The Captive

by Виктория Холт

  “R.C.”

  “Not nearly so amusing as yours.”

  “Yours suggests someone very devout, whereas I could be an imp of Satan. It’s significant, don’t you think … the suggestion of people in opposite spheres? I am sure it means something concerning our friendship to come. You are going to turn me from my evil ways and be a good influence on my life. I’d like to think it meant that.”

  I laughed and we were silent for a while, then he said:

  “You are interested in the mysteries of Egypt, I dare say. As your parents’ daughter you must be.”

  “Well, in a mild way. At school one doesn’t have much time to be interested in what isn’t going on there.”

  “I’d like to know what the words on my stone really meant.”

  “I thought you said they had been translated.”

  “Yes … in a way. All these things are so cryptic. The meaning is couched in words which are not quite clear.”

  “Why do people have to be so obscure?”

  “To bring in an element of mystery, don’t you think? It adds to the interest. It’s the same with people. When you discover subtleties in their characters you become more interested.”

  He smiled at me, his eyes saying something which I did not understand.

  “You will eventually discover that I am right,” he said.

  “You mean when I’m older?”

  “I believe you resent people referring to your youth.”

  “Well, I suppose it implies that one is not yet capable of understanding much.”

  “You should revel in your youth. The poets have said it passes too quickly.

  “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” He smiled at me with a benignity which was almost tender.

  I was a little thoughtful after that and I guessed that he was aware of it.

  After dinner I went out with the ladies and when the men joined us I did not talk to him again.

  Later Felicity asked me how I had liked him.

  She said: “I saw you were getting on very well with him.”

  “I think he is the sort who would get on well with anyone … superficially.”

  She hesitated for a second, then she said: “Yes … you are right.”

  It seemed significant afterwards that what I remembered most clearly about that visit was my meeting with Hadrian Edward Lucas Lorimer.

  When I came home for the Christmas holiday my parents seemed more animated than usual . even excited. The only thing I imagine which could make them feel so would be some new knowledge they had acquired.

  A breakthrough in their understanding of their work? A new stone to replace the Rosetta?

  It was nothing of the sort.

  As soon as I arrived they wanted to talk to me.

  “Something rather interesting has occurred,” said my mother.

  My father smiled at me indulgently, I thought.

  “And,” he added, ‘it concerns you. “

  I was startled.

  “Let us explain,” said my mother.

  “We have been invited to do a most interesting lecture tour. This takes us to Cape Town and on the way back to Baltimore and New York.”

  “Oh? You will be away for a long time.”

  “Your mother thinks it would be interesting to combine a holiday with work,” said my father.

  “He has been working far too hard recently. Of course we will not leave it altogether. He can be working on his new book …”

  “Of course,” I murmured.

  “We plan to go by ship to Cape Town … a long sea voyage. We shall stay a few days there while your father does one of his lectures.

  Meanwhile the ship goes on to Durban and we shall pick it up again when it returns to Cape Town. It is calling at Baltimore where we shall leave it again-another lecture-then we shall travel up to New York by land where your father will give the last of his lectures and then we shall take another ship for home. “

  “It sounds very interesting.”

  There was a slight pause.

  My father looked at my mother and said: “We have decided that you shall accompany us.”

  I was too astonished to speak. Then I stammered: “You … er … you really mean that?”

  “It will be good for you to see a little of the world,” said my father benignly.

  “When … when?” I asked.

  “We are setting forth at the end of April. There will be a great many preparations to make.”

  “I shall be at school.”

  “You would be leaving at the end of the summer term in any case. We thought that little could be lost by cutting it short. After all, you will be nearly eighteen years of age. That is quite mature.”

  “I hope you are pleased,” said my father.

  “I am just… so surprised.”

  They smiled at me.

  “You will need to make your own preparations. You could consult Felicity Wills … or rather Grafton. She has become quite worldly since her marriage. She would know what you needed. Perhaps two or three evening dresses for functions . and some . er . suitable garments. “

  “Oh yes … yes,” I said.

  After brooding on the matter I was not sure whether I was pleased or not. The idea of travelling and seeing new places enthralled me. On the other hand I would be in the company of my parents and, I presumed, people so weighed down by their own scholarship that they would naturally reduce me to the status of an ignorant girl.

  The prospect of new clothes was pleasant. I could not wait to consult Felicity.

  I wrote to her and told her of the project.

  She replied at once.

  “How thrilling. James has to go up North for a few days in March. I have a wonderful nanny who adores Jamie and he her. So I could come to London for a few days and we’ll have an orgy of shopping.”

  As the weeks passed the prospect of travelling abroad so enchanted me that I forgot the disadvantages that would go with it.

  In due course Felicity came to London and as I had expected she threw herself wholeheartedly into the business of finding the right clothes. I was aware that she regarded me in a different light now that I was no longer a schoolgirl.

  “Your hair is most striking,” she said.

  “Your greatest asset. We’ll have to plan with that in mind.”

  “My hair?” I had not thought about it before, except that it was unusually fair. It was long, straight and thick.

  “It’s the colour of corn,” said Felicity.

  “It’s what they call golden.

