Dorothy Eden (10 page)

But she didn’t look cold. Her cheeks` were glowing. Her eyes sparkled like jewels. She looked enchantingly lovely.

Dalton poured her a drink, then put his own glass down and said, ‘Excuse me, Miss Ashton. I’ll go and bring the car round. I think we ought to get on our way before the storm gets worse.’

As he went out Katherine suddenly giggled.

‘He’s so serious, poor old Dalton,’ she explained. ‘If he wouldn’t be so serious!’ She sighed. Alice noticed all at once that her hair shone with raindrops. There was mud on her shoes.

‘You’ve been out in the rain,’ she said.

‘Yes, I had to. Mrs. Jobbett was down at the cottage. Our servants live down there, Mrs. Jobbett and Tottie. This house isn’t really big enough to accommodate servants. Besides, Dalton and I like having it to ourselves at night. Mrs. Jobbett goes home after dinner.’

A flurry of rain swept across the darkening windows. Suddenly the front door banged and Dalton came marching into the room, his thin dark brows drawn terrifyingly together.

‘The car’s punctured. I’m sorry, Miss Ashton, I can’t take you home. If it were just one tyre it could be changed, but it’s two. I haven’t two spares.’

The tips of his nostrils were white, his cheekbones stuck out as prominently as his knuckles. His eyes were fixed on Katherine, and she, unexpectedly, gave her little giggle again. That, somehow, was the most disturbing of all. Alice knew the reason now for the muddy shoes and the wet hair. Her sense of disquiet deepened into something that was almost fear.

‘Why, now Alice will have to stay,’ Katherine said delightedly, completely ignoring her brother’s anger. ‘What a good doing I had a room prepared for you, darling. Isn’t this fun!’

So all the day Katherine had known that somehow she would be persuaded to stay. But why this desire to have her stay?

To Alice’s surprise Dalton said nothing more at all. As abruptly as he had come in he went out of the room. And Alice was thinking, One night Camilla didn’t come home either. Felix and Dundas and I sat in the cottage and discussed what could have kept her. We thought it might have been a flooded river. We didn’t think of punctured tyres. And she never came back…

‘Don’t look so glum, darling,’ she heard Katherine saying in her light lively voice. ‘Mrs. Jobbett’s a very good cook. We’ll give you a good dinner. And your room’s rather a pet. Come and I’ll show it to you.’

Alice, with all the considerable stubbornness of which her small body was capable, refused the offer of one of Katherine’s dinner dresses and went down to dinner in the plain grey wool jersey in which she had come. She fully expected Katherine, who apparently loved dramatic situations, to burst in in white brocade or black chiffon, but after all Katherine’s good manners were stronger than her love of the dramatic, and she did no more than tuck a white camellia in her black hair.

Dinner, served by the harsh-faced Mrs. Jobbett with her curiously masculine hands, was a rather silent meal. Alice was ashamed of herself for sulking a little, but the whole thing was so absurdly childish. Punctured tyres indeed! And it was better to sulk than to give way to that cool unease that lay like a shadow over her mind. (Why had they planned to keep her here?)

Katherine chatted valiantly about places where the sun had always shone. But she was aware of her brother’s displeasure and her voice had an undertone of defiance. And all the time the storm was increasing, the trees cracking and roaring in the wind, and the rain beating in sudden squalls against the windows. Alice found herself constantly thinking that there might be lambs out in the storm. A silly little white lamb, Felix had called her. A wretched rash intruding fool…

But how Felix would admire Katherine with the white flower shining in her smooth dark hair.

‘Alice, you don’t talk nearly as much as Camilla did,’ Katherine said at last fretfully. Then, ‘Poor Camilla.’

‘Why poor?’ Alice queried. Suddenly her heartbeats seemed louder than the sound of her voice. Camilla had gone out one day and had never come back…

Dalton said in his crisp disapproving voice, ‘This coffee’s cold. Can’t we ever teach that woman to serve hot coffee?’

‘Well, darling, you know I don’t like Mrs. Jobbett. You know I’d like her to go.’

But this suggestion Dalton did not approve of, either.

‘Apart from the coffee she’s perfectly satisfactory.’

‘Camilla used to say “How can you live with that woman?” Do you think that, too, Alice?’ Katherine asked plaintively.

‘Never mind Camilla. We won’t talk of Camilla.’

