“He’s a little mad, I suppose. Religious maniac. He thinks everyone is destined for Hell Fire—except himself.”
“It seemed so amazing … when you have merely been generous to the child.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I feel sorry for his poor wife.”
“I suppose everyone must be. I thought she seemed very pleased that you were friendly towards her.”
“I’m a friendly person. I can’t tell you how pleased I am about the way things are working out here. Miss Milne is out, isn’t she?”
“How did you know?”
“Ha! I’ll tell you. Mrs. Garton, whom I happen to know, was visiting us yesterday and she was talking about sending her girls to England to school. I pointed out that that was something of an undertaking—particularly as things are now—and while she was waiting why didn’t she send the girls to the school which was really an excellent one since the new ladies had taken it over. I could vouch for that as I was sending Paul there. I said, ‘Why don’t you consult Miss Milne, who is the senior teacher?’ She said, ‘I’ll do that tomorrow.’ I said, ‘I daresay Miss Milne would come and see you when school is over.’ So there you are. That is why I knew I should find you alone.”
I felt a twinge of uneasiness. In spite of his urbanity and obvious desire to help, I felt vaguely suspicious of his motives.
“I expect you are wondering how Paul is getting on with his studies,” I said. “I can tell you that Miss Milne thinks he is very bright. She knows a good deal about children, of course.”
“And you, too.”
“The fact is I am not really needed here. It’s a post for one … at the moment.”
“And you came out because you wanted to get away from England.”
“It seemed an exciting adventure.”
“And you were not very excited by life at home?”
He was looking at me quizzically. What does he know? I was asking myself. I could not quite understand the expression in his eyes. I fancied they were a little mocking. I did not understand this man. In spite of his flattering words and his attitude of gallantry, I felt he was taunting me, and that he knew it had been imperative for me to get away.
I had to turn the conversation away from myself.
“I was surprised to hear that Paul is not your son.”
“Oh … did you not realise that?”
“But … I think you said he was your son. Or that was how I understood it. You spoke of him as though …”
“He is my stepson, but I wanted him to regard me as his father. When I married his mother I felt I had a duty to him.”
“He remembers his father too well to accept someone else, I imagine. Children are faithful, you know.”
“I realise that now.” He smiled at me deprecatingly. “But I shall go on trying.”
“If he had been a little younger,” I said, “it would have been easier. He might have forgotten his father and have been ready to accept you.”
“I know.”
“How old was he when his father died?”
“About five, I think.”
“He’s nine now, isn’t he? It was only four years ago.”
“Yes, it happened rather quickly.”
“You must have married his mother soon after.”
“Well, it was more than a year … eighteen months perhaps.”
“I should imagine the speed of it all was too much for him. At seven his mother dies … and at nine he has not only a stepfather but a stepmother. Oh, I understand how difficult he must find it to adjust to all the changes.”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that. It seems that Margarete has been dead for a long time. Margarete … oh, she was such a sweet and simple girl! She could not deal with everything that had to be done when her first husband died. I helped her with her affairs. She was lonely and I was sorry for her. We slipped into marriage. And then … she died.”
“Was she ill?”
“When she lost her husband she was quite, quite bewildered. She felt she couldn’t cope with life. She was the sort of woman who needs someone to look after her. I did that as best I could. But it had all been a terrible shock for her. She began … well … please don’t mention this to anyone … but she began to drink a little … at first. I suppose she found some solace in that. I did not realise what a hold it was getting on her. She did it secretly, you see. But it was undermining her health, and one morning she was found …”
“Found?”
He turned away, as though to hide his emotion. He reached for my hand and gripped it hard. Then he said: “Found, at the bottom of the staircase.”
I knew which staircase. I understood now Paul’s obsession with it.
“She had fallen,” he went on. “It was an accident. I was greatly relieved when nothing came out about the secret drinking. They thought she had tripped over the carpet. One of the stair rods was loose. However, she fell from top to bottom. Her neck was broken.”
“What an awful thing to happen! And you had only been married for such a short time. Poor Paul.”
“He was dreadfully upset. It’s changed him. Made him moody. He misses his mother.”
“I understand that. And then you married Myra … quite soon after.”
“Myra is a sweet and gentle person. I think she reminded me of Margarete.” He was silent for a while and then he said: “I’m rather worried about Myra. I think she may be a little homesick. Do you think she is happy here?”
I hesitated and he went on: “Please tell me the truth.”
“Well … I don’t think she is entirely happy. I think she is afraid of disappointing you.”
“Disappointing me! Why should she be?”
“She is quiet and a little nervous, and you …”
“I am the opposite.”
“Well, you are, aren’t you?”
“I thought she would enjoy a little freedom. Her mother was a bit of a gorgon … and in that village … well, it was hardly riotously merry!”
“Perhaps she does not want to be riotously merry.”
“I thought I could get her away from it … make her happy, Diana … May I call you Diana? Miss Grey is so formal and we are good friends and we shall see more and more of each other here. I wanted to talk to you about her. I want you to help her.”
