Then Mrs. Lincroft saw her. She started up with a little cry and said: “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to see Sir William. How d’you do, Sir William. It’s not easy to get to see you, but you can’t help that, can you?”
“What does the woman want?” asked Sir William.
“You know who she is?” whispered Mrs. Lincroft.
I rose and started to move away but the gypsy cried: “No, you’re to stay, ma’am. I want you to hear this, too. I’ve got my reasons.”
I looked askance at Mrs. Lincroft who nodded and I sat down again. The color in Sir William’s face had deepened to an alarming purple.
“Now, are you going to stop ordering us off your land, sir?”
“No, I am not,” retorted Sir William. “You’ll be gone by tomorrow night or I’ll have the police on you.”
“I don’t think you will,” said Serena insolently. She was standing with her hands on her hips, her legs slightly apart, her head thrown back. “You’ll be sorry if you don’t stop that order right away and that’s a fact.”
“Sorry!” he demanded. “Is that blackmail?”
“You! To talk of blackmail, you old rogue! I reckon you’re no better than the rest of us.”
Mrs. Lincroft rose. “I can’t have Sir William upset.”
“You can’t? And you can’t have yourself upset either. But you’ve got to do what I want or you will. Oh I know I’m poor. I know I don’t live in this mansion here, but I’ve got a right to live where I want, same as anyone else ... and if you try to stop me you’re going to be sorry ... both of you.”
Mrs. Lincroft looked at me. “I’ll take Sir William in now,” she said.
I rose but the gypsy waved us both back.
“So you won’t take off your ban?” she asked.
“No, I won’t,” declared Sir William. “You’re going before the week’s out. I’ve sworn I won’t have gypsies on my land and I mean it.”
“I’ll give you one more chance.”
“Be off with you.”
“All right. You’ve asked for it. I’m going to tell you one or two things you won’t like. There’s my girl Allegra, your granddaughter...”
“That’s unfortunately so,” said Sir William. “We have looked after the child. She has had her home here. There our duty ends.”
“Oh yes ... and Napier is said to be her father. That suits you, don’t it? But what if I tell you he’s not, eh? That’s what I’m telling you, and you won’t like it. One of your sons was the father of my child but it wasn’t Nap. Oh no, it was your precious Beau ... him you build temples to.”
“I don’t believe it,” cried Sir William.
“I thought you wouldn’t. But I ought to know who the lather of my child is.”
“It’s lies,” said Sir William. “All lies.”
“Don’t listen to the woman,” said Mrs. Lincroft, rising and putting her hands on the wheelchair.
“Listen to that woman instead!” jeered the gypsy. “She’ll tell you all you want to know. She’ll say yes, yes, yes ... like she always has.” Serena thrust her face forward and leered. “Right from the beginning, eh ... even when poor Lady Stacy was alive. And why did she kill herself, do you think? Because her son was accidentally shot by his brother? Because she’d lost her boy? That perhaps, but mostly because she hadn’t a husband to comfort her and help her over her loss. Shed discovered that he was far more interested in comforting the pretty companion.”
“Stop it!” cried Mrs. Lincroft. “Stop ... at once.”
“Stop it! Stop it!” echoed the gypsy. She turned to me. “Some people don’t like to hear the truth. And can you blame them? I don’t. Because the truth ain’t very nice. Poor old Nap! He was the scapegoat. He’d shot his brother so it was easy to blame him for everything. If I’d said Beau was the father of the child I was going to have I’d have been sent packing. No one would have believed me. So I said it was Nap. Then they believed me all right and accepted their responsibility and I did it for the child’s sake. So I lied ... because I knew it was the only way to get a home for her ... and when Lady Stacy killed herself and left a note saying why ... Not only because she’d lost her beautiful boy but because her husband was unfaithful to her right under her own roof ... they blamed Nap for that too and sent him away. That made it all very simple. One villain instead of three.”
“You’re upsetting Sir William,” said Mrs. Lincroft.
“Let him be upset. Let him come out from behind Nap. Let him stop fooling himself that he’s not responsible for his wife’s suicide. And don’t forget ... if the gypsies are moved on everyone will know this, not just Madam Music here.”
Mrs. Lincroft looked appealingly at me. “I must get Sir William into the house,” she said. “I think we should call the doctor. Would you see about that please, Mrs. Verlaine.”
I went down to the stables because I knew that Napier would be coming in at that hour. When he arrived I said:
“There is something I must tell you. We can’t talk here.”
“Where?” he asked.
“In the copse. I’ll go there now and wait.”
He nodded; he could see by my expression that this was something important I walked across the gardens to the copse. I had to talk to him about what I had heard in the enclosed garden; and even as I walked across the lawns on that bright and sunny day I felt that eyes were watching me. I could not rid myself now of the notion that everything I did was being observed, that someone was waiting for the chance to strike at me. It would not be death by fire this time. But there were other alternatives. And the one who was watching me, planning my destruction was, I felt in my bones, the one responsible for the deaths of Edith and Roma.
