The Burning Shore - Smith Wilbur - Страница 42
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Captain Clarke? she tried again, and he understood. You seek Captain Clarke? Yes, that's it. Captain Clarke! Where is he? Come! Centaine raised her voice as another shell burst beyond the stone wall beside them and there was the electric sound of shrapnel passing overhead. Come! she gestured, and swung Nuage into the lane.
With the line of ambulances following her, she galloped up the driveway towards the chAteau, and saw a shell burst just beyond the stables and another hit the greenhouse at the bottom of the vegetable gardens. The glass panels splintered into a diamond spray in the sunlight.
The chateau is a natural target, she realized, and galloped Nuage into the yard.
Already they were bringing out the wounded, and as the first ambulance pulled up at the bottom of the stairs, the driver and his orderly sprang out to help load the stretchers into the back of the truck.
Centaine turned Nuage into the paddock beside the stables and ran back to the kitchen door. Behind her a howitzer shell hit the tiled roof of the long stable building, blowing a hole through it and knocking out part of the stone wall. However, the stables were empty, so Centaine darted into the kitchen.
Where have you been? Anna demanded. I have been so worried- Centaine pushed past her and ran through to her own room. She pulled the carpet bag from the top of her wardrobe and began to throw clothing into it.
There was a deafening crash from somewhere above, and the plaster ceiling cracked and chunks of it fell around her. Centaine swept the silver frame of photographs off the bedside table into the bag, then opened the drawer and found her jewelbox and her travelling toilet set. The air was full of white plaster dust.
Another shell burst on the terrace outside her room, and the window over her bed exploded. Flying glass rattled against the walls and a shard grazed her forearm and left a bloody line on her skin. She licked the blood away and dropped on her knees, creeping half under the bed, and prised up the loose floorboard.
The leather purse with their hoard of cash lay in the recess beneath it. She weighed the purse in one hand almost two hundred francs in gold louis d'or, then dropped it into the bag.
Lugging the carpet bag, she ran down the stairs into the kitchen.
Where is Papa? she shouted at Anna.
He went up to the top floor. Anna was stuffing strings of onions, hams and bread loaves into a grain sack. She pointed with her chin at the empty hooks on the wall. He has taken his gun and plenty of cognac. I will fetch him, Centaine panted. Take care of my bag. She hitched up her skirts and raced back up the stairs.
The upper levels of the chateau were in confusion. The ambulance orderlies were trying to clear the salon and the main staircase.
Centaine! Bobby Clarke called across the stairwell at her. Are you ready to leave? He was manhandling one end of a stretcher, and he had to raise his voice above the shouts of the orderlies and the groans of the wounded.
Centaine fought her way up against the press of humanity descending the stairs, and Bobby caught her sleeve as she came level with him. Where are you going? We have to get out! My father, I must find my father. She shook off his hand and went on.
The topmost levels of the house were deserted and Centaine ran through them, shouting shrilly, Papa! Papa!
Where are you? She ran down the long gallery, and from the walls the portraits of her ancestors gazed down haughtily upon her.
At the end of the gallery she threw her weight on to the double doors which led through into the suite of bedrooms that had been her mother's and which the comte had kept unchanged all these years.
He was in the dressing-room, slumped in the highbacked tapestry-covered chair in front of the portrait of Centaine's mother, and he looked up as Centaine burst into the room. Papa, we must leave immediately. He did not seem to recognize her. There were three unopened cognac bottles on the floor between his feet, and he held another by the neck. It was half-empty, and he lifted it and took a mouthful of the raw spirit, still gazing at the portrait. Please, Papa, we must go! His single eye did not even blink as another shell crashed into the chAteau, somewhere in the east wing.
She seized his arm and tried to pull him to his feet, but he was a big man and heavy. Some of the brandy spilled down his shirt front.
The Germans have broken through, Papa! Please come with me. The Germans! he roared suddenly, and pushed her away from him. I will fight them once again.
He threw up the long-barrelled Shot rifle that had lain across his lap and fired a shot into the painted ceiling.
Plaster dust filtered down on his hair and mustache, ageing him dramatically.
Let them come! he roared. I, Louis de Thiry, say, let them all come! I am ready for themV He was mad with liquor and despair, but she tried to pull him to his feet.
We must leave. Never! he bellowed, and threw her aside, more roughly than before. I will never leave. This is my land, my home the home of my dear wife - his eye glittered insanely my dear wife. He reached towards the portrait. I will stay here with her, I will fight them here on my own soil. Centaine caught the outstretched wrist and tugged at it, but with a heave he threw her back against the wall, and began to reload the ancient rifle on his lap.
Centaine whispered, I must fetch Anna to help me. She ran to the door and another shell ploughed into the north side of the chateau. The crash of bursting brickwork and splintering glass was followed immediately by the blast wave. It threw her to her knees, and some of the heavy portraits were torn from the gallery walls.
She pulled herself up and raced down the gallery. The nitro-acid stink of explosive was mingled with the biting odour of smoke and burning. The staircase was almost empty. The very last of the wounded were being carried out. As Centaine ran into the yard two of the ambulances, both of them overloaded, pulled out through the gateway and turned down the driveway.
Anna! Centaine screamed. She was strapping the carpet bag and bulging sack on to the roof of one of the ambulances, but she jumped down and ran to Centaine. You must help me, Centaine gasped. It's Papa. Three shells hit the chateau in quick succession, and more burst in the stable field and in the gardens. The German observers must have noted the activity around the building. Their batteries were finding the range.
Where is he? Anna ignored the shellfire.
Upstairs. Mama's dressing-room. He is mad, Anna.
Mad drunk. I cannot move him. The moment they entered the house they smelt the smoke, and as they climbed the stairs the stench became stronger and dense wreaths of it eddied about them. By the time they reached the second level, they were both coughing and wheezing for breath.
The gallery was thick with smoke, so they could not see more than a dozen paces ahead, and through the smoke shone a wavering orange glow, the fire had taken hold in the front rooms and was burning through the doors.
Go back, Anna gasped, I will find him. Centaine shook her head stubbornly and started down the gallery. Another salvo of howitzer fire crashed into the chdteau, and part of the gallery wall collapsed, partially blocking it, and swirling brick dust mingled with the dense smoke, blinding them so that they crouched at the head of the staircase.
It cleared slightly and again they ran forward, but the opening that had been torn in the wall acted as a flue for the flames. They roared up furiously and the heat came at them like a solid thing, barring their way.
Papa! screamed Centaine, as they cringed away from it. Papa! Where are you? The floor jumped under them as more shellfire hit the ancient building, and they were deafened by the thunder of collapsing walls and falling ceilings, and by the rising roar of the flames.
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