Home through the Dark

by Anthea Fraser

  “I certainly wouldn’t. In any case, Bert wouldn’t give you the key, nor would you know how to find the right room once you got inside.”

  “If you mean it, Marcus, I’d be very grateful for you to come along. We might well need all the help we can get.”

  “Fine. What time will you be leaving here?”

  “About five-thirty – in an hour and a half.”

  “Right, I’ll come back then.”

  By the time he returned I had changed into a dark sweater and trews, which I felt would merge with the shadows under the stage. With dry mouth and painfully beating heart I followed the other two out of the flat and pulled the door shut behind me. There was no turning back now. The sunset was fading from the sky as we drove through the quiet streets and the first lamps were coming on. “Only another fortnight till summertime ends,” Marcus remarked. For what was probably the last time, we drew up in my usual parking place and locked the car. If luck was with us, we should be back here in about half an hour with Etienne safely beside us. Through the alleyway, ghostly in the twilight, we went and out into Phoenix Street. Beyond the lamp at the corner, the cobbled mews lay in shadows, its windows giving back the last lurid glow in the sky. With Marcus and Carl at my side, I knocked on the door of Bert’s flat and he came to answer it in slippered feet.

  “Ah, ’tis you, Miss Durrell. Would you be wanting the key again?”

  “Please, Bert. I’ll drop it through your letterbox when we’ve finished with it.” He nodded and touched his forehead to the two men in a quaintly old-world gesture. Silently we walked across to the door. Carl unlocked it and we followed him in and pulled it gently shut again. My heart was beating high in my throat now, ears straining for any sound which might indicate Rachel was there before us. There was none.

  Carl switched on the torch and with his hand gripping mine we went up the steep stairs and along the tunnel of its light down the dark passage, Marcus right behind us. Never before had I been so painfully aware of the creaking boards beneath our feet. Three people undeniably made three times as much noise, however softly they moved. Round the corner, past the flight of steps leading upwards into the darkness and along the last few yards. I felt the skin tighten in anticipation all over my body and in the same moment gave a low, involuntary cry. We had rounded the last corner into the short passage ending in the dirty-paned window. On our right was the door through which I had spoken to Etienne – and it stood open.

  I heard Carl’s muttered exclamation, then he reached past me and, caution forgotten, flicked on the light. We all stood blinking in the sudden brightness at the empty room before us. There was no window in this inside room. The old trolley was in its place just inside the door, a rickety chair beside it, and a rusty bedstead was propped against the far wall. There was no sign whatever of recent habitation, nothing at all that could give us any clue about the prisoner who had been held here so lately. I felt their doubt, caught their exchanged glances.

  “You’re sure this was the room, Ginnie?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Rachel must have known I knew what those dishes were. They’ve moved him somewhere else and we’re back to square one, with not a shred of evidence to prove he was ever here.” My voice cracked with disappointment.

  “Well, there’s not much to be gained here,” Marcus said briskly, “and I don’t mind admitting this place gives me the creeps. If they’ve moved him he won’t be in this building at all, that’s clear, so let’s get out and decide what to do next.”

  I felt incapable of further thought, bowed down by a sense of anticlimax. Silently we retraced our steps along the passages, down the stairs and out into the mews. Spiritlessly I dropped the key through Bert’s lopsided letterbox and, still in dejected silence, we walked back to the car.

  “Any ideas, Ginnie?” Carl asked at last. “You know them all better than we do. What are they most likely to have done with him?”

  “I can’t imagine,” I said hopelessly. Having counted on the whole thing being settled tonight, I was still numb with disappointment.

  “Come on now, think. Where might they have taken him?”

  “I don’t know, I tell you.”

  We were standing grouped round the car, shivering a little with the aftermath of excitement and the chilly evening air.

  “You reckon only the Derbyshires and Laurence were in on it?”

  “Yes, I’m almost sure.”

  “Could they have hidden him in one of their homes?”

  “Not Laurence, anyway. Suzanne would –” I straightened suddenly as a ray of hope at last came to me. “She’s much more likely to know what they’d do than I am.”

