Room Beneath the Stairs

by Wilde, Jennifer;

  It was easy work going downhill. I felt young and vigorous, enjoying the exercise for its own sake. Sunlight spilled over the hillside, making deep shadows among the gullies, gilding the treetops with gold. The side of the road was spongy with dead yellow-brown pine needles that crunched pleasantly underfoot. Turning with the road, I finally saw part of the village through dark green boughs, the multilevel rooftops brown and tan and dull gold, the church spire rising up like a copper needle.

  It was as I was rounding the last curve that I saw the Rolls coming up the steep stretch of road that led directly from the village before turning onto this curve. I stopped, both surprised and startled. They couldn’t possibly have.… Then I realized that Burke must have let them out and done a few errands in the village before starting back to the house. No doubt he intended to drive back down to pick them up later on. The Rolls drew nearer, moving slowly up the road. I could just see Burke’s face through the windshield. It was imperative that he not see me. Moving rapidly, I darted off the road and just managed to crouch behind a boulder as the car turned onto the curve. I could hear the motor purring smoothly, hear the tires rolling heavily. Cautiously peering around the boulder, I watched it pass. Burke looked neither left nor right. I sighed with relief and, after a moment or two, stepped back to the side of the road and hurried on down to the village.

  Although there were dozens of people about, no one paid the slightest attention to me as I made my way down one of the winding side streets. The village seemed to be bustling with industry. Shops were fitted out with surprisingly up-to-date window displays: expensive cameras, the latest clothes. Then I remembered that Greycliff was a big tourist attraction, swarming with trippers during the summer months. With summer so near, the village was snapping out of its inbred lethargy and putting on a holiday face that would vanish with the advent of fall. The villagers might despise the trippers who invaded the island, but they certainly didn’t scorn their money. I went on down to the waterfront, ignored by the people who passed me on the sidewalk.

  Tanned, leathery-faced men hung about the pier, some of them mending nets, some merely idling about, looking tough and taciturn in their heavy jackets and leather-brimmed caps. Boats bobbed on the water, and a group of muscular youths were unloading barrels from the deck of a small tanker. No one so much as glanced at me, although I was certain every last one of them knew who I was. I moved past the gray and brown and tan shopfronts with their white gingerbread woodwork, past Woolworth’s with its gaudy ribbons and wares, finally stopping in front of the pub. Hesitating only a second or two, I went through the swinging wooden doors.

  After the brilliant sunlight outside, the interior of the pub seemed terribly dim. It took me a moment to adjust my eyes to the change. Heavy green curtains hung at the windows. Tables and chairs were of sturdy oak, and the long bar was covered with ancient red leather, beer taps lined up behind it. The other walls were paneled in dark fumed oak. The odor of alcohol was strong, and there were the smells of tobacco smoke and fried potatoes. Two men were lethargically throwing darts, and after giving me indifferent glances they continued their game. A plump woman in a flowered dress and battered black hat with limp pink roses stared forlornly into her glass of ale, mascara streaming down her fat cheeks. At a corner table an old tar was asleep, sprawled forward with his head on his arms. There were no other customers.

  A door behind the bar opened and Valerie came into the room. She wore the low-cut white peasant blouse and short blue skirt. She didn’t see me at first, and I took the opportunity to study her. With her long black curls and dark blue eyes, Valerie was breathtakingly beautiful, exuding a rich, earthy animal magnetism. Although she wasn’t hard, one could sense that her life hadn’t been easy. The scarlet mouth was rather bitter, and the eyes were filled with a kind of defiant resignation that I found disturbing. Valerie had had a rough time of it, and she expected no lucky breaks in the future. She had a hard-won dignity that was both touching and impressive.

  Setting a bottle beneath the bar, she looked up wearily. When she saw me, her eyes widened in alarm. Glancing uneasily at the men throwing darts, she hurried around the bar and stood in front of me.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she said. Her voice was low.

  “You know who I am?”

