The Secret Woman

by Victoria Holt

  Perhaps he had already sailed.

  It was the evening of that day after Aunt Charlotte had left. I had shut up the shop, come back to the Queen’s House and I was in my room when Ellen came running up to say that a gentleman had called and was asking to see me.

  “What does he want?”

  “To see you, miss,” Ellen smirked. “It’s Captain Stretton from the Castle.”

  “Captain Stretton from the Castle!” I repeated her foolishly. I looked at my reflection in the glass. I was wearing my gray merino which was not very becoming, and my hair was untidy.

  “I could tell him you’ll be with him in ten minutes, miss,” suggested Ellen conspiratorially. “After all you wouldn’t want him to think you were rushing.”

  I said rather tremulously, “Perhaps he has come to see some piece of furniture.”

  Ellen said: “Yes, miss. I’ll tell him.”

  She was gone; and I rushed to the wardrobe I was using and took out the light navy silk which my father had brought me from Hong Kong. It had been made up by the local dressmaker and was certainly not in the latest style—for I had had it some time—but the material was lovely; it had a niching of velvet at the neck which I had always thought becoming.

  So I hastily changed, straightened my hair and ran downstairs.

  He took my hands in his free and easy way which might have been unconventional but which I found charming.

  “Forgive my calling,” he said, “but I had to come to say good-bye.”

  “Oh…you are going?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I can only wish you bon voyage.”

  “Thank you. I hope you will think of me while I’m away and perhaps pray for those in peril on the sea.”

  “I hope you won’t need my prayers.”

  “When you know me better you’ll realize that I need them more than most.”

  When you know me better! I should have guessed at the state of my feelings when a simple phrase like that and its implication could delight me. He was going away, but when I knew him better…

  “You strike me as being very self-sufficient.”

  “Do you think any of us really are that?”

  “I think some of us may be.”

  “You?” he asked.

  “I have not yet had the time to discover.”

  “You have always been cosseted?”

  “Hardly that. But you have just made me realize that I have never exactly been on my own. But what a profound conversation! Won’t you sit down?”

  He looked round him and I laughed. “That’s how I felt when I first came here. I used to sit on a chair and say to myself, Perhaps Madame de Pompadour once sat here, or Richelieu or Talleyrand.”

  “Being less erudite such a thought would not occur to me.”

  “Let us go into my aunt’s sitting room, that is more…habitable. That is if you have time to stay for…a little while.”

  “I’m sailing at seven in the morning.” He gave me that quizzical look. “I should leave before that.”

  I laughed as I led the way up the stairs and through our cluttered rooms. He was interested in some of the Chinese pieces which Aunt Charlotte had recently bought. I had forgotten how she had to make room for them in her sitting room.

  “Aunt Charlotte bought rather lavishly on this occasion,” I said. “They belonged to a man who had lived in China. He was a collector.” I felt I had to go on talking because I was so excited that he had come to see me. “Do you like this cabinet? We call it a chest-on-chest. The lacquer is rather fine. See how it is set with ivory and mother-of-pearl. Heaven knows what she paid for it. And I wonder when she will find a buyer.”

  “How knowledgeable you are.”

  “Nothing compared with my aunt. But I’m learning. It takes a lifetime though.”

  “And,” he said gravely, studying me, “there are so many other things in life to learn.”

  “You must be an expert on…the sea and ships.”

  “I shall never be an expert on anything.”

  “Who is? But where will you sit? This is perhaps more comfortable. It’s a good sturdy Spanish chair.”

  He was smiling. “What happened to the desk you had from the Castle?”

  “My aunt sold it. I don’t know who was the buyer.”

  “I did not come to talk about furniture,” he said.

  “No?”

  “But to talk to you.”

  “I don’t think you’d find me very interesting…apart from all this.”

  He looked round the room. “It’s almost as though they’re trying to make a period piece of you.”

  There was a moment’s silence and I was suddenly aware of all the ticking clocks.

  I heard myself say almost involuntarily: “Yes, I think that is what I fear. I see myself living here, growing old, learning more and more until I know as much as Aunt Charlotte. As you say, a period piece.”

  “That mustn’t happen,” he said. “The present should be lived in.”

  I said: “It was good of you to call, on your last evening.”

  “I should have called before, but…”

  I waited for him to go on but he had decided not to.

  “I heard about you,” he said.

  “You heard about me?”

  “Miss Brett the Elder is well-known in Langmouth. I heard that she drives a hard bargain.”

  “Lady Crediton told you that.”

  “She was under the impression that she drove a harder one. That was the occasion when we first met.” And then: “What do you know about me?”

  I was afraid to repeat Ellen’s story in case it was wrong.

  “I had heard that you live at the Castle, that you are not Lady Crediton’s son.”

  “Then you will understand that I was in a somewhat invidious position from the beginning.” He began to laugh. “I can talk to you of this somewhat indelicate matter. That is why I find your company stimulating. You are not the sort of woman to refuse to discuss a subject simply because it is…unconventional.”

  “It is true?”