“In what way can I help?”
“I want you to see more of her. Come to the house. Go out with her … shopping … and all the things you ladies like to do. Be a friend to her. Come and stay at the house. Miss Milne is so efficient. She can manage without you now and then. I’d be so grateful if you could … get closer to Myra. You’re someone from home … you’re already friends. Try to find out what will make her happy.”
I could not understand him. He had always given me the impression that he believed himself capable of dealing with any situation. And here he was, almost humbly pleading for help.
I was intrigued. I had always been interested in people and their motives, the reasons why they acted as they did, the manner in which they often covered up their true intentions with subterfuge. Lilias was so different, so realistic, so practical. I really wanted to know what went on in that house. It fascinated me; Paul, the staircase, the hasty marriages, the strange death of Margarete. I could find life in the schoolhouse a little dull. What suited Lilias did not necessarily suit me, and I was not going to be as dedicated to the school as she was.
“Will you do this for me … for Myra?” he asked.
“I should very much like to help if I can.”
“Oh, you can. I know you can. Myra needs a friend. She needs you.”
I said: “It takes two to make a friendship. It may be that Myra will like to make her own.”
“But she is already your friend. She brightens at the thought of your visits. Please … Diana … come and see us often.”
“Of course I will.”
“Get her to confide in you. You can help her.”
It was then that Lilias returned.<
br />
“Two more pupils!” she cried out, then: “Oh … Mr. Lestrange.”
“And I know who they are,” he said, rising and shaking her hand. “It was I who suggested to Mrs. Garton that she should see you.”
“Thank you. How kind …”
“I am so pleased it has turned out to your satisfaction,” he said. “As a matter of fact I was just on the point of leaving. I hope you will both come and see us very soon. What about luncheon next Sunday? It has to be a Sunday, does it not?”
“Oh yes, that’s the best day because of school,” said Lilias. “I should enjoy it … and you, Diana?”
“Yes, thank you very much. It will be a great pleasure.” When he had gone, Lilias said: “Why did he call? Surely not just to ask us to lunch?”
“He’s worried about his wife.”
“Oh?”
“He thinks she’s lonely … homesick. He wants us to be friends. He really seems concerned about her.” “Well, he married her, didn’t he?” “I’ve promised I’ll go and see her more often.” Lilias nodded and said it was time we thought about getting supper.
IT WAS AFTER SCHOOL. Lilias was marking essays which she had set for the older children.
She said: “The subject was ‘The Most Important Thing That Ever Happened to Me.’ I thought that would stretch their imaginations a little. ‘The Day My Mother Gave Me Thomas, My Terrier.’ ‘A Picnic with the Wagons’ and such like. But here’s one that’s different. Paul’s. He’s got a real touch of the dramatic, that boy. It’s interesting. Here, read it.”
I took the exercise book from her and studied Paul’s clear, round handwriting.
“The Kimberley Treasure,” I read.
“The most important thing that ever happened to me was when my father found the Kimberley Treasure. The Kimberley Treasure is a diamond. It weighs eight hundred and fifty carats and that is a lot—almost more than any other diamond has weighed before. We were ever so excited when he found it because we would be rich when he sold it.
“I saw it. It looked like a lump of stone, but my father told me it was a diamond all right. I’d see when they got to polishing and working on it. My mother said, ‘Now we’re all right.’
“The others were jealous of us because they all wanted to find some big diamond that would make them rich for the rest of their lives. Then somebody said it was unlucky. Big diamonds can bring bad luck, they said. But we didn’t believe them. We thought they were just jealous because they had not found the Kimberley Treasure.
“My mother said we should sell it and give up mining. But my father said that there must be more where that came from. He wanted to be not just rich but very rich. He was sure he knew where to find another diamond like the Kimberley Treasure. He went to look for it and he was killed in the mine. So it was right about the Kimberley Treasure. It was unlucky.
“My mother cried a lot. She didn’t care about the old diamond. What was the use of it if he was dead? But she would not sell the diamond. She said he wanted to keep it so she would too.
“Then she married my stepfather and he said what was the good of keeping a diamond like that just to look at it? Diamonds were comfort and riches. So he sold the diamond and we came to Riebeeck House. He missed the bad luck because the diamond had never really been his. But my mother had owned it, so she had the bad luck. My stepfather turned the diamond into Riebeeck House, but my mother had the bad luck and so she fell down the staircase and died.
“That is why the day my father found the Kimberley Treasure was the most important in my life.”
I dropped the book and stared at Lilias.
“What an extraordinary essay!”
“I thought so. The boy has imagination and a rather powerful way of expressing it.”
“I don’t think he’s imagining that. That is just how it happened.”
“Do you think it’s true?”
“I know that his mother married Roger Lestrange soon after her husband’s death and that she died by falling down a staircase.”
“And soon after he married Myra?”
“Yes. What do you think of it?”