  “I know who you are, Mrs. Brandon.”

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “You’d better leave.”

  The girl was plainly nervous. I had the impression she was frightened of me. Did she think I had come to pick a quarrel? She glanced at the men again, then looked outside as though she expected someone to come in. Her eyes were troubled.

  “Why did you come here?”

  “I thought perhaps you could help me.”

  “Help you?”

  “I saw you with Evan Porter this morning. He was terribly upset about something. I—it’s important that I know what it was. He told me you were trying to trick him into marrying you. I could tell he was lying.”

  “I see,” she said.

  “It’s not true, is it?”

  “It’s not true,” she said bitterly.

  “Will you help me?” I asked.

  “Who brought you here, Mrs. Brandon?”

  “I came alone. No one knows.”

  Valerie looked at me for a long moment without speaking. The men playing darts suddenly tired of their game. Gathering up jackets and caps, they called hearty farewells to Valerie. She smiled a sexy smile and raised her hand in farewell, but as soon as they went out the door her face was grave.

  “Listen,” she said, “I’ve got a father and two brothers. All three of them work at the cannery. It’s their only means of support. Evan Porter threatened to fire them if—I talked to anyone. He made other threats as well.”

  “I understand,” I said quietly.

  It was futile. I could see that. There was no reason why this girl should trust me. She had every reason not to. I was filled with disappointment, and it must have shown. Valerie’s face hardened. She took my arm and led me to one of the tables in the back of the room. Gesturing for me to sit down, she took a chair facing the front so she could look out over the tops of the swinging doors.

  “I don’t like being threatened,” she said.

  “Why did he threaten you?”

  “I’m not sure. None of it makes any sense.”

  “You had an affair with Grey, didn’t you?”

  The question didn’t seem to surprise her. She merely nodded.

  “We saw each other for several months,” she said in a flat voice. “He didn’t want his family to know, so we met secretly. I have my own flat, and he came there. I didn’t expect anything—I certainly didn’t expect him to marry me. I fell in love with him, Mrs. Brandon. It was enough just being with him.”

  “What happened?”

  Valerie hesitated a moment before continuing. “One night I thought I saw someone standing outside as Grey was leaving the flat. It was dark, and the trees were casting shadows, but—I think that man was waiting for him. Burke. I think it was him. Grey never came back. The next time I saw him he was standing on the pier. With you.”

  I didn’t say anything. There was nothing I could say. Her eyes were thoughtful, sad, and the corners of her mouth drooped a little. Grey’s desertion of her was just another experience, just another disappointment in a long line of them. She stared across the room and then shrugged her shoulders. It was one of the most pathetic gestures I’ve ever seen.

  “That’s life,” she said.

  “Why should Evan have lied to me?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “He was deliberately trying to mislead me. He didn’t want me to know about you and Grey. Why? I know he wasn’t trying to protect my delicate sensibilities. There’s some other reason.…”

  Valerie was silent. Her silence was significant. The nervousness had returned. She knitted her hands together tightly, and I could see that she did so to keep them from trembling. She loo
ked outside. She was holding something back, I could tell. She still hadn’t told me why she had come to the house this morning, why Evan had threatened her.

  The wooden doors swung open, making a swooshing sound as they swung back. A hearty young stevedore in jeans and windbreaker moved briskly over to the bar and pounded on it with his fist. Valerie leaped up and went to serve him. She smiled, asked him his pleasure, drew up a mug of beer. They had a joshing exchange—the stevedore jovial and rather coarse, Valerie not too friendly, not too cold; and after a moment he took his beer and sauntered over to a corner table. Valerie came back and sat down. She was in control of herself now, distant, a bit bored.

  “You’d better leave now, Mrs. Brandon. I’ve told you all I know.”

  “But you haven’t,” I protested.

  “Look, I don’t know what the problem is, but—”

  “Do you know anything about a child?” I asked abruptly.

  The question caught her off guard. She looked puzzled.