  “Then phone her. Now.” Marcus led me briskly to the lighted call box on the opposite corner of the road. “Get her to come and meet us straightaway.”

  “At the flat?”

  “The pub across the road there would be better, and she could get here quicker.”

  My fingers were stiff on the dial but at last the phone rang in my ear and a moment later Laurence’s voice said clearly, “Westhampton 258.”

  I muffled the mouthpiece with my hand. “Laurence, it’s Joanna. Could I have a word with Suzanne?”

  “Just a minute, Jo.”

  And then Suzanne’s voice, staccato and strained.

  “Joanna?”

  I said rapidly, “Suzanne, it’s Ginnie Clements. Don’t say a thing – just listen. I must see you straightaway – it’s about Etienne. Can you slip out on some pretext and meet me at the Bear and Garter in Wicklow Street?”

  I could hear her rapid, accelerated breathing. You’re an actress, girl! I exhorted her silently. Act now as you’ve never done before!

  “I’ll be there,” she said at last, and the phone clicked. I pushed open the heavy door and rejoined Carl and Marcus. “She’s coming.”

  “Good. Let’s warm ourselves up with a drink while we’re waiting.”

  The pub was small and old and covered with horse brasses. There was a wide brick fireplace with settles on either side and copper kettles gleaming on the hearth. I longed to sit by the hugely roaring fire, but realized this would be too public for Carl and Suzanne, both of whom were quite likely to be recognized. We chose the end booth against the wall and Marcus went to the bar to order drinks. We had been there only ten minutes when she came, fragile and lovely in a suede jacket with shaggy white fur at wrists and neck. She hesitated for a moment when she saw I was not alone, but I nodded encouragingly and she came over and slid into the booth next to Carl, leaving Marcus and myself to face any eyes that might be turned in our direction.

  I introduced the two men to her swiftly, then leaned towards her across the table. “Listen, Suzanne, you were right about Etienne not going away willingly but wrong about it having nothing to do with anyone from the theatre. He’s been there all the time, locked away in one of the unused storerooms under the stage.”

  She stared at me dumbly, her eyes enormous in her white face.

  “Laurence knew, I’m afraid,” I went on a little awkwardly, “and Stephen and Rachel. No one else, I think.”

  Her eyes swivelled to Carl beside her. “So it was something to do with Etienne, your coming down here before.”

  “Yes,” he answered solemnly.

  I could see the various thoughts chasing each other across her beautiful, expressive face, doubt, indignation, incredulity and then, suddenly, fear. “If you know where he is, why aren’t you down there letting him out? What do you want with me?” Her voice rose. “Something else has happened, hasn’t it? Something you haven’t told me.”

  I put my hand quickly over hers. “On Friday afternoon I found Rachel washing up his lunch things in the kitchen. She pretended they were Stephen’s and I pretended to believe her, but she and Stephen had been wondering for some time whether I knew more than I should and they must have decided they daren’t take the risk. We’ve just been to the theatre, Suzanne, and he’s gone.”

  “Gone?” She stared wildly
from one of us to the other. “That’s why we need your help, to see if you can think of anywhere they could possibly have taken him.”

  Marcus pushed her glass slightly towards her. She took the hint and drank a few gulps of the fiery liquid.

  “Laurence is in on it?” she repeated, the facts beginning to sink in. “He must have seen us together, he or Stephen.” She looked up suddenly. “I think I know where they’ll have taken him, then.” The three of us waited breathlessly. “We have a cottage, Laurence and I, down on the coast, near Lymington. It’s locked up all through the winter, no one ever goes near it, it’s right out on the cliffs.” Fear clamped like a mask over her face. “But they couldn’t expect to look after him properly at that distance!” It was a thought that, I knew by the others’ expressions, had occurred to us all simultaneously. “What are they going to do with him? Oh, God, they might have done something already!” Her long tapering fingers trembled against her mouth.

  “There’s no time to lose, certainly,” Carl said bracingly. “Can you lead us straight to the place?”

