“You sound rather certain of that,” I snapped.
“I am. I saw the way you acted under fire.”
“If you think I’m some sort of fearless heroine with nerves of steel, you couldn’t be more mistaken. The mere thought of all this makes me want to—to crawl under a bed and stay there!”
Stephen smiled. “But you won’t,” he said. “You’ll bear up like the stout-hearted trouper you are.” He glanced at the clock. “I’d best be off now. Clark and I have to compare notes. I’ll see you shortly after twelve. Oh, incidently, I’ll need to use your brother’s car. The keys?”
I fetched the keys. I gave them to him, considerably irritated. No girl likes to be called stout-hearted, nor does she like to be complimented on her intestinal fortitude. I saw myself as extremely feminine, prey to all the weaknesses attributed to the sex, and the picture of me Stephen Brent presented was hardly in keeping with that image. I wasn’t courageous, nor was I strong and intrepid. If I had acted well “under fire,” as he put it, it was simply because I had had too much common sense to give way to the stark hysteria that had threatened to overwhelm me. I’d see this through, yes, because it was my duty, because I had given my promise to Constable Clark, certainly not because I possessed any of the unflattering characteristics Mr. Brent attributed to me.
“You look better,” Stephen remarked as we stood in the front hall, “a bit more spirited than when you first came down.”
“You probably mean stout-hearted!”
“Oh, did you find that description offensive?”
“Be careful with my brother’s car,” I retorted. “He’d have apoplexy if one of the fenders were scratched, and I’d be blamed for it. Good bye, Mr. Brent.”
Stephen left, and I went back upstairs, feeling, if not spirited, at least a great deal less lethargic and groggy than I had felt earlier on. I took a long, hot, soaking bath, and that helped quite a bit. I found myself clear-minded and resolute, determined to take each step as it came. I might not be able to forget last night, but I realized I would have to put it out of my mind if I intended to cope. I would have loved to spend the day in bed, prostrate, overcome, a damp cloth over my eyes, a bottle of smelling salts at hand, but it simply wasn’t feasible. The first ordeal I had facing me was the necessity of informing the children that they were to spend some time with their Great-Aunt Georginna. I was confident that their reactions to this bit of news would be far more bloodcurdling than anything else I might be called upon to face.
We go on, I thought, pulling on my bathrobe and stepping into the bedroom to inspect the clothes in the wardrobe. Tragedy strikes, we feel lost, we feel helpless, we feel we’ll never be able to continue, but we go on. Cynthia was dead, brutally and viciously murdered only minutes before I reached the storage room. I had been stunned, horrified, shaken to the core, but I had returned to the gym, I had danced, I had chatted with Ron with at least some semblance of coherence. We had fetched the children, I had sent them to bed, but even then, as I waited for Stephen, I hadn’t completely fallen apart. Cynthia was dead, but outside the sky was an incredibly lovely blue, washed with dazzling silver-white sunlight, and a bird was singing on a branch of the pear tree. Last night I would have thought it impossible that I could be standing here now, calmly trying to select something to wear.
It was well after eleven when I finally went back downstairs, wearing a rust-colored turtleneck sweater and short, pleated skirt of rust, brown, black and gray tweed, a stylish but sensible outfit that even my highly critical Aunt Georginna would be hard pressed to find fault with. I had brushed my hair until it gleamed with rich chestnut highlights, and my cheeks were a healthy pink. Although I cringed at the thought, I was ready for battle, and, as Keith and Liz were both idling about in the hall, I saw no reason to delay dropping my bombshell.
“Hello, pets,” I said charmingly.
“You look nice this morning,” Keith remarked. In jeans and a soiled T-shirt, a streak of grease across his chin, he looked anything but.
“You should have seen her earlier,” Liz told him. “She looked like death warmed over. Hair all tangled. Bags under her eyes. She had the most spectacular hangover.”
“That’s not true,” I protested.
“I was shocked. So was Stephen,” she added.
“Did you enjoy the dance?” Keith inquired.
“It was a—a nice dance,” I said evasively.
“I’d have been bored to tears,” Liz stated. “Artists haven’t time for such shabby, provincial little affairs. A grand ball in a glittering palace, perhaps—Lola adored them—but a sock hop at the local gym—” She shook her head disparagingly, “I ask you.”