  “A child?”

  “At the big house.”

  “There’s no child there. What are you talking about?”

  Calmly, my voice emotionless, I told her about the cry in the night, about the sobbing that had followed soon after. I told her about finding the room beneath the stairs; I described the enormous teddy bear, the barred window. As I spoke, her face turned ashen. Her eyes widened. She drew back against the chair, her lovely face a study in horror.

  “My God,” she whispered. “My God—”

  “Do you know anything about it?”

  “So that’s what they’re—” She broke off, stunned.

  “You know something.”

  “Yes. I can’t believe—”

  “Valerie, you’ve got to help me.”

  “Yes, yes. I know. I understand now. I see what—but you must get away before—Don’t you see—”

  She cut herself short. She stood up, staring past me, outside. She gripped the back of her chair tightly. I turned around. Over the top of the door I could see the tan and brown Rolls pulling up in front of the pub. I stood up too.

  “He must have seen me. He followed me—”

  “Don’t tell him you—”

  “I won’t say anything. Valerie, you’ve got to—”

  “Another girl takes over at six. I—I’ll meet you. Can you get away from the house?” She spoke rapid-fire, her eyes never leaving the door.

  “I couldn’t possibly come back without their knowing.”

  “I’ll come there. They mustn’t know. The woods. I’ll meet you there after six. Six fifteen, six thirty, as soon as I can get there. My God, they’re—Go out and meet him. Don’t let him come in here.”

  I stepped out through the swinging doors just as Burke was getting out of the car. I smiled pleasantly. He came around the car and stood in front of me. My nerves were jangling, but I gave him another smile, and there was only a slight tremor in my voice.

  “How thoughtful of you, Burke. You must have seen me on the road.”

  He nodded grimly, his black eyes watching me.

  “I thought I’d come down and do a little shopping. I didn’t find anything I fancied, so I stepped into the pub for a—an orange squash. How did you know where I was?”

  “I stopped the car and asked.”

  “Someone said they’d seen me going into the pub? Oh dear, I hope my reputation survives—”

  “I’ll drive you back to the house, Mrs. Brandon.”

  “Oh—well, thank you.”

  He opened the door for me. I got into the back seat. Burke climbed in and started the motor. I hadn’t fooled him. Not a bit. He must have seen me dashing behind the boulder after all. The car wound up the hillside, taking the curves with heavy grace, and pulled up in front of the house. Burke got out and came around to open the door for me. His face was solemn, his manner grim. He seemed to be contemplating some weighty problem. I didn’t like that expression on his face. Not at all.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I was in my sitting room, staring out at the sun-spangled waves, when Judy came up the staircase and entered, looking pert in her uniform, cheeks a rosy pink. Her curls were tousled, her blue eyes snapping with irritation. She sighed wearily and brushed a curl from her temple.

  “Is something wrong?” I inquired.

  “It’s the old lady! On a tear today, she is. Hasn’t given me a minute’s peace! Do this, do that, fetch my shawl, bring me the mail, run get another pot of coffee, the dogs want walkin’ again. And me with one or two other things to do besides! She wants to see you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Fetch Miss Carolyn and make it snappy, she says. I told her, I said, ‘What do you think I am, a greyhound?’ and her reply—well, it isn’t worth repeatin’, but I was outraged! ‘I’ll have you know I’m a respectable girl,’ I told her, ‘and you have no right to speak to me that way.’ She cackled with delight. Just loves to get a rise out of me, she does. One of these days I’ll get fed up with it, and then we’ll see!”

  “Have my husband and his cousin returned yet?” I asked.

  “Not yet, ma’am, but Burke left to go after ’em a few minutes ago. There’s another one! He’s been skulking about like someone bent on murder ever since he brought you back from the village. Gives me the shivers, that man does.”

  “Judy,” I said lightly, “do you know anything about the—the room in the basement? It’s just beneath the stairs.”