  “Yes, yes, of course. It’s about a two-hour drive, though.” Carl murmured to me, “I must just phone Madame and put her in the picture. She’ll be waiting for a call.”

  I said softly, “Try to minimize the danger.”

  Suzanne stood up to let him pass, then sank down again, her head in her hands, the sleek cap of black hair falling across her fingers. She said brokenly, “It’ll be my fault if anything happens to him. All this happened because of me.”

  Marcus and I looked at each other helplessly and did not reply. A moment later Carl was back. “Right, off we go again.” He took Suzanne’s arm and led her out of the pub, Marcus and myself bringing up the rear. Suddenly Marcus said, “You go on with them. I won’t be a moment.”

  The three of us crossed to the car and sat inside waiting and after a while Marcus appeared, a package in his hand. “It occurred to me that probably none of us has had anything to eat since lunch so I got some sandwiches. Unfortunately they hadn’t any coffee.”

  “Good thinking,” Carl said briefly. He waited while Marcus settled in the back seat beside Suzanne. “Now, which way do we go from here? I haven’t a map of this area, I’m afraid.”

  “I can guide you as far as the coast,” Marcus offered, “if Suzanne can take over once we get to Lymington. We want the Andover road first. Turn left at the bottom here and left again at the traffic lights and that brings you onto it.”

  “What excuse did you give Laurence for leaving the house?” I asked Suzanne.

  “Nothing, really; he was upstairs. I just called that I was going out for a while to see Joanna.”

  “What time will he start expecting you back?”

  “In about an hour or so, I imagine. He’ll probably phone Jo eventually when I don’t turn up.”

  “And when he hears she never contacted you –”

  “He’ll guess what’s happening,” Marcus cut in. “Is there a phone at the cottage?”

  “Lord, no, we go there to get away from telephones.”

  “Then he’ll have no way of warning whoever’s down there that we might be on our way. In which case, he’ll probably set out for Lymington himself.”

  Suzanne held her wrist up to the car window and peered at her watch. “We’ve still a bit of time in hand, I should think. We ought to have about half an hour’s start on him, but he drives like the very devil.”

  “Then we must do the same.” Carl’s foot went down and the car leaped forward through the last remaining outskirts of Westhampton and out into the windswept darkness of the surrounding countryside.

  Chapter 15

  FOR the most part we travelled in silence. The noise of the car’s rushing progress made conversation difficult and we were all wrapped up in our own thoughts, wondering what would be awaiting us at the lonely cottage on the cliff. At one stage Marcus handed round the sandwiches, moist and flavoursome ham, and though we ate mechanically I doubt if any of us was aware of hunger.

  Once Carl said, almost under his breath, “Of course, Laurence might not have waited as long as an hour before phoning Joanna –” I knew his concern was far more for Madame, anxiously waiting in London, than for the prisoner himself.

  “Those lights over there are Southampton,” Marcus informed us as we came down into Cadham. “Now we’ve just got the New Forest to negotiate and we’re there. Turn off here onto the A337.”

  The car swerved obediently under Carl’s hands. I glanced at his face but it was set and grim, eyes intent on the road racing under our wheels. I thought pulsatingly, I hope it’s Rachel with him. I didn’t fancy the thought of Stephen, cornered and at bay with the gun which might or might not be real.

  “Right, Suzanne,” Marcus said at last, “we’re just approaching Lymington now. Can you take over from here?”

  She leaned forward between Carl and myself, her breath sweet and warm on my cheek as she directed Carl down narrow twisting roads which gradually opened out onto a bare, deserted cliff road, degenerating beneath our wheels into a rough, rock-hewn track.

  “Now!” she said suddenly, her voice vibrant with excitement. “There it is, over there.”

  “It’s in darkness,” Marcus said jerkily.

  Nobody made any comment. Carl bumped to a halt outside a tiny gate gleaming white in the headlamps and we eased our cramped bodies out of the car and stood shivering as the stiff sea breeze slammed into us. Suzanne set off at a stumbling run up the short path to the front door, and her cry as she reached it was caught by the wind and tossed into the turbulent air like the call of some seabird. She turned back to face us as we hurried after her, her hair whipping stingingly across her face. “It’s not locked! They must be here.”

