He was satisfied about completing his research and amazed at such a secret act by Elizabeth; he saw a book behind a tray.
It was that book: the book with the fine binding and the purple color he had seen on the bay window table.
He did not immediately read the title, stopping instead to ask himself once more why his wife had to hide that book from him.
Then he looked at the cover: they were poems and love letters from the English poet John Keats.
The following morning Abblepot was unable to wake up as early as usual. The whirlwind of thoughts that had accompanied him to bed did not allow him to go to sleep immediately. Also, when he finally fell asleep, he was restless and not at all relaxing sleep.
He decided to immediately deal with the matter of the book with Elizabeth and listen to what she had to say about it.
He found his wife in the room adjacent to the living room.
"Good morning, dear," she said with sincere friendliness.
"Good morning to you."
Abblepot, although annoyed by the event, had no intention of getting too angry. The night he had advised that it was not a good thing to let oneself get angry: not very evangelical, and probably not useful.
He went on to ask his wife what time it was.
"It's not too late, don't worry. I saw that you were still sleeping soundly, so I decided not to disturb you. I hope you don't mind. "
"No, not at all. Thank you, "said Abblepot." I didn't get much sleep tonight. "
"Worries?"
"Yes. A few."
Elizabeth invited her husband to sit down to have some breakfast. Then he offered to get him a cup of coffee.
"Do you mind if I sit in the living room?" said the reverend.
"Of course not. I'll be right there," Elizabeth replied.
When she came back, she found Johnathan seated in his armchair; he wasn't sitting back in a relaxed manner, but he was slightly leaning forward, with both feet resting on the ground, knees flexed, and wrists resting on them. He looked at her with sleepy eyes, he had the stiffness of statues, but the restlessness of those who are ready to make a move.
Not far away was the table, and Johnathan's left hand was a few centimeters from a book, which the young woman recognized immediately. He had specially put it there before going to bed.
Before Elizabeth even asked him why that attitude, Abblepot said, "Did someone lend you this?"
But in reality, that was far from a question. Elizabeth felt a heart skip a beat. She held the cup firmly in her hands, yet her stiffening must have been as apparent as if she was a puppet whose puppeteer had pulled all the strings at the same time.
Abblepot pressed on, but without altering his voice. Not that this mattered to Elizabeth, who was already feeling uncomfortable.
He said, "It's not mine. And nobody lent or gave it to me, and you know how well I know my books."
Although she felt flustered, Elizabeth regained her calm: "Sure… Keats' poems. They are lovely, do you know them? Hanna had always told me about it, do you remember her? Until in the end, she decided to lend the book to me. I have almost finished it, but the last ones I read are not so beautiful. I think it's time to return it; it's been a while. Hanna will be wondering if I might be trying to keep it!"
But Abblepot continued: "I found it by chance" he allowed himself this little lie "he was in that cabinet" and pointed to it.
Elizabeth put the coffee on the table and pretended to be interested in the book, which she had read and reread passionately until the day before. Then she said, "Ah, what a fool! I must have accidentally put it in there!"
Johnathan, this time was unable to hide his disappointment over his wife's blatant lie.
She continued: "I think I had it in my hand when I opened the cabinet's door. Who knows what I was looking for. Then I must have placed it inside without thinking. I was a little careless, sorry, John. I know you don't like untidiness, and finding a book among the dishes must have been a bad surprise!"
Elizabeth might have guessed how true that was, but not for the reasons she thought.
In reality, that was a nasty surprise for both of them, and both of them realized it.
The young woman laughed with apparent nonchalance.
The reverend said, "Don't worry. It can happen."
"Thanks for finding it, let's just leave at that," and Elizabeth laughed again "you know, it must have been at least a couple of days since I picked it up, and I didn't even bother to wonder where it was."
But this sentence brought back to Johnathan's mind the clear image of the book resting on the bay window table the previous afternoon. Now he was beginning to find it unbearable that his wife could lie to him like that. Unbearable and distressing, because he wondered what was behind that series of lies.
He handed the book to Elizabeth, looking at her as you do with a child who has misbehaved, but he did not get back the remorseful look he expected.
The young woman said, "Thanks, John. I'll try to give it back to Hanna today." And she found an excuse to excuse herself from the heavy air of that room.
Abblepot stared at an indistinct point outside the window. In reality, he saw nothing in front of him, if not the image of his wife Elizabeth, now alongside John Keats' book of poems and love letters, and another man.
He didn't know who this man was and what he looked like, but it seemed to him that there was no other explanation.
That wasn't the only thing that bothered him. If there had been nothing else, he would have dealt with the matter with elegance.
He would have approached the man making him understand the impropriety of his acts and inviting him, first of all, not to disrupt their family peace anymore, and secondly to confess his sin before the Lord.
But there was more.
Elizabeth didn't say anything about it.
She didn't even get rid of that inappropriate gift.
Lastly, Elizabeth had tried to hide it from him, because perhaps she did not intend, at least in the short term, to get rid of it: she wanted to continue reading it. Or maybe keep it.
Of course, his wife's could be just curiosity. And, given the probable inconvenience of the content and the very existence of that book in their home, she didn't want to upset him too much.
What if it did come from a friend of Elizabeth and she, young and conservative, had let herself go to a little bawdy curiosity?
Perhaps even, Elizabeth may have found that book by chance, and now she was just a bit curious.
Johnathan continued to review these last possibilities
