by M C Beaton
Their engagement announcement was generally well received although Lady George was torn between fury that Ginny, who she had begun to consider a decent sort of gel, should snatch such a marital prize and gratification that the announcement had been made at her ball.
Lord Gerald smiled and laughed and accepted congratulations and then turned to look down at Ginny. Her face was the old familiar blank and he felt a twinge of disappointment. Then she whispered so that only he could hear, “It’s here. That menace. Someone here hates me.”
“You’re tired and imagining things,” said Gerald, laughing.
And then he saw the four Frayne relatives bunched together in a group by the window. And he wondered.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lord Gerald was not able to watch over Ginny as closely as he had planned. One problem after another seemed to rear its ugly head on his estates. The farmers, who had become used to his undivided attention, expected it to continue and Lord Gerald, a conscientious landlord, did not like to plead his new engagement as an excuse for escaping from his duties.
The wedding was set for a month ahead and Ginny canceled as many of her social engagements as she could manage. She had planned a picnic party and, as the weather continued sunny and warm, decided to go ahead with the preparations for it. A party of guests were to drive from Courtney to explore Hunterdown Caves. Dress was to be informal and the guests only numbered twenty or so.
Lord Gerald had tried to protest. Ginny must not crawl around the caves in the dark. It was simply asking for trouble. But Ginny had given her old placid smile and had said reassuringly that since Gerald was going to be there with her, no harm would probably come to her. She had begun to believe that her sensations of hate lurking in the rooms of Courtney had come from an overworked imagination and not enough food or sleep.
Since her engagement she had put on some much-needed weight. As far as sleeping arrangements were concerned, she and Lord Gerald had reluctantly decided to wait until their honeymoon. The idea of furtively stealing along the corridors in the middle of the night so as not to offend the servants had struck both as unromantic and unpleasant in the extreme. They had spent an enthusiastic and exhausting night together after the ball and Lord Gerald had overslept and had had to make his escape down the creeper outside Ginny’s window, which had given way and had landed him headfirst in a flower bed.
The four relatives had taken Ginny’s engagement surprisingly calmly. Cyril and Jeffrey had gloomily accepted it as the inevitable blow to all their plans but had seemed resigned. Barbara had carved herself a niche in the role of devoted companion and Tansy had been helpful in the domestic running of the house. She still admittedly longed to find the means of ousting Ginny from Courtney but found no support in the other three. Jeffrey had had too many demoralizing experiences, Cyril’s spare time was spent in trying to worm out of his engagement to Annabelle, and Barbara trotted at Ginny’s heels like an overweight lapdog.
The morning of the picnic dawned fair and fine. Lord Gerald dealt with his estate business as quickly as he possibly could and then changed into blazer and flannels and had his motorcar brought around. He still hoped to convert Ginny to this new means of transport and she had reluctantly agreed to drive back from the picnic with him.
But his engine mysteriously coughed and spluttered and died right in the middle of his own driveway, and after he had spent a futile hour tinkering with the engine, which he did not understand in the least, but refused to admit, the motor was still as dead as a doornail and he was covered from head to foot in black oil.
He gave the Lanchester a furious kick and then marched back home to change. Ginny would be wondering what on earth had become of him.
A quantity of butter was produced from the kitchen and the oil finally removed. He changed into his riding dress and shouted for Brutus to be brought around, saddled and ready. It would be quicker than taking his carriage. He would be able to ride across the fields and catch up on some of the time he had lost.
He sprang into the saddle and spurred Brutus to a gallop. He visualized Ginny’s possible remarks on the fallibility of the motorcar and smiled to himself.
He did not notice the wire stretched across his driveway, strung taut between two trees. It caught him full on the chest and he hurtled backward into a world of spinning trees and sky, and then as his head struck the ground—black, black night.
The sun glinted from Lady George’s monocle as she surveyed the picnic party dotted over the tufty grass at the entrance to the caves.
“Very pleasant idea, Miss Bloggs,” she said to Ginny. “Only I am going to leave you young people to explore the caves by yourselves.”