  “Let me go first.” Carl pushed her gently to one side and I perforce bit back my automatic protest. Then we were all crowding into the room which lay directly beyond and Suzanne’s fingers were clawing madly at the light switch. For the second time that evening we stood blinking at an unexpectedly empty room. Only this one wasn’t empty after all.

  Carl said sharply, “Keep the girls back!” and moved swiftly round the sofa, kneeling down to examine what lay behind.

  “Etienne?” Suzanne demanded on a high note of hysteria, and he replied quickly, “No, I imagine it’s Rachel, and I think she’s still alive.”

  “Rachel? Then –” Suzanne’s eyes went wildly round the blue painted walls and she darted towards the other doors, flinging them open and switching on light after light. Kitchen, bathroom and bedroom were all deserted. Once again there was no sign whatever of Etienne Lefevre. Marcus said suddenly, “Carl, someone’s coming!”

  We all turned instinctively as outside in the darkness headlights blossomed, another car skidded to a halt and two figures came running up the path. A moment later Laurence and Stephen Darby stood staring at us from the doorway.

  Carl said crisply, “There’s no time for histrionics. Darby, your sister’s hurt. It looks as though she’s been lying here for some hours.”

  “Lefevre?” Laurence rapped out as Stephen hurried to join Carl. Marcus shrugged eloquently. Laurence’s eyes went to his wife’s white, accusing face. He half put out a hand towards her but she shrank away and he hopelessly let it drop and moved instead to join the two men kneeling on the floor. “How bad is it?”

  “Bad enough,” Carl said tensely. “We oughtn’t to move her really but it would be quicker to take her to the nearest hospital than have to rush off to find a phone and then wait for an ambulance to find its way here. Do you agree?” His eyes briefly raked Stephen’s white, drawn face. Stephen nodded and moistened his lips.

  “Do you think she has a chance?”

  “It depends what her injuries are. There’s a nasty wound in her head here, but it’s so caked and matted with blood and hair that I can’t see how bad it is.” He looked up, undisputedly in command of us and the situation – as always, I thought resignedly. “We’ll say,” he went on delib
erately, “that she was alone in the cottage and must have been attacked by an intruder. Stephen came down because she’d been expected back in Westhampton this afternoon and he was anxious. The rest of us don’t have to come into it at all.”

  “What about you?” Laurence said hoarsely. “Whoever goes to the hospital will have to make a statement to the police. It would be better if I went with Steve; after all, it would be natural for me to have come with him. You’re too well-known to avoid national publicity.”

  “Then the three of us will go and I’ll stay in the car.” Laurence smiled mirthlessly. “You mean you don’t trust us to come back here.”

  “No,” Carl answered calmly, “and we have quite a lot of talking to do.” His eyes moved to the rest of us. “Marcus, will you stay here with the girls? We shouldn’t be long. There might be some food or drink?” He looked enquiringly at Laurence, but it was Stephen who answered numbly.

  “Rachel brought some provisions down yesterday.” His voice cracked and he put his hand across his eyes.

  “Come on then,” Carl instructed, a little more gently, “help me to lift her as carefully as possible.”

  Suzanne and I stood helplessly while the four men manoeuvred the limp body out of the room, down the path and into the back seat of Laurence’s car. Moments later Marcus came back and shut the door.

  “There’s an electric fire over there, Ginnie. Switch it on, will you? And, Suzanne, you know where everything’s kept. Do you think you could manage some coffee? I’m sure we could all do with it.”

  I said shakily, “Do you think Carl will be all right with them? Suppose they don’t agree to come back?”

  “Knowing we’re here and know everything? Of course they’ll come. Don’t worry, love.” He gave my hand a little pat.

  “But where can Etienne be?” Suzanne asked tremulously. “I can’t bear to think of him on the run again, hungry and hiding like he was before.”

  “How about that coffee?” Marcus reminded her. “Come on, we’ll all get it together. The others will need it when they get back.”