“That that boy has a certain talent for expressing himself.”
I SAID: “That was an interesting essay you wrote, Paul.”
His eyes lit up. “Did you like it?”
“Very much. That diamond. It must have been exciting when your father found it. You were very young then. Do you remember very much about it?”
“Oh yes. When things like that happen, it’s so important. Everybody … however young … gets to know. Everything was different.”
“Different from what?”
“From what it was before.”
“What was it like then?”
“It was nice … nicer really. We were all together … my Daddy, my Mummy and me. We were there … the three of us … and neither of them are there anymore.”
“It sometimes happens like that, Paul.”
“Did you have a mother?”
“Yes. She died.”
“How did she die?”
“She was ill for a long time … and then she died as we knew she would.”
“And your father?”
I felt myself shrink. “He … he died also.”
He said nothing for a while. Nor did I. Too many unpleasant reminders were chasing themselves round in my mind.
“They said it was unlucky,” he said at length.
“What?”
“The diamond. Diamonds can be unlucky if they’re big. I suppose it is because everybody wants them. They were all right before they found that. My father ought to have sold it. We ought to have gone away. But he had to go on looking for more just because he’d found that one. He wouldn’t have died if he hadn’t gone looking for more. He left it to my mother. So it was there and she took the bad luck with it.”
“That’s pure fancy, you know, Paul. Things like diamonds are not unlucky in themselves.”
He looked stubborn. “She had it and she kept it and a lot of people wanted it. There was another man who wanted to marry her. It was all because of the diamond.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“I just know. And then she married him. He had the diamond then. But he sold it. And he bought Riebeeck House. But the diamond had been hers … so … she died.”
“Perhaps she was not well before she died.”
“She was well.”
“Tell me, Paul, what it is you have on your mind.”
“She died because she fell down the stairs. She was all right. Why did you think she was not well?”
I could not mention to him that she had been drinking.
He went on: “If she hadn’t had the diamond, he wouldn’t have married her. There wouldn’t have been that house. She wouldn’t have fallen down the stairs. It was all because of the diamond.” I thought he was going to burst into tears. “That’s why the most important thing in my life is the Kimberley Treasure.”
“Oh, Paul,” I said. “You mustn’t think like that. Diamonds can’t hurt anybody.”
“Not by themselves … but what they mean.”
“How could a diamond have made your mother fall down the stairs?”
“I don’t mean that the diamond did it. But because of it, someone might have …”
“What?”
“I don’t know. I only wish my father had never found it. I wish we could have gone on … finding little ones … little ones that were enough to keep us happy.”
“Paul,” I said firmly. “You have to stop brooding on this. It’s over. It isn’t going to help to go on thinking about it … making up what might have been. Try to grow away from the past. There’s so much that’s good for you. Miss Milne thinks you are going to do well at school.”
He looked at me sadly, frustration in his eyes which I knew meant: nobody understands.
I felt I had failed him. It was cowardly, but had I been afraid that he might have said too much?
Figures on a Staircase
I WENT TO SEE MYRA as Roger had suggested.
“Go in the afternoon,” Lilias had advised. “I can manage for two hours on my own. I’ll set the older ones an essay or arithmetic problems which keep them occupied and I can easily look after the others. I’ll enjoy it. It will be a challenge.”
Myra was delighted to see me and I spent a pleasant afternoon with her. She was a little reticent and I did not probe; we talked lightly, mentioning Lakemere and village affairs. I remembered some amusing incidents and was able to make her smile. When I left she begged me to come again.
When I returned to the schoolhouse Lilias said: “I don’t see why you shouldn’t go now and then. I managed very well. It’s not really difficult.”
“The fact is, you could do very well without me here.”
“Oh no. I should be desperately lonely. It’s wonderful to have you to talk things over with. In any case, I shouldn’t have come out here without you and I think it is one of the best things I ever did. John is such a good friend and so interested in the school. I’m happier than I have been for a long time. I felt so frustrated at home after that terrible affair of the necklace. But I do believe I’m getting over it now. How do you feel?”
“Oh … I don’t think I shall ever forget.”
“Yours was such a terrible ordeal, but you will get over it … in time. It’s nice that you meet people. How lucky we are that John is here to help us.”
“Yes, we are.”
“And your seeing Myra will be good for her and you. You must go again soon.”
I did and it was on my third visit that Myra began to talk a little more freely, and I felt I could ask her if she were worried about anything.
She hesitated for a while and then she said: “It’s this house. There’s something about it. Do you feel it?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s as though it has two parts. One just an ordinary, normal sort of house … and the other that’s … haunted. Sometimes, Diana, I feel that she is still here.”
“Who?”
“Margarete … Roger’s first wife.”
“She’s dead, Myra.”
“But some people think the dead can return. Sometimes I feel … that she can’t rest. She was his wife … just as I am. I think she must have been rather like me. Quiet … not very attractive.”
Snare of Serpents Page 27