  She shook her head. “Never been down there, ma’am, and it’s not very likely I ever will. That’s where the noises come from, you know.”

  “Noises?” My voice was ever so casual.

  “Didn’t I tell you about ’em? Sounds like a child cryin’. Mrs. Porter says it’s my imagination, and Mister Evan told me it was the wind blowing in through a crack. Gave me an awful fright first time I heard it. I’m high-strung, you see, sensitive. Threatened to give my notice, I did, but Mister Evan talked me out of it. I reckon it is the wind, but all the same I’ve no desire to see the basement. Flat refuse to go down there.”

  “Have the other servants heard the noises?”

  “Not likely. Stella’s a dear, but she’s practically stone deaf, and Cook nips at night. Brandy. Has several slugs before she goes to bed. It’d take an earthquake to wake her up.”

  “I see.”

  “Keep my bedroom door locked at night, I do. I’m not ashamed to say so. The old lady keeps giving me those wretched thrillers. Knows I’m high-strung, does it out of spite.”

  “Have you heard the noises recently?”

  “Not for quite a while. I guess the wind has to be blowing in just the right way. Well, I’d better be getting back to work. Still haven’t done Mrs. Porter’s room. Haven’t had the opportunity, what with her languishing about on the chaise longue with a damp cloth over ’er eyes ‘n’ all. I think she’s recovered now, so maybe I can do my dustin’.”

  The dogs barked noisily when I knocked on the door to Carlotta’s room. Bolts and locks clicked. The door opened just a crack. Carlotta peered out cautiously, then took my hand and pulled me inside. It seemed there were even more locks than before. It took her almost two minutes to fasten them all. The room was as cluttered as ever. Several bolts of violently colored cloth were scattered about, fully unfurled, draped carelessly over the furniture; and cups, saucers, toast and various pots of exotic jelly crowded the coffee table in front of the sofa. The spaniels romped through a veritable sea of scandal magazines and tabloid newspapers that littered the floor.

  “The strain’s beginning to show,” she said crisply. “You’re bearing up nicely, bravely, but the strain is showing. Faint shadows under those eyes, a slight pallor on the cheeks. You’ve got guts, dear. Stamina! I admire that. I knew you wouldn’t go running back to London the first rattle out of the box.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Don’t be coy, dear. I feel things, you see.” She led me to the sofa, swept aside several books and a bolt of brilliant silk and sat me d
own. “Be very still. Don’t move. Attune yourself. Vibrations. Can you feel them? Yes, you’re beginning to feel. This house is crackling with tension, and it’s mounting, mounting. See what I mean?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Of course you are!” she cried, making an impatient gesture. “You’re sensitive to these things, too. I knew it the minute I laid eyes on you. She looks dreamy and absentminded, I said to myself, but that bone structure, the shape of that jaw—she’ll bear up, I said. She’ll give them a run for their money, all right!”

  Carlotta nodded emphatically and looked at me with luminous blue eyes, her head cocked to one side. Tall, bony, with her ravaged face, painted lips and artificial glossy blonde curls, she might have been a campy female impersonator in her billowing crimson caftan and silver bangle bracelets. The three spaniels leaped and cavorted about her feet, hoping for attention or, more likely, a midday snack. She made another dramatic gesture. Bracelets jangling, she kicked a tabloid out of her way and went over to a tall Chinese chest, pulling out drawers and rummaging through them as she talked.

  “You were prowling around last night,” she said. “This morning, too. Most unwise, dear, but quite admirable. Determined to get to the bottom of things, aren’t you? Don’t blame you. Don’t blame you a bit. You must be very careful, though. Yes. Wish I could help, but I really don’t see how I—What am I looking for?” She pulled out an ivory fan, examined it with distaste, dropped it on the floor. “I saw you this morning. Saw Evan and that girl, too. I have a keen pair of binoculars. Come in most handy. I saw you slip off after they left in the car this afternoon. I knew exactly where you were going, of course. I’m worried about you, dear.”