“If they came here, it’s got to be,” he said. “But the sea grapes hide most of the beach, so we can’t tell.”
As we studied the brief stretch of white sand a man wearing swim trunks ran suddenly into view, his wet, tanned body glistening in the sun. Though he was too far distant to be recognized, I guessed that it must be Steve O’Neill and I felt King tense beside me. The figure paused and raised an arm, as if beckoning to someone out of sight—Catherine, undoubtedly. I did not want to see her run into view. I could not bear to watch. King, too, turned from the window.
“I’m going down there,” he said roughly.
I touched his arm. “Please—oh, please be careful!”
“Careful! The time for being careful is past.”
All his anger was coming to the surface. All that he had held in check for so long was ready for violent release. I understood Leila’s fear, for now it was my own.
“Not while you’re in a rage!” I begged him. “You can lose everything—everything! No matter what she has done—”
He flung off my hand. “I suppose I’m to go sit in your quiet place and meditate while Catherine pulls everything down around our ears?”
I stood my ground. “You could do worse. If you harm her, if you harm that boy—it’s Leila you’ll damage. Can’t you wait until you get yourself in hand?”
“This isn’t your affair,” he said. “Don’t try to come with me. Amuse yourself—explore the house. The caretaker’s name is Henry. If he shows up, tell him I’ll be back shortly.”
I went with him out of the room and down the hall. At the top of the stairs he paused, softening toward me a little.
“Don’t worry so much. There’s a good walk ahead of me to the beach. Maybe it will calm me down. I’d like to wring her neck, but maybe I won’t. Not yet.”
His feet struck an echo from uncarpeted stairs as he disappeared from sight and I heard the creak of the front door. I had no desire to return to the room from which we had viewed the beach. Whatever might happen now, I did not want to witness it even from a distance.
I wandered along the hallways of the second story, opening one door and then another, seeking to occupy and distract myself. This was no time for frantic worrying. In one room I found a candle and matches, and with the aid of this illumination I could better find my way through shuttered dimness. In rooms where the furniture stood shrouded, I now and then lifted a sheet to glimpse a lovely chaise longue of faded pink satin, a lady’s powder table of inlaid wood, a Queen Anne wing chair.
As I moved in flickering shadow from room to room the ghosts began to move with me in a house no longer quiet. As long as King was there the place had seemed utterly still. What sounds there were, we had made. But now it whispered as old houses do, creaking and sighing. Footsteps crept about in empty rooms, to fall silent when I opened a door.
What had those long-ago Hampdens who had lived here been like? Had there been an ancestress of Catherine Drew from whom she had inherited her strange, warped nature? This notion of presences everywhere began to oppress me and the house seemed too full of sound to be truly empty. Once I went into the hall and called Henry’s name—but the ringing echoes that crashed through the upper house were more disturbing than the whispers and since there was no answer, I did not call him again.
Only a few rooms in the opposite ell from the sea remained and I opened one of these doors idly, meaning to end my exploring and return downstairs. But I met with surprise. This was a large room, occupying the entire front of the ell, and it was a room presently lived in. My candle flame leaped in the wind and I blew it out. Here shutters were open and I saw that this was the room I had noted from the steps. Though fresh breezes had cleared away all mustiness and banished stale air, there was a slightly odd smell in the room that I could not at once place.
More curious than I wanted to admit I went a little way in, leaving the door ajar behind me. There was no shrouded furniture here—everything was in use. Standing out from one wall, dominating the room, stood a great fourposter bed with a high mattress and a mosquito-net canopy. The bed was made up, its pillows plumped and ready for use, while across it clothing had been carelessly strewn—items of lingerie, a blouse, and the green capri pants I had seen Catherine wear. A brown leather belt with a brass buckle coiled toward the floor, and leather sandals had been dropped where the edge of the counterpane nearly touched the floor.
So this was where Catherine lived when she stayed here overnight. Curiosity held me, and my glance went on about the room—to dressing table, desk, comfortable chairs, all of which had been refurbished. Here was none of the shabbiness of old wear. Even the wallpaper was clean, bright, fresh—and completely arresting. Three sides of the room were done in pale gray, while one end wall had been dramatized with figured paper—paper that had very likely been designed for this room. The background was pale rose, and against it an assortment of the stone-white unicorns of Caprice danced among tiny golden shells. This indeed was a room for Columbella!
From open windows a breeze stirred the mosquito netting looped above the bed and creaked the open doors of a wardrobe cabinet. I started at the sound and looked toward the huge old-fashioned armoire of heavily carved mahogany, to see its massive double doors move gently as air touched them. A few garments hung within—and there was something else.
All that concerned Catherine now concerned me, and I went without hesitation to the wardrobe and pulled the doors wide by their brass claw handles.
Thrust beneath the clothes that hung there were three boxes. One seemed to be a tool kit of some sort—containing pliers, small monkey wrenches, a hammer. The other two were cardboard cartons, the first of which was filled with damp sand that looked as though it might have been collected from a beach that morning. The second was a carton of sea-shells, and as I bent toward it I realized that it was from this that the slight odor I’d noticed emanated—that fishy odor which sometimes clings to seashells.
