“That’s a private party in there. And we’ve no room-I told you we haven’t.”
Miss Silver coughed.
“I have no wish to intrude-” she began with dignity.
But before she could say anything more the half open door was thrown wide. Between Jeremy, who obviously intended to come out, and Jane, who obviously intended to come in, there really was no room for Luke White. He had a look of black anger as he slid past Jeremy into the lounge and made his way to where Fogarty Castell was standing beside the coffee-tray.
Jane had slipped her hand inside Miss Silver’s arm.
“Jeremy, this is Miss Silver whom I met at Mrs. Moray’s. She got held up on the road, and that horrible Luke White says there isn’t any room here. But we can manage something, can’t we?”
“I expect so. Come in, Miss Silver, and have some coffee with us.”
Miss Silver gave him the smile reserved for the polite and attentive young.
“Most delightful-most refreshing,” she said.
As they advanced into the room they encountered Fogarty Castell, all smiles and apologies.
“My excuses, madam, but we really do not have any room that we can offer you. Mr. Taverner’s party has taken up all our accommodation. Captain Taverner will tell you that this is so.”
Captain Taverner frowned. He could see just what Jane had landed him into, and he didn’t see any way of getting out of it. He would have to give up his room. The thought was sweetened by the fact that this was, for some reason, going to annoy Luke White to whom he had taken a considerable dislike. It was also, apparently, going to annoy Fogarty Castell. He made his offer pleasantly enough, received the gracious thanks of Miss Silver and the approbation of Jane, and then had to meet some suave opposition.
In the end it was Miss Silver herself who decided the matter. Speaking with the quiet precision with which she had so often in the past quelled an unruly schoolroom, she observed that if there were any question of the intrusion of a stranger into some private family affair, she would of course withdraw.
Fogarty threw up his hands.
“But there is no private affair! There is a family reunion-you can see it. I will speak to Mr. Taverner. He is the owner, you understand. The inn is his, the party is his-I am only the manager.” He made another of those foreign gestures and was gone. They could see him waving his hands as he talked to Jacob Taverner.
Jane spoke on a sudden impulse. “He didn’t like your saying that about its being a private affair, did he? Look here, come and sit down, and Jeremy will get us some coffee. How odd that the man who gave you a lift should be going to stay with Jack Challoner. He’s a friend of Jeremy’s.”
The room was a good size. There were chairs scattered about over the floor space in groups of twos and threes. Heavy plush curtains masked the windows, giving out a smell of must and tobacco. Even under the softening influence of lamplight both they and all the other furnishings had a drab and dingy look.
Mildred Taverner was sitting by herself at a small table upon which she had placed her coffee-cup. She was thinking how shockingly in need of spring-cleaning the whole place was. Her head felt queer and light, but not quite so queer and light as it had done before she drank her coffee. It was very good coffee- very good indeed. All the food and drink was very good. Without meaning to, she gave a little giggling laugh. The champagne was very good. She had never had champagne before. It made you feel funny afterwards, but it was very good at the time. Might have been a bit sweeter. She would have liked a spoonful of sugar in it herself, but there wasn’t any on the table, and if there had been, she wouldn’t have liked to make herself peculiar. She would have liked another cup of coffee, but she didn’t feel too sure about getting up and going over to ask for it. She thought perhaps she would, and then she thought she wouldn’t.
She looked about her. Geoffrey was standing with his back to her talking to Lady Marian. Funny to think they had a cousin who was an earl’s daughter. But she didn’t think much of that Mr. Thorpe-Ennington. Awful to get married to a man who got drunk like that. Drunk? He might have been dead the way he was lying in that chair. She wondered how they had got him in from the dining-room. Al Miller wasn’t much better. Noisy, that’s what he was-noisy and vulgar-laughing too much, and talking too loud to the waiter and Mr. Castell. The waiter-Luke White-one of the Luke Taverner lot. Not at all a nice family connection. She didn’t really care about any of them, and they didn’t care about her. Nobody came and talked to her. She didn’t want them to-she had much rather they didn’t. She liked looking on.
