The Girl In The Cellar (15 page)

They got on with the unpacking, and when everything was neatly arranged Miss Carstairs put on a very handsome fur coat and a bonnet of black velvet with a wonderful steel ornament on one side, called for a cab, and took her way to the shops. She had pale grey gloves and pale grey shoes which she told Anne were only ‘ones’. She seemed very proud of this, and explained that she had them specially made for her as there was no demand for the size in a grown-up shoe. She seemed to be pleased with Anne’s society.

‘Ada is nothing but a wet fish,’ she explained. ‘Of course she hasn’t any money, so she can’t spend any. It makes her the most tiresome company you can imagine on a shopping expedition. Quality means nothing to her—nothing at all. Cheapness is her one criterion of value, and the result is that I invariably spend at least twice as much as I mean to when I go shopping with her. Now you can urge me on, and when I’m urged on, the natural reaction is to draw back. Do you understand that?’

The question was so sharply put that it startled Anne. She coloured brightly and said, ‘No—yes—’ And then, ‘I think I do.’

They embarked on an orgy of shopping. Miss Carstairs wished to buy a carpet for her bedroom and stuff for curtains.

‘Twenty years I’ve had the old ones,’ she told the middle-aged man who served them. ‘Twenty years, and the stuff’s not worn out yet. It will do very nicely for my companion, and she’ll feel easier with that than she would with everything new, which she’d just think of as gross extravagance and be haunted in her dreams. I’m going to get a new carpet too, and she can have my old one. She’s too poor-spirited to enjoy a new one. As it is, she’ll be worrying over mine being too fine for me.’ She broke into deep laughter.

The man who was serving them thought to himself that she wouldn’t be the easiest person to be a companion to. He didn’t know if it was the young lady with her that she was talking about. If it was, he was sorry for her, for she hadn’t got an easy job—not an easy job at all. His feelings became intensified as he got out roll upon roll of flowered chintz, each fresh piece being greeted with ‘That’s very nice, that’s very nice indeed, but I’ll just see what else you have if you don’t mind.’

In the end she had selected six pieces, all of which she praised, but none of which could she decide upon, when, suddenly weary of her pastime, she chose a flowery affair with a pattern of foxgloves, and then proceeded to the acquisition of a plain dull purple for the carpet.

It was when they were leaving the department that they saw the young man in a grey suit. Miss Carstairs had given her address and detailed instructions as to the day on which the carpet and the stuff for curtains were to be sent off.

She had written a cheque, and the shopman was congratulating himself upon having done a useful morning’s work, when the good-looking young man crossed their path. He did not see them, his attention being taken up with the people he was with. Miss Carstairs looked at him across the room and gave a deep chuckle.

‘That’s funny,’ she said, ’that’s very funny indeed.’

Since she was obviously expected to comment, Anne did so. She asked, ‘What is amusing you?’ and received a reply which told her nothing.

‘Oh, ho, ho—it’s very funny indeed if you know what I know! But you don’t! No, my dear, you don’t—you don’t know anything at all!’

Anne laughed, because the tone was good-tempered. She laughed, and she looked where Miss Carstairs was looking and she nearly dropped, because she knew the face of the young man in grey. Just for a moment she knew him. Who he was, and what he had to do with her. Her head whirled. She put out her hand and it touched the counter—something strong and firm to lean against. She leaned there, and for a moment everything swung round her. Then her head cleared, her eyes saw. Everything round her was quiet, and the man in the grey suit wasn’t there. Miss Carstairs was looking in the direction where he had been. She had apparently not noticed Anne’s sudden faintness. She said, “That’s a young man who didn’t know which side his bread was buttered.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose I did know, but I’ve forgotten… Craddock—Crockett—oh, I can’t tell you, but it doesn’t matter.’

‘Do you know the people he was with?’

She oughtn’t to have gone on about it. Her voice wasn’t steady enough. She got one of those direct looks which seemed to walk in amongst her thoughts and take stock of them no matter whether the door was locked or not. She had a sense of ruthless enquiry.

