Demon Child

found only Richard menacing her? He was her cousin, after all. He couldn't seriously harm her, could he? Surely, he was just angry that she had been spying on him. Both times-when she had heard him on the telephone and when she had seen him sneaking along the hedgerow last night-it had been accidental spying, of course. But he would not understand that.
        “Please let me explain, Jenny,” he said.
        “Go away,” she said reflexively.
        Should she give him a chance? If she opened the door, what more could he do than explain? It was silly to think of her own cousin attempting to harm her.
        He suddenly tried the door again.
        That decided her against opening for him.
        “I can explain it all to you in ten minutes,” he said. His voice was weary, tired, pleading. He sounded, now, like nothing more than a lost and lonely child. But he could be putting that voice on for her benefit.
        “I won't talk to you now, Richard,” she said firmly. Richard was the unknown. His moods, his secret schemes and strange behavior made him suspect. With Walter, she knew she was safe, knew that all was steady and sure. With Richard, anything might happen, any disaster might strike.
        He waited outside her door for several minutes, but when he saw that she wasn't going to open it to him, he finally turned and walked off. She listened to his footsteps going down the corridor and then down the stairs. When there was nothing to be heard but silence, she left the door and went to her bed where she curled up against the headboard like a child in its mother's lap.
        She had no mother, though. And for the first time in nearly a year, the pain of that knowledge made itself felt. She began to cry. She rolled over and buried her face in her pillow and cried until her stomach hurt and until there were no more tears.
        She went into the bathroom and washed her face, daubing her eyes with cool water to make them less bloodshot. She combed her hair, then gave it a hundred strokes with a brush. The shimmering beauty of her dark mane made her think of Walter Hobarth and how much she wanted to look nice for him. Thinking of Walter made her less gloomy.
        After all, she thought. I am safe now, locked in my room. No one can get in that door. It's a thick and sturdy door. And no wolf could ever climb those stone walls outside to reach a second floor window. As long as I don't go out alone or let myself alone with Richard, I'm safe.
        And as long as Walter Hobarth was here, she intended to stick it out. Nothing could happen to her as long as the man she loved was close by.
        Loved?
        Did she truly love him, then? If she could have a thought like that, so casually, then it must be true. Now it was up to her to do her best to make him feel the same thing toward her.
        She smiled at the mirror.
        I am pretty, she thought. And intelligent. I would make a fine wife for a psychiatrist.
        She went to the wardrobe and picked out the prettiest dress she had brought. She would wear that, along with lemon-scented perfume, and she would be fresh and bright and attractive at supper this evening. He would notice; he always did.
        Suddenly, a spider ran across the top of the dresser, eight legs pistoning furiously, and it seemed like a sign, a warning of things that were to come…

----

    11
        
        Jenny was awakened early the following Tuesday morning by a soft knock at her door. She yawned, rolled over and looked at the alarm clock. The time was five minutes before eight. She had slept late most every morning this past week, a luxury she had never allowed herself before coming to the Brucker estate. No one had urged her to earlier rising, so who could this be?
        “Yes?” she asked.
        “It's me, Walter,” Dr. Hobarth said. “The hunt forms at nine. I thought you'd like to use the spare horse to come along.”
        “Just a minute,” she said. She put her robe on and went to the door, opened it. “They don't want a woman along, do they?” she asked.
        He was dressed in jeans, boots and a short-sleeved workshirt. The inevitable pipe was with him, smelling of cherries. “Oh, there's no danger,” he assured her. “What with the hounds ready to tear it up and most of the men armed. We'll stay in groups to cut the chance of danger even further.”
        “I don't know whether I should.”
        “Oh, come on, Jenny!