Jeremy Taverner and Jane Heron were having their coffee with the governessy-looking person who had come into the room with Jane. Such an unfashionable hat, such a shabby fur tie. She remembered her own fur, bought just before the war in a January sale, kept very carefully in a drawer with moth-ball and only worn on special occasions. She kept all her clothes in moth-ball, and had become so used to the smell that she no longer noticed it. It was diffusing itself now like the quality of mercy and contending not unsuccessfully with the odours indigenous to the room.
She was mentally pricing the rest of Miss Silver’s attire, a process which gave her a pleasantly superior feeling, when Jacob Taverner came and sat down beside her. The superior feeling petered away and left her fluttered and wishing herself anywhere else. His eyes were so bright they made her quite giddy, and there was something about his voice-as if he was laughing at you, only of course there wasn’t anything to laugh at.
“Well, my dear Mildred, Annie Castell makes good coffee, doesn’t she? You’re none the worse, I hope, for your visit to the Smugglers’ Cave?”
She bridled a little, lifting her long neck out of its habitual poke and drawing in her chin. He was a cousin, of course, but to call her “My dear Mildred” like that-well, it was only the second time they had met. It wasn’t really quite nice. Too familiar, that’s what it was, and it wasn’t a thing she had ever cared about or encouraged. And then it all went out of her head, because he was saying,
“What did you mean when you said, ‘But I thought-’?”
At once she became quite dreadfully confused. Men made her feel nervous. Though he was two years younger, Geoffrey had always bullied her. She could still feel the place on her arm where he had pinched her down in the cellar. As if she had said something dreadful. He oughtn’t to have done it-she was sure she was going to have a very bad bruise. What she had said was nothing really-anyone might have said it. She hadn’t meant to.
“Well? Why did you say it?”
“I don’t know-”
“You were surprised-was that it?”
“Oh, yes.”
“You didn’t think there was a passage?”
She looked as confused and nervous as she felt. Because of course she had always known there was a passage, and Geoffrey had always told her not to talk about it.
Jacob Taverner didn’t give her any time.
“No, it wasn’t that. You knew there was a passage, didn’t you? But you didn’t know that it opened out of the cellars. Was that it? You said, ‘But I thought-’ Did you think it opened somewhere else?”
The questions came as quick as peas out of a pea-shooter. That’s what they reminded her of-Geoffrey shooting peas at her out of his pea-shooter when he was eight years old and calling her a cry-baby because she burst into tears. As if anyone wouldn’t cry if they thought they were going to have their eyes shot out! She had a moment’s terrified recollection of just how frightened she had been.
Jacob fired that last question at her again.
“Did you think it opened somewhere else? Where did you think it opened?”
The champagne was still in her head. She didn’t mean to speak, but before she knew that she was going to she had said,
“Upstairs-”
His bright, twinkling eyes were much too near. He had his elbows on the table, leaning across it. She didn’t like anyone to be so near her.
He said, “Why?
”
“I don’t know-”
“Come along-you must know why you thought it was upstairs. What made you think so?”
It was like being pushed into a corner. His eyes twinkled at her and made her feel giddy. It was like being pushed. She hadn’t any resistance left.
“My grandfather said so.”
“Matthew? What did he say?”
“It was when he was very old-he liked talking. He said he woke up in the night and heard something. It was all in the dark and he was frightened-he was only a little boy. Then he saw a light coming from a hole in the wall. He was dreadfully frightened, and he ran away back to his bed and pulled the clothes over his head.”
“And where did he see this hole in the wall?”
She shook her head.
“He didn’t say.”
“Didn’t you ask him?”
She shook her head again.
“That’s what Geoffrey said, but I didn’t think about it. It was when I was helping to nurse him before he died. Geoffrey was angry, but I didn’t think about it at all-not like that. I thought he’d been dreaming. I didn’t think there was a passage. But when you said there was-then I thought perhaps it really happened. Only I didn’t think he could have gone all the way down to the cellars-not a little boy like that, in the dark. And that’s why I said, ‘But I thought-’ ”
The twinkling eyes fixed hers.