“I don’t know if we shall be doing any exploring,” said Ginny, a puzzled frown wrinkling her brow. “First Gerald hasn’t turned up, and then the man who was to guide us through the caves hasn’t appeared either, and I do not know if it is all that safe to let a lot of people just go wandering around on their own.”
“The last time I was up here,” said Lady George, looking across the green of the downs, “must have been… let me see… oh, two years ago. The bally fox ran into these caves and we had a dreadful job getting the hounds back. It was freezing cold, you know, and we hadn’t torches or anything. The caves were very impressive from what we could see. All stalag-thingummies, and no one really knows how far they go into the hillside. Most unpleasant day it was. Pity you won’t change your mind and come hunting with us. Thought Barbara might have persuaded you.”
“She didn’t try,” said Ginny vaguely, her blue eyes looking down toward the ribbon of the road, which curled around the downs in the distance.
“That’s odd,” said Lady George. “Barbara’s a bit fat now but she was the best horsewoman in the county. Could handle a four-in-hand, you know.”
Ginny turned her gaze to where Barbara was fussing over the arrangement of the picnic things. Most of the ladies were wearing shirt blouses and serviceable skirts, but Barbara was bulging happily out of a lace tea gown, and she wore an enormous straw hat decorated with a whole garden of flowers, in the middle of which nestled a large and overstuffed blue bird that looked remarkably like Barbara herself.
“She doesn’t look like a horsewoman,” said Ginny thoughtfully. “She always reminds me of someone. I can’t think who.”
“She may not look it,” said Lady George with a bark of laughter, “but I assure you there’s no one in the county can touch her when it comes to horse riding.”
“I wonder why she didn’t want to hunt this winter,” said Ginny. “I didn’t sell the hunters, you know.”
“I don’t know… oh, some of ’em seem about to explore. You’d better go and look after them, Miss Bloggs,” said Lady George. “I’ll just stay here and admire the view.”
But the adventurous section of the party that included Alicia and Peter Paster, Cyril and Annabelle, Barbara, Jeffrey, and Tansy seemed to lose heart after the first cave. It had not been what they expected. The cold and damp were frightful and no one felt like entering into the blackness beyond.
“Let us have lunch first,” said Ginny gaily. “Some food and drink might put some heart in us.”
Everyone heartily agreed and they all crowded out again into the sunlight, blinking like owls after the cold and dark of the caves.
Ginny stared down at the road. What could be keeping Gerald? She ordered the servants to start serving food and drink and, shrugging aside her worries, settled herself to seeing that her guests had enough to eat and drink.
It was voted a resounding success. Ginny’s cook, Mrs. Silver, had excelled herself. The gentle breeze lifted the lace tablecloths on the trestle tables, and beyond the green sweep of the downs, the little fields were spread out in their neat squares of color, fringed with the delicate green of the budding hedgerows and trees.
Ginny became increasingly conscious of Barbara’s constant and fussy presence at her elbow. Barbara had developed an irritating habit of helping Ginny to genero
us platefuls of food and drink.
“I shall be quite tipsy if you keep on filling up my glass,” protested Ginny. And indeed, she did begin to feel very strange. Her head began to swim and the colors of the spring day began to reel in front of her eyes.
“What is the matter?” Barbara’s solicitous voice seemed to come from a long way away.
“I-I feel ill,” said Ginny faintly.
“Come and rest in the carriage,” said Barbara in a soothing voice. “That’s the thing. Lean on old Barbara.”
Ginny murmured her thanks and allowed Barbara to lead her from the table, glad of the other woman’s surprisingly strong arm.
The carriage seemed to be well away from the others but she could only concentrate all her energies on reaching it without falling down. Barbara opened the carriage door and Ginny sank down on the seat and gratefully closed her eyes.
“I shall be all right in a minute, Barbara,” she said, sighing. “It must have been the sun.” She opened her eyes to smile thankfully at Barbara, who was closing the carriage door.