  “Ah, so you have heard. Yes, it’s true. Sir Edward was my father; I was brought up as a son of the house, and yet not with the same status as my half brother. All very reasonable, don’t you think? It’s had its effect on my character, though. I was always trying to outdo Rex in everything, as much as to say, ‘See I’m as good as you are.’ Do you think that excuses a boy for being shall we say arrogant, eager to attract attention, always wanting to win? Rex is the most patient of fellows. Far more worthy than I but then I always say he didn’t have to prove he was as good. He was accepted as being better.”

  “You aren’t one of those tiresome people with a chip on your shoulder, I hope?”

  He laughed. “No, I’m not. In fact trying so hard for so long to convince people that I was as good as Rex meant that I succeeded in convincing myself.”

  “That’s all to the good. I could never bear people who are sorry for themselves, perhaps because there was a time when I started to feel life had treated me rather harshly. That was when my mother died.”

  I told him about my mother, how beautiful she was, how enchanting, her plans for my future, how my father and I had doted on her; and then I went on to speak of his death and how I was left, an orphan, at the mercy of Aunt Charlotte.

  I was unusually animated. He had that effect on me. I felt I was being amusing, interesting, attractive, and I was happier than I had been since my mother died. No, I was happier than I had ever been in my life. I wanted this evening never to stop.

  There was a gentle tap on the door and Ellen came in, bright-eyed and conspiratorial.

  “I was going to say, miss, that there’s supper nearly ready and if Captain Stretton would be joining you for it, I could serve in fifteen minutes
or so.”

  He declared his delight in the suggestion. His eyes rested on Ellen and I noticed that the color deepened in her cheeks. Could it be that he had the same effect on her as he had on me?

  “Thank you, Ellen,” I said, and I was ashamed that I had felt a little jealous. No, it was not really that, but the thought occurred to me that his charm was not for me alone; he possessed it in such abundance that he could afford to squander it so that even a maid announcing a meal was aware of it. Was I attaching too much importance to his interest?

  Ellen had set a meal in the dining room and had, greatly daring, put two lighted candles in the lovely carved gilded seventeenth-century candlesticks and had set them at either end of the Regency table; she had placed two Sheraton dining-room chairs opposite each other and the table looked delightful.

  About us loomed the bookcases and chairs and two cabinets filled with porcelain and Wedgwood pottery, but the candles lighting the table shut off the rest of the room and the effect was charming.

  It was like a dream. Aunt Charlotte never entertained. I wondered fleetingly what she would think if she could see us now, and I thought too how different life here would be without Aunt Charlotte. But why think of her on such an evening?

  Ellen was in high spirits. I imagined her giving an account of it all to Mr. Orfey the next day. I knew she believed—for she had told me often—that it was time I had “a bit of life.” This would be in her opinion a very delectable slice of life, not just a bit.

  She brought in the soup in a tureen with deep blue flower decorations and the plates matched. I caught my breath with horror that we should be using such precious plates. There was cold chicken to follow and I was thankful that Aunt Charlotte was to be away another day which would enable us to replenish the larder. Aunt Charlotte ate little herself and kept a very meager table. But Ellen had worked wonders with what she had; she had turned cold potatoes into delicious sauté and had cooked a cauliflower which she served with a cheese and chive sauce. Ellen seemed to be in possession of new powers on that night. Or perhaps I imagined that everything tasted different from what it had before.

  We talked and every now and then Ellen would come in to serve, looking very pretty and excited; I was sure there had never been a happier scene in the Queen’s House, even when Queen Elizabeth was entertained here. I was full of fancies. It was as though the house approved and the alien pieces retreated as I sat in the dining room at the Regency table entertaining my guest.

  There was no wine—Aunt Charlotte was a teetotaler—but that was of no importance.

  He talked about the sea and foreign places and he made me believe I was there, and when he spoke of his ship and his crew I could guess what it meant to him. He was taking out a cargo of cloth and manufactured goods to Sydney and when he was there he would do a certain amount of trading with the Pacific ports before bringing wool back to England. The ship was not big; she was under a thousand tons but he would like me to see how she could cut through the water. She was in the clipper class, and you couldn’t find anything speedier than that. But he was talking too much about himself.

  I protested. No. I wanted to hear it. I was fascinated. I had often been down to the docks and seen the ships there and wondered where they were going. Were they entirely cargo ships, I wanted to know.

  “We take some passengers, though cargo’s the main business. As a matter of fact I have a very important gentleman sailing with me tomorrow. He’s primarily a diamond merchant and going out to look at Australian opals. He has quite a conceit of himself. There are one or two other passengers too. Passengers can present problems on ships like ours.”

  And so we talked and the clocks ticked on furiously and maliciously fast.

  And as we talked I said: “You haven’t told me the name of your ship.”

  “Haven’t I? It’s The Secret Woman.”

  “The Secret Woman. Why…that’s what it said on the figure which was in the desk we bought from Castle Crediton. It’s in my room. I’ll go and get it.”

  I picked up the candlestick from the table. It was heavy and he took it from me. “I’ll carry it,” he said.