“That was all?”
She nodded.
“It wasn’t anything really.”
He took his elbows off the table and sat up. Such a relief to have him farther away.
“No, it wasn’t anything,” he said. “You were right about what you thought the first time. He’d been dreaming. And whether he dreamed what he told you when he was a kid or when he was in his second childhood doesn’t make a ha’porth of difference. The passage has always opened out of the cellar just the same as you saw it tonight. Seeing’s believing. And first to last what Matthew told you would be just something he’d dreamt.”
He began to get up out of his chair. “Not that it matters anyway,” he said, and went over to the group beside the coffee-tray with her empty cup in his hand.
CHAPTER 12
Florence Duke was standing there. She had been standing there ever since they came back from the cellars-not talking to anyone, just standing there drinking coffee, sip after sip, quite slowly until the cup was empty, and then sip after sip again after it had been filled up. She had the look of a woman among her thoughts, listening intently. It was plain that she was taking no part in what was going on around her-Geoffrey Taverner’s conversation with Marian Thorpe-Ennington, Al Miller’s noisy talk and laughter, or the sometimes angry, sometimes tactfully intended remarks of Fogarty Castell. Not even when he turned to her with one of his foreign gestures and said in a passionate undertone, “This Al Miller, we are going to have a scene with him, I tell you. Why can’t he take his drink quiet and go to sleep on it like the other one?”-not even then did she really come back. Her eyes looked past him as she said in that slow way she had,
“He’s all right. Let him alone.”
She reached for the coffee-pot and filled her cup again. Fogarty wondered if she was drunk. She wasn’t flushed. As much of her colour as she could lose was gone. Now and again the drink would take someone that way. Her hand was steady and she stood like the figurehead of a ship, a big, bold woman, solid and firm. But there was something…He shrugged, and went back to Al Miller, who hadn’t stopped talking.
“Where’s Eily? I want Eily. Got something I want to tell her.”
Fogarty threw up his hands.
“Didn’t I tell you she’s busy? You wait a bit and you’ll see her fast enough. Do you think my wife has three pairs of hands? You leave Eily be till she’s finished her work!”
Al hitched a leg over the corner of the table and sat there swaying. He began to sing in a weak falsetto.
“ ‘Eileen alannah, Eileen asthore-’ That’s the song for her! Irish song for Irish girl. We’ve got an Irishman up at the station, he sings it-name of Paddy O’Halloran. He says I can’t sing.” He caught Castell by the lapel and swayed. “Who says I can’t sing?” He lifted his voice again, “ ‘Eileen allannah-’ ” then as suddenly broke off. “I say I want Eily-something to tell her-”
“She’s busy like I said. You have another drink. What is it you’re wanting to tell her?”
Al let go of the lapel, fumbled for a handkerchief, and mopped his face. He said, “I don’t mind if I do,” and tilted the proffered glass. He took a deep draught and blinked. He said,
“I’m not drunk.”
Fogarty said nothing. He hoped this drink would do the trick, but of course you never could tell.
Al finished the tumbler and set it down just over the edge of the table. When it fell and smashed he laughed unsteadily and repeated his former remark.
“I’m not-drunk.”
“No one said you were.”
“Better not-thass what I told them. Nobody’s going to say I’m drunk. Give me the sack, will they-say I’m drunk and gimme the sack?” He put a hand on Fogarty’s arm. “I’ll-tell- you who’s get’n the sack. They are. I’m-get’n-out. No one’s goin’ to say-I’m drunk.” His voice rang loud.
“No one’s saying it.”
Al stared.
“If I was drunk-I’d talk. Not drunk-not talking-only to Eily. If there’s anything there-we’ll get it. If there ishn’t- no harm done-we’ll get married allersame-married on prosheeds.”