Why anyone should place a box of fishy-smelling shells in a wardrobe closet, I couldn’t guess. I knew little about shells, but these looked like the common beach variety and not the rare shells Alex collected. If hurriedly gathered, I supposed they could be used as a cover for possible lovers’ meetings at Caprice.
By now I had grown so accustomed to the rustling of Hampden ghosts that a faint creaking of boards in the hall did not startle me. I turned my head casually—to find that Catherine Drew stood in the doorway watching me. I had thought her far away and the sudden sight of her was disturbing.
She was barefooted and wearing the briefest of green bikinis. Her blond hair had been piled on top of her head and a swim cap dangled from one hand. I saw at once the green and spiteful fire in her eyes, and I could have wished myself caught anywhere else than here in her room.
“What are you doing?” she demanded and her look swept past me to the open wardrobe doors, her indignation mounting. “How dare he bring you to my house! How dare you come into my room and touch my things!”
She darted past me to slam the wardrobe doors shut with such force that they promptly bounced open again. I could only watch her in growing alarm. It was true that I had no business in this room, even though I had come upon it innocently, and I could say nothing in the face of her flashing anger.
When she turned, her eyes looked a little wild and my alarm changed to very real fear. The woman was in no rational state and I thought again of a panther, untamed and savage, ready to spring. Warily I began to edge toward the door.
“Edith telephoned me,” she said, “so I knew King would come. I was watching at that very window when you came strolling up the drive like a pair of lovers. I suppose that’s why he brought you here—to a fine hideaway! Except that this house is mine—and I won’t have you in it!”
“If you’ll listen for a moment—” I said, and took another step toward the door.
“Listen? I hav
e listened! I hung over the stair rail and listened while you two were downstairs in the drawing room. While you were talking about Leila—and about me! This is my father’s house—not King’s. The only thing of my father’s that I have left.”
My fear of her did not lessen as her words poured out uncontrolled, turbulent, and all the while her glance darted about the room, seeking, searching—I couldn’t tell for what. Once more I edged toward the door. King would be well out of hearing on his way to the beach by now and I knew it might be dangerous to stay alone with this fanatic, half-demented woman.
Before I could reach the doorway and make my escape, however, she found what she sought—something on the bed—and sprang toward it, caught it up, turning to face me with the leather belt in her hands. She looked triumphant now, as though the belt she slapped back and forth across her palm gave her confidence and a power over me as she moved to block my way to the door.
I stood facing her, listening to the repeated slap of the belt, catching the gleam of that sharp brass buckle, knowing that she might strike out at me with it at any moment.
“I warned you last night!” she shrilled. “I told you something unpleasant would happen if you didn’t leave. Now you’re going to find out what I mean!”
If I ran for the door, she would be upon me and at my back. It was better to face her, to wait for a chance to grasp the belt as she flailed out at me. I braced myself for the opportunity, though I had never been so frightened.
At that instant we both heard a sound on the stairs—there was nothing ghostly about the thud of running feet. Catherine whirled away from me, the belt in her hands and sudden terror in her eyes. But it was Steve O’Neill who appeared in the door—to take in the scene with quick understanding. He saw the brass-buckled weapon in Catherine’s hands and at once he crossed the room to twist it from her grasp and fling it to the floor.
“Have you gone completely nuts?” he demanded. “Do you know that King is here? He’s down on the beach talking to Mike by this time. Let’s get going before he comes back.”
Once she saw that it was Steve, Catherine had relaxed visibly. “Why should I—” she began, but Steve went to the bed and scooped up her clothes, then bent to retrieve her sandals from the floor.
“Come along.” He spoke more quietly now. “If he finds you here with me there’ll be the dickens to pay. You’re not ready for that kind of blow-up yet—are you? And even if you are, I’m not.”
His words seemed to dash cold water over the heat of her rage, though she did not give up at once. “What good will it do to run? He’ll know we’ve been here.”
Steve ignored that. He looked about the room and saw the open doors of the wardrobe. “Shall we take the sand and the shells with us—for Alex?”
Catherine seemed to pull herself together as she gave Steve a look. “There’s no use in that. Edith is still working on the last batch. They’ll be all right here. No one ever touches this room except me. Go along. I’ll come with you in a minute.”
Steve threw me a doubtful glance and went into the hall.
“There will be another time,” Catherine said to me, and I knew she made me a promise. “You’d better leave Hampden House while you have the chance, Miss Jessica Abbott. Right now you can get out of my room. And stay out!”
I hated to pass her so closely in the doorway, but she did not touch me, though I was near enough to feel the warmth of her bare flesh. When I was out of the room she slammed the door and ran barefooted after Steve. I heard the light sound as she ran down the stairs—and was gone.
There seemed nothing more important to me at the moment than to sit down and still the trembling that had come over me. I turned my back on that room with its odor of shells and its ghostly unicorns. The stale, shut-in air of the hallway seemed a relief after that fishy scent. A bit shakily I went to the top step of the stairs and sat down. To quiet my own shivering reaction, I crossed my arms across my body and clasped myself tightly, laid my head upon my knees.