  It really is very attractive. You’ll be able to do all sorts of things with it. You can wear it piled high on your head when you want to be dignified or tied back with a ribbon or even plaited when you want to look demure. You can have a lot of fun with it. And we’ll concentrate on blue to bring out the colour of your eyes. “

  My parents had gone to Oxford so we reverted to old customs and had our meals in the kitchen. It was just like old times and we prevailed on Mr. Dolland to do his Hamlet or Henry V and the eerie excerpts from The Bells for the sake of the old days.

  We missed Nanny Pollock but I wrote and told her what was happening and she was now very happy, completely absorbed by little Evelyn who was a ‘pickle’ and reminded her of what I had been at her age.

  I paraded round the kitchen in my new garments which resulted in oohs and ahs from Meg and Emily and a few caustic comments from Mrs. Harlow who muttered something about fashions nowadays.

  It was a very happy time and it did occur to me now and then that the preliminaries of travel might be more pleasant than the actuality.

  It was with regret that I said goodbye to Felicity and she returned to Oxford. The day was fast approaching when we would set out for Tilbury to board the Atlantic Star.

  There was constant talk of the coming trip in the kitchen. None of them had been abroad, not even Mr. Dolland, although he had almost gone to Ireland once; but that, as Mrs. Harlow pointed out, was another kettle
of fish. I was going to see real foreign parts and that could be hazardous.

  You never knew where you were with foreigners, commented Mrs. Harlow and I’d be seeing a lot of them. She wouldn’t have wanted to go, not even if she was offered a hundred pounds to do so.

  Meg said: “Well, nobody’s going to offer you a hundred pounds to go abroad, Mrs. H. So you’re safe.”

  Mrs. Harlow looked sourly at Meg who, according to her, was always getting above herself.

  However, the constant talk of abroad-its attractions and its drawbacks-was suddenly overshadowed by the murder.

  We first heard of it from the newsboys shouting in the streets. “

  “Orrible murder. Man found shot through the head in empty farmhouse.”

  Emily was sent out to buy a paper and Mr. Dolland sat at the table, wearing his spectacles and reading to the assembled company.

  The murder was the main news at this time, there being nothing else’iof importance going on. It was called the Bindon Boys Murder and the Press dealt with it in lurid fashion so that people everywhere were reading of the case and wondering what was going to happen next.

  Mr. Dolland had his own theories and Mrs. Harlow reckoned that Mr. Dolland had as good a notion of such things as any of the police. It was because of the plays he knew so much about and many of them were concerned with murder.

  “They ought to call him in, I reckon,” she pronounced.

  “He’d soon put them to rights.”

  Meanwhile, basking in the glory of such admiration, Mr. Dolland would sit at the table and expound his views.

  “It must be this young man,” he said.

  “It all points to him, living with the family and not being one of them. That can be tricky, that can.”

  “One wonders why he was brought in,” I said.

  “Adopted son, it seems. I reckon he was jealous of this young man.

  Jealousy can drive people to great lengths. “

  “I could never abide empty houses,” said Mrs. Harlow.

  “They give me the creeps.”

  “Of course, the story is that he went into this empty farmhouse, this Bindon Boys as they call it, and shot him there,” went on Mr. Dolland.

  “You see this Cosmo was the eldest son and that would have made the young man a bit jealous on its own, he being the outsider as it were.

  Then there was this widow . Mirabel . they call her. He wanted her for himself and Cosmo takes her. Well, there’s your motive. He lures Cosmo to this empty farmhouse and shoots him. “

  “He might have got away with it,” I said, ‘if the younger brother, Tristan . wasn’t that his name? if he hadn’t come in and caught him red-handed. “

  I pieced the story together. There were two sons of Sir Edward Perrivale Cosmo and Tristan and also in the household was the adopted son, Simon, who had been brought there when he was five years old. Simon had been educated as a member of the family but, according to the evidence, he had always been aware that he was not quite one of them.

  Sir Edward was a sick man and in fact had died at the time of the murder so he would probably have been quite unaware of it. Bindon Boys originally Bindon Bois, the Press told us, because of a copse nearby was a farmhouse on the Perrivale estate. It was in need of renovation and all three young men were concerned in the management of the estate which was a large one on the coast of Cornwall. The implication was that Simon had lured Cosmo to the derelict farmhouse and calmly shot him. He probably had plans for disposing of the body but Tristan had come in and caught him with the gun in his hand. There seemed to be ample motive. The adopted son must have been jealous of the other two; and it seemed he was in love with the widow to whom Cosmo was engaged to be married.

  It was a source of great interest to the servants, and I must admit that I too began to be caught up in it.

  Perhaps I was getting a little apprehensive about the coming trip with my parents and seized on something to take my thoughts away from it. I would become as animated as any of them when we sat round the kitchen table listening to Mr. Dolland pitting his wits against Scotland Yard.

  “It’s what they call an open and shut case,” he pronounced.

  “It would make a good play,” said Mrs. Harlow.

  “Well, I am not sure of that,” replied Mr. Dolland.