  “Be careful with it. It’s precious.”

  “Like everything in the house.”

  “Well, not everything.”

  And I turned and side by side we went up the stairs.

  “Be careful,” I said, “as you see we’re very cluttered.”

  “I understand it’s the shop window,” he replied.

  “Yes,” I chattered. “I found this figure in the desk. I suppose we should have returned it to you but Aunt Charlotte said it was worthless.”

  “I’m sure Aunt Charlotte, as usual, was right.”

  I laughed. “She almost always is, I have to admit.” And thinking of Aunt Charlotte I marveled afresh that I could have dared to invite him to supper as I had—although Ellen had made that inevitable. But I was very willing, so it was no use blaming her. I refused to think of Aunt Charlotte at such a time; she was safely out of the way in some dingy hotel bedroom—she would never stay at the best hotels and poor Mrs. Morton was no doubt having a very trying time.

  We stepped up into the room above. I always thought the house was eerie in candlelight because the furniture took on odd shapes—some grotesque, some almost human, and as they changed constantly they rarely became familiar.

  “What an odd old house!” he said.

  “Genuinely old,” I told him. And I laughed aloud to think of Aunt Charlotte’s verdict on Castle Crediton: Fake! He wanted to know why I laughed and I told him.

  “She has the utmost contempt for fakes.”

  “And you?”

  I hesitated. “It would depend on the fake. Some are very clever.”

  “I suppose one would have to be clever to be a successful faker.”

  “I suppose so. Oh mind this, please. See how that edge of that table juts out. I didn’t see it in the shadow. It’s rather dangerous there, so near the stair.”

  We had reached my bedroom.

  “Miss Anna Brett slept here,” he said with mock reverence.

  I was very lighthearted. “Do you think we should fix a plaque on the wall? ‘Queen Elizabeth and Anna Brett…’ Perhaps they ought to call it Anna Brett House instead of the Queen’s House.”

  “It’s an excellent idea.”

  “But I must show you the figure.” I took it from the drawer in which I kept it. He put down the candlestick on the dressing table and took it from me. He laughed. “It’s the figurehead of The Secret Woman,” he said.

  “A figurehead.”

  “Yes, no doubt there was a model of the ship and this was broken off.”

  “It’s of no value?”

  “None whatever. Except of course that it represents the figurehead of my ship, which might give it a little value in your eyes.”

  “Yes,” I said. “It does.”

  He handed it back to me and I must have held it somewhat reverently, for he laughed.

  “You can take it up now and then, look at it and think of me on the bridge as it plows through the waves.”

  “The Secret Woman,” I said. “It’s a strange name for a ship. Secret, and Woman. I thought all the Crediton ships were ladies.”

  At that moment I heard the sound of a door being shut; I heard voices below and felt the goose pimples rise on my flesh.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked and he took me by the arms and held me close to him.

  I said weakly: “My aunt has come home.” My heart was beating so wildly that I could scarcely think. Why had she come home so soon? But why not? The sale had not been so interesting as she had hoped; she hated hotel bedrooms; she would not stay in one longer than she could help. It didn’t matter for what reason she had come. The point was that she was here. Perhaps at this moment she was looking at the remains of our feast�
�the lighted candle—only one because we had the other here—the precious china. Poor Ellen, I thought. I looked wildly about the room—at my bed, the here-today-and-gone-tomorrow pieces of furniture, and the candlelight throwing elongated shadows on the wall, the tallboy and…ourselves.

  Redvers Stretton was actually alone with me in my bedroom and Aunt Charlotte was in the house! I must at least go downstairs as quickly as possible.

  He understood and picked up the candle which he had put on the dressing table. But we could not hurry of course; we must pick our way carefully. As we came to the turn of the staircase and looked down at the hall, Aunt Charlotte saw us. Mrs. Morton was standing beside her; Ellen was there too, white-faced and tense.

  “Anna!” said Aunt Charlotte in a voice which reverberated like thunder. “What do you think you are doing?”

  The Queen’s House could never have known a more dramatic moment: Redvers towering above me—he was very tall and he was standing one stair up; the candlelight flickering; our shadows on the wall; and Aunt Charlotte standing there in her traveling cloak and bonnet, her face white with the strain of fatigue and pain, looking more than ever like a man dressed up as a woman, powerful and malevolent.

  I walked down the stairs and he kept close to me.

  “Captain Stretton called,” I said trying to speak naturally.

  He took the matter out of my hands. “Perhaps I should explain, Miss Brett. I had heard so much of your wonderful treasure store that I could not resist coming to see it for myself. I was not expecting such hospitality.”

  She was a little taken aback. Was she, too, susceptible to that charm?

  She grunted and said: “You can scarcely judge antiques by candlelight.”

  “Yet it must often have been by candlelight that those wonderfully wrought pieces were shown in the past, Miss Brett. I wanted to get the effect by candlelight. And Miss Brett kindly allowed me to do this.”

  She was assessing his possibilities as a buyer. “What are you particularly interested in, Captain Stretton?”