The deep, rather harsh voice rang in her ears. ‘No, I don’t. Do you?’

The words were not loud, but they buffeted her. She said, ‘No,’ and thought how unconvincing it sounded.

‘You don’t know them?’

‘No, I don’t.’ This time she made herself meet the hard black eyes. She saw them snap.

‘Well, you nearly faint when you see some very ordinary people at the end of a room. If it wasn’t the women who upset you, then it was the man. What about it?’

Anne felt as if she knew nothing—not who she was, or why, or anything. She said, ‘I don’t know.’

Miss Carstairs gave her a look and began to talk about Ada Lushington—her likes, her dislikes, her extraordinary fondness for cats.

‘She’d have a dozen if I let her. As it is, we have four, and that’s three too many. I’ve no objection to one cat provided it’s healthy and not the sort that goes on having kittens whether one wants them or not. But four! I’ve told Ada that it’s three too many, and that she’s got to find homes for the others, or else some day she’ll come in and find there are three cats missing. And what do you think she had the nerve to say to me? You’ll not guess, I assure you. She had the impudence to say that I was fond of the creatures myself, and that if I found homes for them they would be very good ones. Now what do you say to that?’

The young man in the grey suit was gone. He was wiped clear from Anne’s mind. She remembered seeing him, but she couldn’t think why it had upset her. She had never seen him before? She was sure about that? Well then, what was there to worry about? Nothing—or everything in the world—

The deep places that were under her thought stirred and were moved. She came back with a shudder and listened to Miss Carstairs, who was looking at her enquiringly and asking in a very determined voice, ‘Now what do you say to that?’

The colour came into her face with a rush. She said in an eager, fluttering voice, ‘I think she was right.’

Miss Carstairs was very much taken aback.

‘Oh, you do, do you?’ She stared for a long protesting minute, and then said sharply, ‘I don’t believe you heard what I said. Not that it was worth hearing anyway. And now I have to get some ribbon for garters. Can you make garters?’

‘I think so.’

‘You must know if you can. I like my garters smart. We’ll get the ribbon for them this morning, and you can make them this afternoon. We shall want elastic too. I can give you a pair to copy.’

Outside the shop Ross Cranston said goodbye to his friends, who were Mrs Magstock and her sister-in-law Sylvia. He had met them quite by chance, and they had disturbed his mind. Sylvia Magstock was quite a pretty girl, and she was willing enough. The meeting had been a chance one, but he could easily arrange that there should be others. He knew where they were staying—he could ring up later in the day. If only—if only… a sense of having gone too far to draw back came into his mind. It was like seeing something horrible a long way off and knowing that every step you took brought you nearer to it. He shuddered violently, and the picture grew more distinct. It was what he always tried not to remember and found it so difficult to forget—the picture of a girl lying dead at the foot of a dark underground stair.

He shook it violently from his mind and went on his way.

Anne got home at half-past six. When she had taken off her things she came downstairs, to find Lizabet and no Janet. She had gone out to see a friend who had been ill.

‘And if you ask me, I think she’s an idiot to put herself about for people like she does. If you start propping people you can just go on and they get worse instead of better— that’s what I think. But I suppose you approve.’

‘Why do you suppose that?’

‘I wonder why—’ Lizabet had a book on her lap, but she wasn’t reading. ‘Oh, just what’s sauce for the goose might be supposed to be sauce for the—oh, but I mustn’t say that, or you’ll tattle to Janet, and then I shall get into a row, and you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

Anne came back from a long way off. She said steadily, ‘Look here, Lizabet, you don’t like me, and you don’t like my being here. Well, I’m not going to stay, so you needn’t bother.’

Lizabet screwed up her face.

‘Sez you!’

Anne kept her temper.