I was not safe, but I was learning rapidly; and what I had heard this morning—if it were true—was knowledge that made me joyous. And I could not wait to tell Napier what I knew.
I waited in the copse, near the ruin. Destroyed by fire ... like the cottage. The first of the fires. I leaned against the walls and listened. A footfall in the woods. How foolish I was to come here alone. What could happen to me in this copse, this haunted copse to which people did not come frequently because they were afraid of ghosts.
But Napier would be here soon.
I looked over my shoulder uneasily. The crackle of undergrowth had startled me. I had a notion that somewhere ... among those trees ... some alien eyes regarded me. Someone was asking himself—or herself—what is she doing here? Is this the time?
Panic seized me. I called out: “Is that you, Napier?”
There was no answer. Only a rustle of leaves ... and again that crackle of undergrowth which might have been a footstep.
And then Napier was coming towards me.
“I’m so pleased to see you.”
I held out my hands and he grasped them warmly.
“I have discovered the truth about Allegra,” I said. “Her mother has just confronted Sir William and told him. I had to see you. I had to...”
He repeated: “The truth about ... Allegra?”
“That Beau was her father.”
“She told him that?”
“Yes. In the courtyard a short while ago. He was threatening to evict the gypsies and she came to see him and told him that his precious Beau was Allegra’s father and that she had blamed you because they would have said she was lying and turned her away if she had accused Beau.”
He was silent and I said: “And you let them believe it.”
“I’d killed him,” he said. “I thought it was a way of making amends. He would have hated them knowing about the gypsy. He had always cared so much for their good opinion.” He was still grasping my hands and I looked up into his face, smiling.
“I was going away,” he went on. “It didn’t seem to matter. One more misdemeanor ... when there had been so many.”
“And your mother ... she killed herself because she discovered that your father and Mrs. Lincroft were lovers. It was no
t only because she had lost Beau.”
“It’s all in the past,” he said.
“It is not,” I cried passionately, “when it continues to affect the present and the future.”
“As you know very well.”
I lowered my eyes. Pietro had never seemed so far away as he was at this moment. “You are a fool, Napier,” I said.
“Has it taken you so long to discover that?”
“We are all foolish. But you have allowed them to blame you.”
“I killed him,” he said. “If you could have seen him ... like everyone else you would have loved him.”
“He was clearly not perfect.”
“He was young, virile ... full of life.”
“So he seduced the gypsy girl.”
“He was so full of vitality, and if he had lived he would never have disclaimed responsibility. He would have set her up somewhere, looked after her—and kept it from them. On the day I shot him I wished fervently ... and most sincerely ... that he had been the one to fire first. Then it would have been less of a tragedy. They would have forgiven him.”
“Were you jealous of him?”
“Of course not. I admired him. I wished I were like him. I tried to imitate him because I thought he was wonderful. I followed him and tried to be as much like him as possible. But I didn’t envy him. I was as fond of him as the others were ... perhaps more. I thought him perfect.”
“So you took his blame on your shoulders.”
“It was the least I could do after taking his life.”
“If you had killed him deliberately you could not have paid much more fully.”
“So?”
“The affair is finished. You must banish it from your mind.”
“Do you think I can ever do that?”
“Yes, I do. And you shall.”
“Perhaps there is one person who could force me to do that ... one person in the world. And you ... have you forgotten your past?”
“Perhaps there is one person who could make me do so.”
“And you are not sure...”
“I am becoming more certain of it every day.”
We stood hands clasped but apart, for Edith still stood between us.
But I vowed I would not rest until I had discovered what had happened to Edith. It was imperative that I did. He was cleared of seduction of the gypsy, of causing his mother to kill herself, but he must be cleared of Edith’s disappearance ... or death ... before either of us could move into that future which was beginning to be so desirable to us both.
12
It was afternoon ... the time of quiet. Sir William had been ordered to rest by the doctor and Mrs. Lincroft was lying down. She felt very distressed, she told me; and I saw the guilt in her eyes for she could scarcely bear to look at me.
I wanted to think about everything. I wanted to go over minute by minute that interview with Napier. I had to think about him and Godfrey.
But in my heart I did not need to make a decision. I knew ... just as I had known when I had pretended to consider whether to give up my career for marriage with Pietro, that I would always follow my heart’s direction. If Roma were here now she would say I was mad to throw aside marriage with Godfrey for the sake of Napier. Godfrey offered security ... the comfortable, easy life. And Napier? I was not sure what life would be like with him. I did not believe the shadow of Beaumont’s death had receded suddenly. I could not hope to eliminate it so easily. It would appear at unexpected moments; it would be a shadow across Napier’s life for many years to come. And what of Pietro? Should I ever forget?
On this sunny afternoon with an hour or so to spare I would go to the walled garden to think.
I made my way there and was surprised when I arrived to find Alice sitting there demurely, her hands folded in her lap.
“I thought you’d come here, Mrs. Verlaine,” she said.
“Did you want to see me?”
“Yes, I did. I want to tell you something ... show you something I’ve found and I don’t really want to talk about it here.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because I think it may be very important.” She stood up. “Could we go for a little walk?”