Fogarty said, “You come along with me, and I’ll get Eily. Another little drink, and then I’ll get her.”
Al shook his head.
“All right here.” Then he suddenly advanced his lips to Fogarty’s ear and said in a penetrating whisper, “Like to know- what I-wouldn’t you? Well, I’m-not tell’n.” He let go suddenly, lost his balance, and slumped down, half off a chair.
All this time Luke White had stood behind the table, his face expressionless, his manner unconcerned. He might have been listening to Marian Thorpe-Ennington telling Geoffrey Taverner the story of her three marriages. He might have been watching Jacob talking to Mildred Taverner. Or he might have been watching Jane and Miss Silver and Jeremy, or Florence Duke. He might have been listening to Al Miller. When Jacob came across and put down Mildred Taverner’s cup he lifted the tray and went out by the service door at the end of the room.
Castell had got Al Miller on to the chair. He wouldn’t talk any more for a bit. Luke looked back, holding the door with his shoulder, and then let it fall to again.
Florence Duke straightened up, felt at her sleeve in a vague, abstracted manner, and said slowly,
“I haven’t got a handkerchief.”
It was not said to anyone, and nobody took any notice. She walked round the table and out at the service door.
Back in the room Jane was saying,
“I expect you think it’s a very odd kind of party. We’re all cousins, descended from old Jeremiah Taverner who used to keep this inn. It belongs to Jacob Taverner now. That’s him over there by the table. He’s giving the party. He’s a grandson, and the rest of us are great-grandchildren. Most of us haven’t ever seen each other before. Jeremy and I have of course, but that’s all. Because of family rows. Cousin Jacob advertised for his grandfather’s descendants, and here we are.”
Jeremy said, “A job lot!” and Jane gave her pretty laugh.
“Would it amuse you to be told who’s who?”
Miss Silver coughed and said with perfect truth,
“It would interest me extremely.”
Down in the kitchen Eily was putting away the glass and silver. She wasn’t being as quick as usual, because every now and then a very bitter salt tear escaped from between her fine dark lashes and ran down slowly over a white cheek. Sometimes the drop splashed upon spoon or glass, and she had to polish it again. Annie Castell was busy over the range. All her movements were slow and dragging. It was a wonder how she ever
got done. There was no word spoken between them until at the end of it she turned round and said in her toneless voice,
“What’s the good of your standing there crying? It never helped anyone that I heard tell.”
Eily said, “There’s no help at all-”
Annie Castell took the lid off a saucepan with porridge in it, gave it a good stir round, and covered it again. Then she said,
“It’s that Luke?”
Eily said, quick and choked, “If he touches me, I’ll die.” She snatched a breath, “Or I’ll kill him.”
Annie Castell made a clicking sound with her tongue against the roof of her mouth, but she didn’t say anything for a piece after that. She heard Eily fetching her breath quick, but she didn’t say anything. In the end she put a question,
“Has he touched you?”
Eily began to cry like a lost thing.
“He came up into the room where I was. I was turning down Miss Heron’s bed. And I said to go away, but he wouldn’t. And I said I’d tell, and he dared me. He said”-she fought for her breath and got it hard-“he said if I went to anyone else, he’d come in the night and cut his heart out.”
Annie Castell was clearing the kitchen table. When she had everything off it she took an old clean cloth out of the drawer and spread it. She took knives and forks and laid them neat and orderly, and set glasses. Then she said,
“Men talk a deal of nonsense.” And, after a pause, “I’d lock my door nights.”
“Do you think I don’t?”
Annie nodded. She said,
“Mrs. Bridling left her scarf. Fetch it through from the scullery and put it handy on the dresser and come and have your supper. No knowing when Luke and Fogarty’ll be down. You have your supper and get off to bed.”
Eily said nothing. She went to the scullery, and she came back again empty-handed.
“It isn’t there.”
A slow frown came between Annie Castell’s eyes.
“It’s there, at the end of the drip-board. I let it out of my hand when I was bringing it through.”
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