‘Oh, Dalton darling!’ Katherine came round the table to lay her narrow hands on either side of his face. ‘You’re in a mood. Now you see, Alice, why I long for other people. Dalton gets moody and I have no one to talk to.’

Alice was abruptly sorry for her. Then she remembered the punctured tyres and she refused to be drawn out of her sulkiness. The odd uneasy evening drew on until at last she could, with good manners, excuse herself and go upstairs to the charmingly furnished room that was hers for the night.

There was someone in the room. With relief Alice recognized the round freckled face of Tottie, who was turning down the bed.

‘Hullo, Tottie,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry you have an extra bed to make.’

Tottie grinned, her friendly face beautifully ordinary and comforting.

‘That’s all right, miss. I’m used to it. I did it for Miss Mason often enough.’

‘Did she used to—expect to stay?’ Alice asked cautiously.

‘Well, not at first, perhaps. Miss Thorpe used to find some excuse, I think. She’s crazy for company. But after, she used to stay whenever she wanted to. You can guess why that was.’ Tottie winked broadly. ‘Him. I’ve put a hot bottle in. It’s turned that cold tonight.’

‘Thank you, Tottie.’ Alice was almost gay in her relief. So even if Camilla had been tricked, as she had been, to stay here at first, later she had come of her own free will. There was nothing queer about it after all. She could sleep soundly and go home in the morning and explain to Dundas, who would be worried off his kind little head, where she had been.

Tottie flicked some dust off the dressing-table and turned to go out.

‘But if I was you,’ she whispered suddenly, her face stuck round the door, ‘I’d turn the key in the lock tonight. Just in case.’

Alice flew to the door.

‘Why, Tottie? Why?’

But Tottie was already half-way downstairs, and the sight of Dalton Thorpe lighting a leisurely pipe down in the hall was making her hurry more than ever. Alice could not call her back.

Lock the door? It seemed so discourteous, so absurd, in this pleasant house. Supposing Katherine came to talk and found her guest had locked herself in? No, it was an impossible thing to do. But
why
had Tottie suggested it?

It took a great deal of will power not to follow Tottie’s suggestion. Likewise, Alice had to force herself to undress and put on the pale-blue satin nightdress that Katherine had had spread out on the bed for her. She shivered as the cool material touched her skin. She got into bed and put out the light, and then lay rigid in the darkness, listening to the wind beating against the house. Where was Camilla? In the little carnation-scented house Camilla’s absence had seemed a naughty prank; her sketchy diary and Webster’s significant remarks had the touch of a comic opera crime. Now, her imagination distorted by her surroundings, the mystery of Camilla was assuming a sinister quality that surely it did not possess. Dalton did not like Camilla’s name mentioned, Camilla had deliberately come here to see him. Tottie had said it was wise to lock the bedroom door. Perhaps Camilla had used to lock it. Perhaps one night she had forgotten…

Katherine’s light voice at the door made her start up.

‘Are you asleep, darling? Oh, I’m so sorry I disturbed you. I just wanted to know if you were comfortable.’

Alice switched on the light and saw Katherine in a turquoise-coloured velvet dressing-gown, her hair brushed down on her shoulders. She looked so beautiful and so kind that Alice was ashamed of her nervousness.

‘Yes, I’m quite comfortable, thank you.’

Katherine came forward.

‘Alice, that Felix Dodsworth I met last night—what kind of a man is he? You’ve known him for a long time, haven’t you?’

‘For a year or so,’ Alice answered guardedly. ‘He’s all right.’

‘What a mediocre answer, darling. I thought he was perfectly sweet.’ She began to smile, a slow secretive smile. One thin finger rubbed up and down her cheek. ‘And I rather think he likes me a little. Or perhaps more than a little. He’s just telephoned now.’

‘Oh?’ Alice couldn’t keep the startled interest out of her voice. Had Felix discovered her absence? Was he worrying about her?

‘He wants to see me again. As soon as possible, he said. He sounded—’ Again came the satisfied secret smile. ‘Well, you know how impetuous a man can sound. But I know Dalton won’t approve. Dalton’s
quite
a snob.’ She sighed. ‘But I mustn’t keep you awake with my small affairs. Good night, Alice. Sleep well. It’s
so
wonderful having you.’

