Dorothy Eden (5 page)

‘Miss Ashton is having breakfast with us,’ Dundas told her, as if unaware of the girl’s discourtesy. ‘Set another place.’

The girl nodded and disappeared. Alice looked round the room. It contained an extraordinary conglomeration of stuff. There was far too much heavy dark furniture. One wall was entirely covered with miniatures in elaborate gilt frames. Various small tables held Satsuma and Cloisonné bowls, enamelled ashtrays and pieces of crystal. The sideboard was loaded with pieces of silver that badly needed polishing, and along the high carved mantelpiece Alice suddenly saw Dundas’s ladies, a dozen or so Dresden figures with tiny waists, tiny fine hands and pointed toes peeping beneath their crinolined skirts. Above them a cuckoo clock ticked sedately. The room might have been a second-rate antique shop. There was an almost magpie miscellany about it, as if nothing had ever been thrown out.

Alice sat on a period couch covered with a faded tapestry that bore a design of pink cabbage roses. She became aware of Dundas’s voice. ‘Is there no sign of Camilla yet?’

He asked the question politely, as if the matter of Camilla’s absence were of no great moment to him. His casualness was an elaborate deception of his true feelings.

‘Oh, Camilla,’ said Alice brightly. Here was another one who was going to grieve Camilla’s passing. (Camilla’s passing! How had a gloomy phrase like that come into her head?) ‘She’s run off to be married. She left a note for me, but it slipped down and I didn’t find it until after you had gone last night.’

To her surprise Dundas didn’t say ‘I don’t believe it’ indignantly, as Felix had. On the contrary, he nodded his head gravely, as if the news didn’t surprise him.

‘Do you know, I was afraid of something like that. I didn’t like to say so last night, but I had a feeling something had happened. With Camilla it wouldn’t be simple.’

‘That’s true,’ Alice agreed. ‘She would want to do it the sensational way.’

‘She was a very naughty girl,’ Dundas said in his mild old-fashioned way. ‘In the school she kept no order. The children did as they liked. She persisted in living in that tumbledown house when we wanted it pulled down. As for the rest—’

‘What was the rest?’ Alice asked interestedly.

‘Why, men, of course. She thought she could behave as she liked with them. She thought they were all willing to be made fools of.’

Alice understood his disapproval now. He was jealous, of course. Probably he had never approved of Camilla.

‘Have you any idea,’ she asked, ‘who this man she has married is?’

‘Not the slightest. Though now you mention it I do recall seeing one of those big American cars at her gate the other day. No one here has an American car. It could have belonged to this stranger she seems to have run off with. I admit her behaviour doesn’t surprise me. I realize,’ he concluded wistfully, ‘that she didn’t confide in me.’

‘She said something about catching a plane,’ Alice said. Poor Dundas, he was being awfully decent about Camilla’s casual behaviour. ‘Probably it was someone staying at the hotel. You’ll have to get another teacher.’

‘Yes. This is really most irregular. We must have someone here when the school reopens next week. But at least now we’ve got the chance to have the schoolhouse demolished.’

‘Wait until I’ve spent a week in it,’ Alice pleaded. ‘I like it and I couldn’t afford the hotel.’

‘I’m afraid—’

What he had been going to say was interrupted by Margaretta coming in with three plates of porridge. She set them down and silently waited for Alice and Dundas to be seated.

Dundas came back to his paternal geniality and said, ‘Margaretta is getting to be a very good housekeeper. Her mother died when she was quite small, and we’ve had one woman after another, but now Margaretta manages herself. Don’t you, dear?’

Margaretta, her head bent over her plate, did not answer. Alice looked at her badly brushed hair curling on the tender pale nape of her neck. Poor kid, it was a shame the way she was dressed. Her father, she thought, was not a man to notice clothes, but didn’t she care herself?

Dundas’s gaze was wandering round the room.

‘I’ve kept everything the way it was since my wife died, except for a few little additional things I have got. The miniatures and the Dresden ladies are mine. I confess I love small things.’ He curved his fingers as if he were imagining them round one of the slender china waists. ‘It’s just a foolish idiosyncrasy of mine. But most of the other things were my wife’s. I’m too sentimental. But we like it, don’t we, Margaretta?’

Again the girl made no response. Dundas leaned over to a small table to pick up an enamelled snuff-box.