  “You know from the start who the murderer is. In a play there has to be a good deal of questioning and clues and things and then you come up with the surprise ending. “

  “Perhaps it is not as simple as it appears,” I suggested.

  “It might seem as if this Simon did it… but he says he didn’t.”

  “Well, he would, wouldn’t he?” put in Mrs. Harlow.

  “They all say that to save themselves and put the blame on someone else.”

  Mr. Dolland pressed the palms of his hands together and looked up at the ceiling.

  “Take the facts,” he said.

  “A man brings a stranger into the house and treats him as his son. The others don’t want him … and the boy resents not being treated like one of the family. It builds up over the years. There’d be hatred in that house. Then there’s this widow. Cosmo’s going to marry her. There’s always been this feeling between them … so he killed Cosmo and Tristan comes in and finds him.”

  “What fancy names,” said Meg with a little giggle.

  “I’ve always been partial to fancy names.”

  Everyone ignored the interruption and waited for Mr. Dolland to go on.

  “Then there’s the widow woman. That would be the last straw. Cosmo gets everything. And what’s Simon? Just a bit better than a servant.

  Resentment flares up. There you have the planned murder. Ah . but before he could dispose of the body Tristan comes in and foils his plan. Murders always go wrong in plays. They always have to or there wouldn’t have been a play and plays are based on real life. “

  We all hung on his words.

  Emily said: “I can’t help feeling sorry for that Simon.”

  “Sorry for a murderer!” cried Mrs. Harlow.

  “You’re out of your mind, girl. How would you like him to come along and put a bullet through your head?”

  “He wouldn’t, would he? I’m not Cosmo.”

  “You thank your lucky stars you’re not,” said Mrs. Harlow.

  “And don’t interrupt Mr. Dolland.”

  “All we can do,” went on the sage, ‘is wait and see. “

  We did not have to wait long. The newsboys were shouting in the streets: “Dramatic turn in Bindon Boys case. Read all about it.”

  We did . avidly. It seemed that the police had been on the point of arresting Simon Perrivale. Why they had delayed was a mystery to Mr. Dolland -and now Simon had disappeared.

  “Where is Simon Perrivale?” demanded the headlines.

  “Have you seen this man?” Then “Police on trail. Arrest expected hourly.”

  “So,” pronounced Mr. Dolland.

  “He has run away. He could not have said more clearly, I’m guilty. They’ll find him, never fear.”

  “It’s to be hoped so,” added Mrs. Harlow.

  “A body don’t feel safe in bed of nights with murderers running around.”

  “He wouldn’t have reason to murder you, Mrs. Harlow,” said Meg.

  “I wouldn’t trust him,” retorted Mrs. Harlow.

  “They’ll soon find him,” said Mr. Dolland reassuringly.

  “They’ll have their men searching everywhere.”

  But the days passed and there was no news of a capture.

  Then the case ceased to be headline news. The Queen’s Golden Jubilee was taking up the space and there was no room for a sordid murder with the chief suspect having left the scene. No doubt when he was captured there would be a fresh surge of interest; but in the meantime the news of Bindon Boys was banished to the back pages.

  It was three days before we were due to depart when we had a caller.

  I was in my room when my parents sent
for me. I was to go to the drawing-room immediately. A surprise awaited me there. As I entered, Lucas Lorimer came forward to greet me.

  “Mr. Lorimer tells me that you met at Mr. and Mrs. Grafton’s house,” said my mother.

  “Why, yes,” I said, naively betraying my pleasure.

  He took my hand, smiling into my eyes.

  “It was such a pleasure to meet Professor Cranleigh’s daughter,” he said, complimenting both my father and me at the same time.

  My parents were smiling on me indulgently.

  “We have some good news,” said my father.

  The three of them were watching me as though they were about to inform a child of a treat in store.

  “Mr. Lorimer is sailing on the Atlantic Star,” said my mother.

  “Really!” I cried in amazement.

  Lucas Lorimer nodded.

  “A great surprise for me and a great honour. I have been asked to give a talk on my discovery at the same time as Professor Cranleigh gives his lecture.”

  I felt laughter bubbling up within me. I was amused by the fine distinction implied between a talk and a lecture. I could not really believe he was as modest as he sounded. The look in his eyes did not somehow fit his words.

  “So,” went on my father, “Mr. Lorimer will be sailing with us on the Atlantic Star.”

  “That,” I replied with truth, ‘will be very pleasant. “

  “I can’t tell you how delighted I am to be going,” he said.

  “I have often thought what a lucky day it was for me when I made that find in the garden.”

  My father smiled and remarked that the message on the stone was a little difficult to decipher not the hieroglyphics, of course, but the meaning . the accurate meaning. It was typical, he went on to say, of the Arabic mind. Always fraught with obscurity.

  “But that is what makes it all so interesting,” put in Lucas Lorimer.

  “It was good of you to come and tell us of your invitation,” my father went on, ‘and your decision to accept. “

  “My dear Professor, how could I refuse the honour of sharing a platform with you … well, not exactly sharing, but being allowed to follow in your footsteps, shall I say?”

  My parents were clearly delighted, which showed they could emerge from the rarified atmosphere in which they usually lived to bask in a little flattery.