‘Well, I’m the one who knows. You don’t like me, but I take it you do like Janet—you’re fond of her. Couldn’t you put up with me for a bit just to please her? I’m looking for a job.’

‘You’ve got one.’

‘It’s not permanent. You must know that. It’s just for the fortnight Miss Lushington will be away. There won’t be any opportunity of our seeing much of each other.’

‘Only in the evenings,’ said Lizabet with a toss of the head.

‘And every morning before you go. It makes me sick to see Janet waiting on you!’

‘She doesn’t.’

Lizabet tossed her head.

‘You wouldn’t notice of course!’

Janet came in just before seven.

‘Poor Magda,’ she said, ’she’s in the most dreadful dumps.’

‘And of course she’s got to unload them on you!’ said Lizabet.

Janet coloured.

‘Oh, well,’ she said in a placatory voice. Then she laughed. ‘I didn’t mean to bring it home with me.’

Still without looking up from her book, Lizabet was heard to murmur, ‘You do rather bring them home with you, darling, don’t you?’

In the morning Anne went back to Miss Carstairs. The evening had convinced her that she must find somewhere else to live. She would talk to Janet about it. Lizabet was tiresome, and it was no good trying to alter her. Talking to her only made her worse. She was quite convinced that she meant mischief of some sort, and everything that she said or did added to this conviction. It’s no good struggling with that sort of thing, you must just keep clear of it, or as clear of it as you can. She wasn’t prepared to give up her friendship with Janet, but there was no need for it to be under Lizabet’s observation. By the time she reached Miss Carstairs’ rooms she had the whole thing nicely settled in her mind.

When Mrs Bobbett opened the door to her, she made her enquiry.

‘Mrs Bobbett, do you know of anything that would suit me? I’m afraid I can’t pay very much, but I’d do my own room, and I’d be very willing to help in any other way I could.’

Mrs Bobbett stood still on the stairs and thought.

‘What sort of room do you want?’

‘Oh, just somewhere to sleep. You see, I don’t know quite what I’m going to do yet, and I mustn’t spend too much. I just want to be sure that it’s all right.’

Mrs Bobbett looked down and looked up again.

‘There’s a room upstairs you could have. It’s small and the roof slopes, and I don’t generally let it and that’s the truth. Sort of a spare room, that’s what it is. I’m next door myself, and when my niece comes up from the country I put her there. If you’d like to see it—’

The room was small, but exquisitely tidy and clean. Anne told Mrs Bobbett that she would take it, and went down to Miss Carstairs with a feeling of exhilaration which dropped suddenly from a full peak of almost breathless confidence into a vague feeling of distress. She didn’t know what it was, or where it came from. It wasn’t like her at all, but she couldn’t shake it off. It stayed with her and tinged the day with foreboding.

She told herself it was the weather. They were all ready to go out, when the rain came down and Miss Carstairs said crossly that she never went out when it was raining.

‘I don’t know why we put up with this climate at all! I should think when they’re always inventing things they might just as well do something about the weather! Rain so many days, and at night, instead of in the morning when one wants to go out and do things!’

‘Everybody would want something different,’ said Anne. ’People who were going out in the evening wouldn’t want it to be wet then. And who would decide when it was to rain? Nothing they did would suit everyone, and the people it didn’t suit would get up societies, and processions, and meetings.’

‘Well, that would be something to do, wouldn’t it?’ said Miss Carstairs crossly. Then she made a face and burst out laughing. ‘You know, I hate to be dull. When I’m at home I can do all sorts of things—turn out old letters, old photographs. There’s a lot in doing that. You can make the past live again, and some of it wasn’t too bad. But when I’m away from home I expect to go about and enjoy myself. And frankly, it’s a relief getting rid of Ada—for a bit anyhow. I wouldn’t like to feel I wasn’t going to see her again or anything like that, but there are times when I can do without her. And my conscience doesn’t bother me when she’s gone on her own affairs. Perhaps you didn’t think I’d got a conscience, but I have.’