It was then that Ginny saw the straw on the floor and the scars on the woodwork by the window, where she had struck at it blindly with her umbrella on that night some months ago.
“This is not my carriage,” was all she could say stupidly as Barbara’s fat face swam in the sunlight. “Not my carriage at all…”
Ginny recovered consciousness and stared around. She must have had an accident when they were exploring the caves. That was why she was lying on the hard floor gazing up at the stalactites. They had found lanterns after all. There was faithful old Barbara standing there holding one. But what on earth was she doing with a pistol in her other hand?
Memory came flooding back. The scarred woodwork of the carriage… Barbara pouring the drink that had made her feel ill… Lady George saying that Barbara could drive a four-in-hand.
Ginny’s senses reeled and all she could say was, “But the telegraph boy said it was a man.”
“He was too busy looking at the sovereign to study me closely,” said Barbara. “I had been waiting and watching for him for two days. All I needed to do was put on a man’s coat and hat and muffle myself up to the eyebrows. Thank goodness you are awake. I thought I would have to sit in this damp, cold cave forever. I hope you can walk now,” she added anxiously.
“Oh, yes,” said Ginny, staggering to her feet. Warm hope flooded back. Barbara looked so motherly, so anxious, so normal. Her next words made Ginny’s heart sink like a stone.
Barbara picked up the lantern and, holding the pistol very steadily, said, “Well, you can start marching back into the caves.”
“Why?” asked Ginny.
“Why? Because I want you dead, that’s why,” said Barbara patiently. “You didn’t think I was going to sit back quietly and watch an upstart like you queening it at Courtney. Move!”
“Where?” asked Ginny, trying not to panic and wondering all the while if this was some practical joke.
Barbara was dressed as she had been for the picnic, in her lace tea gown and enormous hat. But the hand holding the pistol never wavered.
Barbara moved around behind Ginny and jabbed the pistol in her back, compelling her to move forward into the chill blackness of the caves.
The wavering lantern threw grotesque shadows over the walls and made the stalactites and stalagmites throw long shadows on the rocky floor and then shine with an eerie phosphorescence as darkness fell on them once the strange couple had passed.
“You can’t get away with this,” cried Ginny desperately, and the mocking echoes threw her voice back at her from all sides—“Get away with this… away with this… with this… this… this… this…”
“Oh, but I can,” said Barbara. “After you were knocked out with the drug I returned to Courtney ahead of the picnic party and told them that you were still feeling sick and didn’t want to return. Then I ordered your horse to be saddled and brought round. I told the servants that you lost some jewelry and had ridden over to the caves to find it. Then I put on one of your cloaks and hats and rode off. Nobody saw me close to. Anybody who saw me would think it was you.”
“They’ll know a lot better when I’m found with a bullet wound in my back,” said Ginny.
“There won’t be a mark on you,” replied Barbara with an awful giggle. “Not a mark.” She prodded Ginny harder in the back and said, “Move!”
And Ginny moved on through the nightmare world of leaping shadows and strange twisted forms. Sometimes the way became extremely narrow and she had to bend her head to avoid scraping it on the roof and at other times they would enter a new cave, where the ceiling rose cathedral-like up into the blackness.
Ginny bent her head through a narrow archway and then stopped. Ahead of her stretched a natural bridge arching over a deep chasm below. It was a grotesque, narrow crooked bridge, a Hieronymus Bosch bridge, a bridge leading straight across hell. “Move!” came Barbara’s voice again and in one split second Ginny thought she knew how she was to be killed so that there would be no bullet hole in her body. She ran nimbly to the center of the arch and turned slowly to face Barbara. She was sure that Barbara had meant to prod her to the middle of the bridge and then trip her over.
And Barbara Briggs, looking quite her normal self, made a little clicking sound of irritation and then ordered, “Jump!”
“No,” said Ginny, her face a blank, pale oval in the flickering light. “You’ll need to shoot me first.”