‘My wife brought most of these from England. She was English, you know. She had no relatives in New Zealand.’ He held the box up to the light and blew on it gently. ‘A little dust, pet,’ he murmured. ‘But your father’s too fussy, isn’t he? And this piece is Satsuma. Not particularly valuable, but the colours are good.’ He revolved a shining blue bowl in his hands. ‘And this little one is French enamel. As a collection there’s not very much, but I value it. You must see my studio and my dark-room, Miss Ashton. Margaretta helps me with the printing and developing.’

Alice tried to talk to the downbent head.

‘That must be interesting, Margaretta.’

Her only response was an ambiguous movement of the head. It was clear that Margaretta was not going to be drawn out just then. She was very rude, but she was at a difficult age, when nothing was simple, when one’s loves or hates were extravagant and exhausting. It seemed that Margaretta might hate the cluttered room, with its museum-like atmosphere. It was a great pity about her clothes. An attractive dress might do a lot for her.

Thinking of clothes, Alice began to chatter.

‘Camilla’s left practically all her things in the house. I wonder what I should do with them.’

‘She’ll send for them, I should think.’

‘Yes. I expect so. She’s much too thrifty just to discard them. I had a glance through her stuff, but the only interesting thing I found was the calendar.’

Dundas looked up.

‘The calendar?’

‘Camilla has a shocking memory,’ Alice explained. ‘She always jots things down. She’d been doing it on one of those desk calendar things where there’s a leaf for every day.’ Something prompted her to add, ‘It’s quite illuminating. That, and Webster’s chatter. Webster’s an amazing creature—he talks like a parrot. Actually better than any parrot I’ve heard.’ Abruptly she stopped chattering as she became aware of Dundas’s peculiarly colourless gaze. His eyes were like clear water.

‘What particular things were on the calendar?’

(Why, he’s got a guilty conscience, poor sweet, Alice reflected amusedly.)

‘Oh, this and that. People. Things she was going to do. I shall keep it to tease her with.’

‘I’d like to have a look at it,’ Dundas said. ‘It might give a clue as to her whereabouts. The man—’

‘Oh, there isn’t only one man in it,’ Alice said flippantly. ‘All the same, you know, I hardly think Camilla would want them all reading her private comments.’ Suddenly, with his tense gaze on her, she was sorry for her urge to tease him. ‘She
was
naughty, you know,’ she said gently. ‘I think perhaps it’s a good thing she’s gone.’

Dundas breathed heavily.

‘Perhaps it is. But we were fond of Camilla, in spite of her faults. All of us. In fairness to her, if you don’t wish that diary to be read, I think it should be burnt.’

‘I agree,’ said Alice. ‘But later. When we’re quite sure—’

‘Sure of what?’

‘That Camilla’s all right. Just at present there
may
be occasion to refer to that diary.’

Dundas’s clear colourless gaze never left her.

‘You think so? In what way, Miss Ashton?’

‘Well—in case this elopement of hers is a hoax.’

‘I hardly think that would be so. At this stage I almost hope not. For the sake of the school I wouldn’t like any more scandal.’ He paused, to add perplexedly, ‘Fancy your thinking something like that. But why?’

‘Who is this mysterious Dalton Thorpe?’ Alice asked.

Dundas seemed to welcome the change in the conversation.

‘He’s the owner of Glacier Farm. He’s reputed to be quite wealthy. He lives alone with his sister. They lead a very quiet life. One scarcely sees them at all. He’s the most eligible bachelor around, I should think.’ He paused. Then he said, ‘As far as I know Camilla was almost their only visitor.’

‘As far as Camilla is concerned that would be only to be expected. She has a nose for eligibility. But if it comes to that, you’re an eligible person, too.’

‘Me! Oh, I’m only a dull old widower.’

‘Ah, now, you’re too modest. You haven’t read Camilla’s diary.’

His colour heightened, his eyes had their look of deep embarrassment.

‘I think you’re teasing me, Miss Ashton.’ Determinedly he changed the conversation. ‘Tell me, do you come from the same place as Camilla?’

‘Yes. We went to the same school. Poor old Cam didn’t have much of a time. She had no family, you know. Only an old cousin, or something. And she was as poor as a church mouse. There was just enough money to get her educated and then she had to work. I’m glad she’s got a husband now. I do hope he’s good to her.’

‘And you?’ Dundas said in his deep soft voice. ‘You have a family?’

