Chapter 11: Sunday
Charlotte usually awoke to Porthos barking loudly outside her or James' bedroom door. This was not the case on Sunday, however.
Charlotte awoke abruptly at around eight o' clock. She was in her bed, which meant that James had probably moved her during the night. Deciding that she wasn't quite ready to get up yet, Charlotte rolled over and immediately found out why Porthos had no barked that morning. He was asleep in her bed, and had pulled most of the sheets over to one side.
James must have let him in, Charlotte thought, patting the huge animal's head.
Just as she was about to doze off again, Peter and Michael slammed their bedroom door. She could hear them thundering down the stairs to join their brother and their grandmother, who were already at breakfast. Mrs. du Maurier shrieked at them to be quiet, or at least go into the garden if they were going to make so much noise. Obviously, there was no point in trying to sleep any more.
She arrived downstairs to find that Peter and Michael had listened to their grandmother for once and gone out to the garden. The two eldest boys were sitting with Mrs. du Maurier in the kitchen, quietly finishing their biscuits.
The three of them looked up when Charlotte entered the room.
"How are you feeling, dear?" Mrs. du Maurier asked kindly.
"I'm fine, Emma," Charlotte insisted. "We were—talking, and I finally fell asleep a few hours ago."
"Is James up yet?"
"No. I should probably go and make sure he's slept. Sometimes he stays up all night and forgets that he needs rest. After all, if he doesn't sleep, then time won't pass, and he won't ever grow up."
"And that's exactly what he wants," George added softly.
"Yes. That's exactly what he wants," Charlotte agreed. "Would you go and see if he's awake, George?"
"Yes, Aunt Charlotte."
George left the room. The others could hear his footsteps as he went up the stairs, down the hall, and stopped in front of James' bedroom door. A moment later, they heard his footsteps quicken until he was running down the stairs as fast as he could.
"Aunt Charlotte," he panted, skidding to a halt in front of her. "Something's wrong with Uncle Jim. He's not moving."
"George, that's not funny," Mrs. du Maurier scolded.
"I'm not trying to be funny," George persisted. "You have to believe me."
"God." With that single word, the color left Charlotte's face so that it was nearly as white as her blouse. "God," she repeated, quickly leaving the room.
Mrs. du Maurier followed her. "What should I tell the boys?"
"Nothing," Charlotte replied without turning around. "Not for a few hours, anyway." With that, she left Mrs. du Maurier standing helplessly at the bottom of the stairs.