Barbara gave a little resigned sigh and started to move slowly toward Ginny on the bridge.
Ginny began to shiver and shake and she felt her eyes beginning to blur with tears. Barbara would not shoot her. She, Ginny, would have to try to shove Barbara over before Barbara managed to do it to her.
It was all a horrible dream from which there was no awaking. The fat woman edging toward her in the ridiculous garden-party dress, the great yawning gulf below and the hundreds of little red eyes on the roof above.
Eyes!
Ginny took a deep breath and gathered her swimming senses together. She slowly began to unpin a large agate brooch in an antique silver setting from the throat of her blouse.
Barbara was nearly upon her. Sending up a hurried prayer Ginny threw the brooch straight up toward the roof and then covered her face with her hands.
Bats! Hundreds and hundreds of bats, startled from their resting places, swooped down on the two women. Ginny had been expecting it. Ginny had been praying for it.
Barbara had not.
Barbara Briggs gave one great scream of terror and wildly thrashed her plump arms around. There was a great descending scream and then a sickening crrrump.
Ginny sank to her knees, slowly, so very slowly, and then lay flat on her stomach on the thin rocky bridge.
She lay there in the blackness for a very long time while the sweat soaked her thin blouse and ran down her white cheeks and wave upon wave of shuddering seized her body.
Then painfully, inch by inch, she began to pull herself across the narrow chasm, trying not to rush, trying not to scramble to her feet and run.
After what seemed an age she felt on either side of her. Stone walls. She was safe! But how was she ever to find her way out of the caves? The lantern had gone plunging down into the depths with Barbara.
She could only feel her way forward and hope that somehow she would reach the entrance to the caves.
Suddenly she started and nearly fell down as a voice cried “Ginny!”, setting the echoes ringing. Ginny stood very still. Perhaps Barbara had had an accomplice. She would keep moving forward toward the sound of the voice and hope she would be able to recognize a friend. The echoes distorted the voice so much. Then she heard the voice shouting, “Harvey! Bring these men over here with the lanterns!”
Ginny could have wept with relief. It was a search party. She began to shout and scream and yell until she was hoarse, not pausing to hear if there was any answering shout.
Suddenly a great light sprang up i
n front of her, blinding her, and then she felt strong arms around her and Gerald’s voice crying, “Ginny. Oh, Ginny!” over and over again.
And Miss Ginny Bloggs raised her tear-streaked face and murmured, “Unromantic as usual, Gerald. You’re supposed to rescue me, you know,” and then fainted dead away.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The wedding of Miss Ginny Bloggs and Mr. Gerald de Fremney had been put off. Ginny had spent several days in bed after her adventure in the caves with a feverish cold that left her dull-eyed and listless.
Both servants and masters alike had joined together to persuade the police that Barbara’s death had been an unfortunate accident. At all costs, scandal must be kept from Courtney.
The day of the picnic Lord Gerald had recovered consciousness and had ridden hard to Courtney to inquire if the picnic party had returned. They had, and an anxious Barbara had informed him that Ginny was lying down in her room, as she had taken ill at the picnic.
Lord Gerald had taken his leave but had felt unaccountably restless. He had decided to walk over to the rotunda and see if the workmen had finished. The pillars were standing, tall, straight, and elegant in the twilight and he had stood, admiring the view. That was when he had seen a figure that looked like Ginny riding hell for leather from Courtney.
He had listened in dismay to Harvey’s explanation. The figure on the horse had been wearing Ginny’s clothes but had been riding like the very devil and Ginny, as he knew, would not ride faster than a gentle canter and would certainly not have gone out with the light falling to search the caves by herself.
He had rounded up the servants and ridden hard to the caves.
He would never forget his fear, never forget the awful sight of Ginny’s white, tear-stained face as she had stumbled toward him.
He could hardly believe even now that fussy little Barbara Briggs had stage-managed such a murder attempt. His own servants had been holding a poacher, who they had accused of tying the wire across the drive. The man was released when Gerald returned, his pockets still full of rabbits.