Suddenly Alice was thinking of Camilla’s lack of family. There had been that dreary old Cousin Maud with whom she had had to spend her holidays and whom she cordially disliked. There had been a dark parlour with several dusty pot plants in it, Alice remembered. One had always been nervous of spiders. And at nine o’clock each night Cousin Maud had used to say in her thin dry voice, ‘Bedtime for growing girls, Camilla,’ and Camilla, who at sixteen had been more clever than an Indian at slithering out of the school dormitory, had had to march upstairs to the little bedroom next to Cousin Maud’s and resign herself to a long dull night. When she had got her first job, with its consequent financial freedom, she had escaped from Cousin Maud’s dominance. There had been little regret, Alice imagined, on either side. She remembered a letter of Camilla’s. ‘Cousin Maud is so thankful that she has done her duty by me that now she can wash her hands of me with the greatest of pleasure. I pray we never meet again!’

So Cousin Maud would not be likely to be interested in Camilla’s runaway marriage or make enquiries about her disappearance. It came to Alice with a feeling of shock that this state of affairs may have been very convenient to someone. Very convenient indeed…

Something made her gaily improvise information that would be spread over the valley.

‘Oh yes, I have six brothers. Isn’t it crazy? We fight like anything, but I love every one of them.’ She grinned. ‘That’s why I’m tough. I’ve been brought up the hard way. That’s why I’m not frightened to stay here alone.’

‘Frightened?’ Dundas queried. He put out his hand to touch her arm. ‘But there isn’t anything to be frightened of, surely. I’ll come over this evening and help to pack Camilla’s things. Today, as it’s fine, I have an appointment with a party on the glacier to take photographs. But I’ll come this evening. Promise not to touch anything until then.’

He seemed so earnest that Alice was on the verge of promising, when the girl Margaretta lifted her head to look fully at Alice for the first time. Her eyes had lost their sullenness and were bright with malice.

‘Don’t stop Daddy, Miss Ashton. He would enjoy it. He enjoys women’s clothes.’ Then, as if she were overcome with fright for what she had said, she picked up her empty porridge plate and rushed out of the room.

W
HEN ALICE RETURNED TO
the cottage there was a smart cream-and-red car drawn up at the gate.

Alice’s heart gave a great leap. Camilla was back. This must be the American car Dundas had spoken about. Camilla was back with her new husband and everything was all right.

She ran up the path and burst inside.

‘Hi! Camilla! And it’s just about time!’

There was no answer at all.

‘Hi!’ said Alice again, uncertainty creeping into her voice. ‘Who’s there?’

She heard a slight movement in Camilla’s bedroom and, a little nervous now, went to the door.

The girl was crouching on the floor. She had one of Camilla’s nightgowns in her hands, and her eyes were raised expectantly, almost fearfully. She was one of the loveliest women Alice had ever seen.

It was partly her surprise, partly her genuine admiration for the apple-blossom skin, the soft dark hair and the wide-open brilliant blue eyes that made Alice unable to speak.

As she stared the girl got slowly to her feet, still clutching the nightgown, saying in a scared voice, ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t stealing. I only came to find Camilla. Tottie said she had gone, but I didn’t believe her.’

Alice knew now who she must be. The Thorpe girl, Dalton Thorpe’s sister. But no one had prepared her for that extraordinary beauty.

‘She really has gone,’ Alice said. ‘I wouldn’t have believed it either, only there was the letter.’

‘But she’s left all her things!’ the girl said. Her enormous blue eyes, dominating her small perfect face, were full of bewilderment. ‘She
couldn’t
just have gone like that, without saying good-bye. And who are you, anyway? What are you doing here?’

‘I’m Alice Ashton, a friend of Camilla’s. I’ve come to stay’—Alice flung out her hands in humorous friendliness, because the girl seemed so queerly shy and frightened—‘and here I find I have no hostess.’

‘I’m Katherine Thorpe,’ the girl said. ‘Perhaps you’ve guessed. Perhaps Camilla has written to you about me.’

‘Camilla was no letter-writer,’ Alice explained. ‘And I haven’t been back in New Zealand long. But I have heard about you and your brother. As a matter of fact that’s where we thought Camilla was.’

‘We?’

‘Oh, just Felix Dodsworth and I. He’s driving the bus. We were old friends. He said he thought Camilla might have been spending the night with you because it was raining so hard.’

‘Yes, she’s done that often,’ Katherine Thorpe said eagerly. ‘We used to persuade her to, Dalton and I. We don’t see many people; in fact I see scarcely any at all. Dalton almost keeps me like a prisoner. But we liked Camilla. She was so bright.’ The girl’s eyelids drooped. ‘Dalton liked her very much indeed,’ she said primly.