D is so impetuous,
Alice was thinking. Strange, that was the word Camilla used, too. Felix was a stupid fool, getting tangled up with women like this. Couldn’t he pay less attention to females and more to his career? At this rate he would be driving the bus from Hokitika to the glaciers for the rest of his life.

So it hadn’t been her absence he was worried about after all. For the second time Alice lay down and put out the light. She had an inclination to cry. She felt so alone, so unwanted. She would never write in a diary
D won’t wait.
She imagined she could see Katherine’s lovely face floating in the darkness, and behind it Felix’s—narrow, mischievous, alive with interest.

But at least Felix had done one thing for her. He had taken her mind off the unlocked door and the intangible danger that might lurk in this house.

She slept and dreamed about Camilla. Camilla was laughing and whispering, ‘You’d better lock the door. It’s wisest.’ What a queer laugh Camilla had developed, throaty and malicious. She was actually turning the key in the lock and laughing in that deep gurgle.

It was so peculiar that it wakened Alice out of her sleep. She opened her eyes wide, trying to throw off the nightmare. The wind was buffeting against the house, and even the square of her window was scarcely less dark than the rest of the room. Something was moving in the darkness. It was the curtains swaying in and out, the rings on which they hung clinking faintly. The rain seemed to have stopped. Alice strained her eyes, trying to catch a reassuring glimpse of some stars. And at that moment there was a movement near the door and a voice whispered, ‘Camilla’s here. Isn’t that a joke?’ Then there was that awful throaty laugh that hadn’t been in her dream after all, but that existed in reality, and the door closed with a small bang.

Alice started up. She was jerked back as if she had received a blow. For a moment her mind refused to work. She lay petrified, her heart pounding until the bed shook. Someone stood behind her at the head of the bed in the darkness. Who was it? What were they doing? She moved her lips to speak, but no sound came. The wind hit the house in a long swoop and the curtains gave their innocent clinking.

Like ice in a glass on a hot day, she thought. The icy perspiration had started out on her brow. There was no movement behind her. The room, apart from the slight sway of the curtains, was utterly still.

No one could stand that still. One would hear breathing. Alice licked her lips, and with a further effort contrived to produce a shaky voice, ‘Who’s there?’

There was no answer.
Was
there someone there? If she could summon up enough courage to switch on the light she would know the truth.

She moved her head carefully, and again there was that queer tug, slighter now, not enough to restrain her from pressing the switch.

Light flooded the room. Alice turned her head sharply, and the pain of her pulled hair showed her what had happened. There was no one behind her at the head of the bed, but someone had crept in and tied the frivolous blue ribbon that was round her hair to the bedpost.

It was a silly trick, a completely childish trick. But for some reason Alice, with a shaking hand, unloosing the ribbon, was filled with horror. Free, she sprang out of bed and stood on the soft lamb’s-wool rug trembling. Then she began frantically to pull off Katherine’s nightdress and get into her clothes. She knew that she could not spend the rest of the night in this house. She couldn’t spend another five minutes here. She had to get away at once and find Dundas, Felix, tell them what was going on, tell them that she suspected Camilla was being kept, for some utterly unknown reason, by the Thorpes.

Tottie had said, ‘Lock your door.’ Tottie knew something. But one couldn’t stop to find and question Tottie now. One had to get away quickly.

Her fingers trembled so that she could scarcely pull on her shoes. The wind was like massive hands against the house, pushing it and shaking it. But the noise of it would cover any sound she might make going down the stairs. She dared not put on lights lest her flight were discovered. Her mind shied away from conjectures as to what might happen if she were discovered. The whole thing was a gigantic nightmare. Camilla’s little cottage with its leaking roof and draughty windows was the haven to which she must escape.

Once, half-way down the dark stairs, she thought she heard that malicious chuckling again. For one moment she froze. Then, disregarding caution, she stumbled down the remainder of the stairs, groped her way down the long hall and found the key in the front door.

As she opened the door the wind swarmed in. Like cold water in her face, it resorted her to sanity. She hesitated on the doorstep, thinking of the long walk down the wet windy roads. But to go back to that pretty bedroom was worse. The elements were infinitely preferable to unknown dangers.

Somewhere in the house a clock struck one. Suddenly the wind seized the door and banged it behind her. With a little gasp of fright and relief Alice knew that now she couldn’t go back. She must go to the safety of the cottage.