“You’d have given your eye teeth to be there,” Keith said dryly.
“That’s a lie! You think you’re so smart, Keith. You don’t know anything! You’re a boor and a bore and a thorough—”
“I have something to tell you both,” I interrupted.
“Oh?” Keith asked, mildly curious.
“What?” Liz said, suspicious.
“Uh—” I paused. “You children are going to take a little trip.”
“Where?” Keith asked.
“Why?” Liz said.
I hesitated. Keith still looked mildly curious. Liz looked even more suspicious. I told them. There was a moment of stunned silence while both stared at me in disbelief, and then Liz threw what could only be called a walleyed fit. She’d rather be shot than go there, she shrieked. The whole place reeked of hay and manure. She detested horses. She detested Aunt Georginna. She flatly refused to step foot in that hellhole and, if I insisted, would hurl herself in front of the first moving vehicle that came along. Keith, ordinarily reserved, almost always mild, complained bitterly and in a startlingly loud bellow that Georginna’s habit of charging up and down the halls with a trumpet at five thirty in the morning and yelling “Rise and shine!” in between blasts was more than anyone should be expected to endure. I let them rant and rave to their hearts’ content, and when they were finally spent, too exhausted to say more, told them in an extremely firm voice to go change their clothes and pack a few things to carry along with them. Pale and visibly shaken, Keith marched past me with a stony expression. Liz made an exit that would have done credit to Bernhardt in her prime. I took a deep breath, knowing full well that Becky’s reaction would be even more vociferous when she was informed of my plans.
Becky was still with Augusta. I would have to go fetch her. I might as well get that over with, too, I thought, listening to the racket Keith and Liz were making upstairs. Stephen would be returning in less than an hour, and Becky would undoubtedly require a thorough washing as well as a change of clothes.
The sunlight was dazzling as I stepped outside, pure and white, making sunbursts on the car in the drive, and deep blue shadows spread beneath the leafy green shrubbery. The air was crisp, unusually cool for this time of year. Dreading it, I went next door to the majestic old Tudor house set beneath the spreading elms. Still in the same brown nylon windbreaker, his deeply tanned face impassive, the redheaded “gardener” was working away. Having already done as much damage as possible to the privet hedge, he was weeding the flower beds, bronze and yellow chrysanthemums receiving almost as rough treatment as the weeds. I could feel him watching me as I moved up the walk to the front door. I knocked. I waited. After what seemed an exceptionally long time, the door opened and Augusta peered out at me, her expression decidedly belligerent.
“So you’ve come to visit at last!” she snorted. “Come on in. Don’t stand there gawking! I’m not going to gobble you up. You out there! Watch those chrysanthemums! You lop one more of ’em off and I’ll file a complaint with your superior. Cops!” she said bitterly, pulling me into the hall. “I shoulda suspected something yesterday! Knew he wasn’t genuine. Knew it the minute I laid eyes on him. If they intend to station a man out there I suppose there’s not much I can do about it, but if they think I’m going to let that hooligan wreck my garden—” She
slammed the door hotly.
“How—how are you?” I asked timidly.
“How do you think I am! Expect to see me in tears? Expect to see me weeping and wailing? I loved that girl. I won’t deny it. She was a bad ’un, I won’t pretend she wasn’t, but I loved her in my way. I tried to help her. She was beyond help. I’m old. I’ve got myself to think about. I can’t spend my time grieving over the inevitable. It was inevitable! I told her she was headin’ for big trouble. Marry Bob, I told her. Go away from here. Start a new life. But no, she was too bewitched. She was in love! That man cast a spell over her—shouldn’t wonder if he was the one who broke her neck last night—”
We were standing in the front hall. The plaster-and-timber walls were spread with soft gray shadows, the bare polished oak floor gleaming where a ray of sunlight touched it. An ancient, uneven staircase led up to the first story, and a lovely old tapestry hung on the wall over the landing, jade green and maroon and black and indigo, all faded. I took in these details without really being aware of it, startled by what Augusta had just told me.
“I thought—she was engaged to Bob Hamilton,” I said.
