The Madman's Room

‘… it would be a bear. Yes, a bear. I’m not saying he’s always in a bad mood — far from it, he’s always laughing — but he nevertheless makes me think of a bear. Maybe it’s his physique, which is on the heavy side.’

‘You’ve never liked him. Why don’t you just say so?’

‘What do you mean? Bears are quite nice creatures, don’t you think?’

* * *

Brian couldn’t sleep either and watched the stars through leadlight windows, a fascinating spectacle which he never tired of watching, although usually not so late at night. And without seething emotions, as was the case that night. His brother’s strident voice had reached his ears when he had come down to the library to look for a work and had been about to go back upstairs. What he had heard had hardly astonished him, after all he’d known Harris’s opinion on the subject for a long time.

The two brothers had always had a curious relationship. Despite diametrically opposite characters and ideas, there had always been a respect and a sort of affection for one another, which assured that their fierce discussions never ended in bitterness and quarrel.

Even so, overhearing the tale Harris was telling had made him upset. Returning to his room, he had become aware of a tightness in his throat which he initially attributed to anger with his brother. It was only later that he realised his unease had a different origin. The words pronounced by Harris came back to him: “… there at the centre of the table was a sort of large glass full to the brim with water!”

Three hours had gone by since then, during which he’d thought ceaselessly about that large glass of water, the mysterious glass of water which had haunted him for so many years, ever since his mother had told him the story of his great-uncle. And he’d never discovered the slightest explanation. But now, he felt certain he’d heard speak of it… somewhere, but where? He knew from experience that any concentrated attempt to rack his brains would end in failure.

A cold sweat covered his brow. Irritated, he groped around in the dark for the box of matches on his bedside table. The gentle glow from the opaline globe revealed the details of the room and Brian, just as every other time he lit his oil lamp, congratulated himself on resisting his brother’s wishes to convert to electricity. And it was at that precise moment that he thought of the king of France.

‘Louis XIV!’ he exclaimed. ‘Good heavens! Why didn’t I think of it sooner?’

He scanned the several bookshelves which lined the walls and stopped, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. With a trembling hand, he pulled out a volume on the Memoires of the Duc de Saint-Simon. The book opened all by itself on the page he was looking for, where he found a passage he knew by heart.

‘The glass of water,’ he murmured a few moments later in a euphoric state. ‘Incredible! I must have been blind or feeble-minded not to have made the connection before! The glass of water!’

7

The month of August was already well under way and the heat wave which had descended on the region several days before showed no signs of abating. It was just past ten o’clock in the morning and the temperature was already climbing.

Mrs. Dorothy Hilton looked out of the corner of her eye at her at her son-in-law who was tapping the arm-rest of his armchair nervously. His red hair was soaked in perspiration.

“What an idea to wear a jacket in weather like this,” she thought to herself. “And why those perpetual blue-checked suits? As if there were no other colour.”

She was about to make a comment about wearing a jacket in summer, but contented herself by merely observing:

‘It’s quite hot already….’

‘Yes, very hot,’ agreed Howard Hilton. ‘You know, Harris, you shouldn’t worry. Sarah has always been highly-strung, we’ve never known her otherwise. Those little heart murmurs don’t occur often, thankfully, but she can’t bear it when it’s very hot. You need to be watchful, of course, but there’s no need to get alarmed.’

Harris Thorne didn’t appear to have heard his father-in-law. His eyes scanned the sky. Even though there were no clouds on the horizon, he sensed they were inevitable. Two months had gone by since his in-laws’ arrival at Hatton Manor. Two happy and peaceful months, except for the last ten days. He had to admit that the pleasant atmosphere had largely evaporated since he’d opened up the “sealed” room to turn it into his study and Brian had almost spat out the words he didn’t care to remember any more than his recent quarrels — not to say brawls — with Sarah.