Catherine Drew had set herself to be rid of me, and surely she was on the verge of dangerous madness. My forehead was damp with perspiration as I thought of the dreadful scene which Steve had so luckily interrupted.
I was sitting there on the upper sweep of the stairs, with the glow of illumination flooding upon me from the room below, when King came into the house. As he climbed toward me I raised my head and looked at him.
“She was here?” he said at once, and I nodded mutely. “Did she hurt you—did she try—”
“Steve came in time,” I said. “He—he stopped her.”
King ran up the remaining steps and stood above me. “There was no one but Mike at the beach. Apparently Mike came along with them today, being half owner of the boat—even though the other two didn’t want him. It was Mike who was out of sight when we saw Steve beckoning—not Catherine. As soon as I knew she must be at the house, I hurried back. What happened?”
“She’s gone now,” I said. “With Steve. Can you just—just let them go?”
He bent toward me. “I know by the way you look that she frightened you. I want to know what she did.”
He was in no mood for evasion, though I was afraid to tell him with that intensity of anger burning once more in his eyes.
“She had a leather belt,” I said. “But I wouldn’t have just stood there. I’d have fought her if I had to. Besides, I don’t really know if she was bluffing—or if she meant to use it.”
“She’d have tried,” he said bitterly, and pulled me almost roughly to my feet.
From the moment on the veranda at Aunt Janet’s, when I had first seen him coming toward me, I had known instinctively that we must come to this. Two lonely people with wrecked years behind them, thrown together and drawn as well by that heady attraction that could be the prelude to love. No wonder I had been afraid. But now I had stopped fighting myself, and if there was something here that justified alarm, I thrust it away and leaned against the broad comfort of his chest, knowing this was where I belonged, putting off any moment of sensible reckoning. His cheek was against my hair and I could hear without astonishment the words he was whispering. Soft endearments they were—words like “dearest” and “beloved,” while he held and kissed me with rough tenderness.
All around us the Hampden ghosts whispered uneasily, and downstairs the telephone began to ring.
King made an impatient sound as he released me and went to answer the summons. I leaned against the bannister, dreamily bemused, hearing in the distance his conversation with Maud. He was telling her that I was here. Yes, Catherine had been here too, but she was in the company of both Steve and Mike. No need to worry. He would bring me home on the afternoon plane.
When he hung up he came only as far as the turn of the stairs and stood looking up at me. For my sake I believe he tried to let me go.
“What an impossible mess to bring you into!” he said wearily. “Now—somehow—I’ve got to get you out of it.”
“I brought myself into it,” I told him. “I’m going to stay.”
The sound he made was like a groan and it caught at my heart. I knew what lay behind it—that it added up to one name. The name of his wife, Catherine.
“I’ve got to do something,” he said, “Leila or no. I’ve got to find a way out for myself.”
Whatever courage I possessed came sweeping back on a stronger tide than ever before and I agreed with him boldly.
“Yes! You must find a way out. When you sacrifice your own life for Leila, you hurt her as well as yourself.”
I knew I was right about this. The first rule was to find a way to make life bearable, no matter what the pressures and circumstances. Otherwise we were no good to ourselves or to anyone else. By staying at Hampden House, King was doing himself and his daughter great injury. He had to find himself before he could help anyone else. I ran down to where he stood at the curve of t
he stairs.
“Go away from St. Thomas,” I begged him. “Go home to Denver yourself.”
He answered me wearily. “Do you think I haven’t tried that before? I had all the evidence in my hands to do what needed to be done, though scandal would never matter to Catherine, or stop her. It mattered to Maud—because of Leila. When I’d been away for a couple of months Maud came after me herself because she saw what Catherine was doing to my daughter, and because of what might be spread across the newspapers and made public knowledge. All this would have damaged Leila mercilessly, since the bond that holds her to her mother is so strong. I knew I couldn’t go through with it—not yet.”
I would not give up. “It’s different now. You needn’t cause a scandal. Just go away and stay away. Save yourself. Later perhaps Leila can come to you. For the present Maud and I can work together to keep her out of Catherine’s hands. I don’t know how—but there’s always a way. There has to be!”
I knew I was giving him up for good, giving up even the small comfort the sight and nearness of him could bring me. But I had to be strong enough to fight Catherine Drew—if such an action would save King.
He reached out a forefinger and traced the cleft of my chin, touched my hair lightly. “Do you know what you’re coming to mean to me, Jessica? You told me something today about that photograph in my office. I wasn’t laughing at your quiet place. Once that mountain meadow was a place like that for me—but it hasn’t worked for a long time. Perhaps now I’ve found a new source of sanity—and honesty and decency. Things I thought I’d lost touch with for good during the last few years. A source that isn’t a place, but a person—you.”
Tears welled into my eyes, a lump tightened my throat. With all the longing in me I wanted to be in his arms—not to find quiet, because that was no longer what I sought. But I dared not because he must go away—and if I held him to me, sheltering myself in his arms, I knew he would not go.
I stepped back from him and started up the stairs. “There’s something I want to show you up here.”
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