“She was. They were in love. They were going to be married. Then she met the other man—wouldn’t tell me his name, wouldn’t tell me anything about him, just said it was over between her and Bob, that she knew at last what love was all about. He cast a spell over her—that was plain enough. He gave her drugs, and when she was hooked, when she was helpless, he threw her aside, laughed at her—”
Augusta’s expression was savage, but there was a tremor in her voice. She was an indomitable old girl, much too proud to give way to her grief in front of an audience, but I knew that that grief was as powerful, as painful as it would have been to anyone else, perhaps even more so because she refused to give vent to it. Cynthia’s death had been a great blow. Only a magnificent strength of character kept her from falling apart. I wanted to put my arms around her, to speak comforting words, but I knew that it would have been a disastrous mistake even to attempt such a thing.
“Bob knew about it, of course,” she continued. “He intended to do something about it. He intended to save the girl in spite of herself. He knew who the man was, knew what he was. He intended to expose the fiend—” Augusta broke off, clamping her lips together, scowling darkly. “He tried. He was murdered for his pains. It was an accident, they said. There was no motive! Ha! There was a motive all right, the strongest possible motive—” Again she paused, staring down at the floor. “I should have gone to the police. I know that. She begged me not to, she pleaded with me to keep quiet. She still loved him, you see, in spite of what he had done to her. Still thought he might take her back. I kept quiet, because of that girl, because I didn’t want to cause her any more pain. I was wrong. I’m paying for it, dearly. She might not be dead now if I’d—” The words seemed to catch in her throat and she was unable to complete the sentence.
“You’ll have to tell them now, Augusta,” I said gently. “Surely you realize that.”
“’Course I do!” she barked. “You don’t have to tell me where my responsibility lies! Cynthia’s gone. Maybe I can help keep some other young girl from falling prey to the same evil. I’ll talk, all right, but not to any brash, pushy young whippersnapper still wet behind the ears like the one who came over this mornin’. I gave him what for, and no mistake! Looked vicious, that one—those eyebrows! Probably had a pair of brass knuckles in his hip pocket. Scotland Yard! Ha! Likely story. I called the top man, Constable Clark, said I had a statement to make, said he’d better hightail it over here if he wanted to hear it. He’s supposed to be here at one, and he’s bringing a stenographer with him.”
Augusta pulled her brightly hued shawl closer about her and toyed with the fringe. “My nephew and his wife are arriving this afternoon, too. They were informed last night. They’ll stay here, of course. It’s only proper. Can’t have ’em waiting around in some hotel. My nephew will drink, it’s all he knows how to do, but that wife of his will make my life a constant hell. Hysterical woman, reminds me of a Pekinese. Probably was one in a previous life. If she’s not mincing around and sniffing disdainfully, she’s having hysterics. Never liked the woman, not by half—”
“I—I’d love to stay and talk, Augusta,” I interrupted, “but I must fetch Becky. Is she in the back room? I intend to take her to visit her aunt, you see, and—”
“Becky? She left almost two hours ago.”
“But—”
“We played a couple of quick games of cards, but I couldn’t concentrate. Besides, the little rascal was cheating outrageously and I was losing every hand. I sent her on about her business. I wanted to phone the police anyway. She—what’s wrong? You’re as white as a sheet—”
“She hasn’t been home. I have to find her. She may be in—”
I cut myself short. Through sheer willpower, I forced myself to calm down. There’s positively no need to panic, I told myself. She’s wandered off somewhere. She’s in no danger. I took my leave of Augusta. I went back outside. I asked the man in the brown windbreaker if he’d seen Becky. He said she’d come out of the house quite some time ago, had skipped down the walk and out the gate. He assumed she’d gone home. I thanked him. I went back to the house, forcing back the panic, willing myself to remain calm. She had probably come home while I was taking my bath and, finding no one about, decided to go off on one of her jaunts. Perhaps Keith had seen her, or Liz. Neither had. Alarmed by my anxious expression, Keith said she was probably prowling around the university and volunteered to go look for her at once. I shook my head. I couldn’t think coherently. My alarm was growing by the minute.
“She’s always wandering off,” Keith said. “There’s no need to worry, Janie. She’s bound to be all right.”
“I—I know. It’s just—”
The phone rang. I answered it in the hall.
The voice was soft, silken, obviously disguised by a handkerchief held over the mouth of the phone. The words, however, were perfectly clear.