It cleared up after lunch, and they went out. Anne, urged by Miss Carstairs, bought the stuff for two nightgowns.

Lizabet looked into the sitting-room and saw Anne there alone. She came in, shut the door after her, and sat down on the arm of a chair a little to one side of Anne. Anne had cut out the two nightgowns and was sewing on a long pink seam. She looked up when Lizabet came in and waited for her to speak. Lizabet looked her over, but she didn’t speak. Anne felt herself colouring. She looked down at her work and went on sewing. As soon as she looked away Lizabet said, ‘How long are you going to stay here?’

Anne looked up.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Hadn’t you better think about it?’

Anne put her work down and looked at her.

‘You don’t like my being here.’

Lizabet tossed her head.

‘Isn’t that funny of me!’

‘I think it is rather. Why do you mind?’

Lizabet put her hands down on the arm of the chair and leaned forward.

‘Who are you? Where do you come from? Why are you hiding?’

‘I’m not hiding.’

Lizabet tossed her head.

‘Oh, yes, you are. Janet says not to talk about your being here—not to anyone. Why does she do that if you haven’t got something to hide? Something horrid! And I won’t have it! I won’t have you dragging Janet into whatever you’re mixed up in! And it’s no use telling me you’re not mixed up in anything, because I wouldn’t believe you! Do you hear—I wouldn’t believe you!’

What does one say to an unreasonable jealous child? Anne didn’t know. For Janet’s sake she would do what she could. She said, ‘You are making it very difficult, you know.’

‘I am making it difficult?’

‘Well, you’re not making it easy. I’m sorry you don’t like my being here. It will only be for a little while.’

Lizabet tossed her head.

‘Am I expected to like it?’

Anne was divided between a desire to laugh and a desire to cry. She managed the laugh, but it was rather a shaky one.

‘Lizabet, don’t be so difficult. Can’t you put up with me for a week or two?’

‘If it were really only for a week or two—’

‘It won’t be for longer. I’ll promise you that, if you like.’

Lizabet coloured suddenly, deeply. She stamped with her foot.

‘Do you think I believe anything you say? Well then, I don’t—I don’t—I don’t!’

As she reached the second ‘don’t’, they both heard the front door close on the floor below. Lizabet swung round and ran out of the room. Anne could hear her running up to the next floor and banging her door. She herself was shaking all over. She would have to get out as soon as she could. Lizabet was a spoilt child. But Janet—it wasn’t fair to Janet. She must get away as soon as she decently could.

Janet had been to see Miss Silver. She went because she wanted to talk about Anne. Did Miss Silver think that Jim Fancourt was really in earnest and really to be trusted?

Miss Silver did. And gave her reasons. Having got so far, Janet hesitated, and then came out with, ‘I’m having a very difficult time with my cousin. She has been thoroughly spoilt… Oh, not by me. She hasn’t been with me for very long, but she’s been very difficult. You see, she’s been the first object of consideration both with her grandfather and with her old nurse, and she’s jealous. She’s only seventeen. It’s not Anne’s fault at all. She has done everything she can to make friends with her, but Lizabet simply won’t. And I wondered—’ She stopped and fixed her distressed eyes on Miss Silver.

‘What did you wonder, my dear?’

Janet said, ‘I don’t know. It’s not like me to be uncertain about what I should do, but I am. Lizabet is so young and she’s been so spoilt, she might do anything. But if it’s only for a little time, I can manage her, I think.’

She came away a good deal relieved and encouraged. Miss Silver did not think that she would need to be responsible for Anne for very long. She thought that there would be developments soon, and anyhow she was convinced that she could find suitable accommodation for her.

‘It might be better if she were near you without being under the same roof. You could go and see her without rousing up this tiresome jealousy on your cousin’s part.’

Janet returned home much encouraged. She was a great deal too much taken up with her thoughts to notice the man who had been hanging about in the street opposite Miss Silver’s, and who turned and followed her when she left.