might have been thunder rolling among the hills, the bursting of a bank above, or another landslide; the noise was distant and indeterminate, and yet it was full of menace. Sharply, dramatically, it pointed to their situation, like a pin stuck into a map. The roof and walls were no longer another sky and horizon but were roof and walls and nothing more. A little box held them all, tiny creatures crouching in a dot of light. Thus dwarfed and huddled together in body, their spirits first shrank to a point and then expanded in concert. They awoke to share a common mood. The change in them was as decisive as Miss Femm’s exit, but it had to struggle through to the surface, into speech, and so it seemed gradual, as if curtain after curtain of gauze were being raised between them.
Philip made the first remark, and all he said was: ‘If nobody objects, I think I’ll have a pipe.’ That was nothing, yet by addressing the whole company as he did, he made it easier for the others to speak to the whole table. He brought out his pipe, Sir William found a cigar, and Penderel and the two women lit cigarettes. Mr. Femm contented himself with gin-and-water.
‘You know,’ said Penderel, ‘we ought to play a game.’
‘Good idea,’ cried Sir William, very hearty and masterful behind his cigar. ‘Can’t sleep yet. What about bridge?’
Margaret jumped at this. ‘I’d love a game.’ She thought how comforting the familiar faces of the kings and queens would be. No wonder old people, surrounded by strange faces and passing Death every night on the stairs, became so passionately fond of cards.
‘But I’ve no cards,’ Sir William went on. He turned to Mr. Femm. ‘Expect you’ve got a pack of cards you could lend us, eh?’
‘I have none myself,’ Mr. Femm began, ‘but I have seen a pack here——’ He stopped short, something came and went in his eyes, then he shook his head hastily. ‘No, there are none here. I am sorry.’ It was very queer. Penderel, remembering, looked at him curiously and began to wonder again. Sir William appealed to the Wavertons, but they had none.
‘We’ll play Truth,’ said Penderel. ‘It’s just the moment for it.’