“I have the little girl. I want the briefcase. You’ll bring it to me. Tonight. I’ll phone again at eight o’clock sharp. I’ll give you instructions then. You’ll do as I say. If you want to see the little girl again, you’ll do exactly as I say.”
13
I don’t know where the calm came from, but it was there, sustaining me and making this living nightmare endurable. There was no panic, no hysteria, just this strange icy calm that possessed me as a drug might, rendering me cool and resigned. Perhaps it wasn’t calm at all. Perhaps it was shock. I seemed to feel no emotion whatsoever, nerve ends numb, my mind clear and sharp. If I intended to save her, I must use my mind, I must think, I must not give way to those emotions locked up so tightly inside, those emotions that would make me incapable of action, incapable of doing what I must do. Almost five hours had passed, and still I was cool, still I hadn’t broken. The house was silent. Stephen and I were silent, too, sitting in the front parlor, not looking at one another.
Waiting.
Keith and Liz had been sent on to Turnbell Green, going in the nondescript blue car, accompanied by the man with the unruly brown hair, whose name, I had learned, was Hammond. They didn’t know about Becky, although I think Keith suspected. Stephen had arrived minutes after the phone call. I had taken him into the library. We had had a conference. He told me to keep calm. I told him I was calm, very calm. He gave me a peculiar look. He frowned, knitting his brows together, his eyes full of concern. He made a call to Great-Aunt Georginna, and then he told the children that they would be going to Turnbell Green with a good friend of his, a pleasant chap named Hammond who wanted to see their great-aunt about buying a horse. Then he made several more phone calls, speaking in an extremely low voice, his lips almost touching the mouth of the receiver. A short time later Hammond arrived. Liz wanted to know why Becky wasn’t going, wanted to know where she was, and Stephen said she had been scampering about the university and had fallen and broken a to
oth and was now in the dentist’s office. Liz was suspicious. If that was the case, she wanted to know, why wasn’t I there, too. Stephen laughed and said she asked too many questions, said he and I would bring Becky along tomorrow morning, told her not to flirt too much with Hammond, as he had a thing for skinny brunettes and just might take her seriously. Hammond nodded, said he was weak that way. He grinned sheepishly. Liz wrapped the fringed Spanish shawl about her thin arms, patted the red velvet rose fastened behind her ear and giggled, clicking her castanets vigorously. They left. Stephen made more phone calls. I stood there in the front hall, dazed, wondering why I wasn’t wringing my hands, wondering why I wasn’t hysterical.
No one had seen Becky. Apparently she had vanished into thin air as soon as she stepped out Augusta’s front gate. The policeman stationed in a parked car halfway down the street hadn’t seen her pass. The man in the green cap hadn’t seen her wander into the fields. She hadn’t come back to the house. The whole police force was searching for her, and men had been brought in from out of town. They had searched the old, ruined house in the woods, they had searched the university, hoping to find some clue, to no avail. They would find her, Stephen assured me. She would be all right. I was not to worry. I said I wasn’t worried. He looked at me, even more concerned than he had been earlier. He made a strong drink. He forced me to drink it. He tried to force me to lie down. I refused. I said I was perfectly all right. He frowned, holding my arms tightly, peering into my eyes. “You must hold on,” he said. “I know,” I said. He let go of me. We were in the front parlor. I sat down. I hadn’t stirred.
Stephen had placed several more phone calls during the past five hours and he had received several, always speaking in that low voice so that I wouldn’t overhear. He was tense, taut, edgy, prowling around restlessly like a caged panther. On the surface, he seemed far more upset than I was. On the surface. Calmly, I realized that I would have to place a long distance telephone call to Ian. Soon. What would I tell him? Oh God, what would I say? Not yet. I wouldn’t phone him yet. Later. Now I mustn’t think about it. I must remain very calm. If they didn’t find her before eight, I would take the briefcase to him and exchange it for my niece. They had already agreed to give him the briefcase if she was returned unharmed. Unharmed … He had murdered three people already. Becky would be able to identify him. He couldn’t take that risk. He would have to … No, no, I mustn’t think. I must cling to this icy numbness. I must not allow those horrible visions to materialize in my mind.
Meet a Dark Stranger Page 18