“But certainly.”
As we walked away from the house, she kept looking over her shoulder.
“What’s the matter, Alice?” I asked.
“I was making sure that no one was following us.”
“Did you think they were?”
“I always think they are—after the fire.” I shivered, and she went on: “And so do you, Mrs. Verlaine, don’t you?”
I confessed that I often felt uneasy. “Of course,” said Alice, “anyone might get trapped in a burning cottage. But I felt ever since, that I had to look after you rather specially.”
“That is sweet of you, Alice. And I certainly feel very cherished.”
“It’s how I want you to feel.”
“It’s comforting to have a guardian angel.”
“Yes, it must be. Well, you have one now, dear Mrs. Verlaine.”
“Where are we going and what are you going to show me?”
“We’re turning off here and going down to the shore.”
“Is it down there then?”
“Yes, and I do really think it may be very important.”
“You’re keeping me in suspense.”
“Not really, Mrs. Verlaine. But I don’t know how to describe it. But I think it may be of archaeological significance.”
“Good heavens, Alice, don’t you think we ought to...”
“To tell someone else? Oh no, not yet. Let us be the ones to discover it.”
“You are being mysterious.”
“You’ll soon know.” She looked over her shoulder.
“What’s the matter?”
“I just had a feeling that we were being followed.”
“I can see no one.”
“They could be hidden by those bushes.”
“I don’t think so. In any case there are two of us. We mustn’t be so nervous.”
Alice led the way down the winding cliff path to the sands.
Halfway down she paused and said: “Listen.”
We stood still listening. “You can hear footsteps clearly here... even if people are a long way away.”
“All’s well,” I said. “I came this way before.”
“Yes and I warned you to be sure you didn’t get cut off by the tide. Remember? Perhaps I saved your life then.” The thought pleased her. “It seems to be my mission in life.”
We had reached the sands and a little way ahead of us was that little cove with the overhanging rock where she had told me previously it was so easy to get cut off by the tide.
Purposefully, now and then looking uneasily about her, she led the way.
“Here, Mrs. Verlaine.” She had disappeared in an opening in the rocks.
“What is this, Alice?”
“It’s a sort of cave. Come in.”
I entered and she said: “This part is just a cave. But I think I’ve found some drawings in an inner cave. They’re very crude ... the sort that people did hundreds of years ago. The Stone Age probably. Mr. Wilmot was telling us about that. Or perhaps the Bronze Age.”
I thought of Roma. Drawings in a cave! Had Godfrey been right? Had she made some startling discovery and had she been murdered because of it?
“I believe it’s of very great importance,” went on Alice.
“But where...” I looked about the dun cave and could see nothing.
She laughed indulgently. “If it had been easy to see it would have been discovered long ago. Look.” She advanced into the cave. “There’s a great boulder here. You have to roll it away ... and I suppose nobody thought of doing that ... until I did. Oh, Mrs. Verlaine, it’s really my discovery. I could be famous, I suppose.”
“It depends what you’ve found, Alice.”
“Something wonderful. And I’m going to show you.”
She
had succeeded in foiling away the boulder and beyond it a cavern yawned. “Look,” she said. “You have to squeeze through here ... It’s not easy. I’ll go first and you follow.”
“Alice. Is it safe?”
“Oh yes ... it’s only caves. I’ve already explored. You don’t think I’d let you come if it wasn’t safe, do you? Come on.” She had disappeared and I could just see the white of her dress. I followed it and stepped through into another cave.
Alice produced a candle from her pocket and striking a match lighted it. “There!” There was now a faint glow in the cave and I exclaimed with wonder for as my eyes grew accustomed to the dim light I saw that here was a wealth of stalagmite and stalactite formation and its beauty was unearthly. All kinds of shapes had been formed and even in this light I could see that the colors were wonderful—copper had produced that green, iron the brown and red, manganese that delightful pink. It was like stepping into a world of fantasy.
“Alice!” I cried. “But it’s a wonderful discovery...”
She laughed gleefully. “I thought you’d say that. I was longing to show it to you.”
“But we must get back. We must tell of this. It’s like the caves of Cheddar. Fancy all this time ... it was here ... and no one knew.”
“You are excited, Mrs. Verlaine.”
“It’s a great discovery.”
“There’s something else I want to show you though ... this isn’t all. Give me your hand, you have to go carefully.” She took my hand and almost immediately I nearly stumbled. She was alarmed. “Oh, Mrs. Verlaine, do be careful. It would be awful if you fell here...”
“I’ll be careful, Alice. But let’s get someone else. Mr. Wilmot will be delighted. He’ll be mad with joy.”
“First I want to show you, Mrs. Verlaine. Oh please, let me show you first.”
I laughed. Then I said: “Listen! I can hear the sound of running water.”
“Yes. The next cave is far more exciting. Do come and look at it now. I can’t wait to show you. It’s a sort of waterfall. It’s an underground stream I think, and it goes through the caves and out into the sea somewhere. There are the drawings on the walls ... that’s what I think is most interesting, Mrs. Verlaine.”
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