“Ware speaking, sir.”
“I am speaking from the country—from Rossleigh. I have left my keys behind.”
“Oh, have you, by gum!” said Jeremy to himself. Aloud he said,
“Your keys, sir? Where?”
Mannister’s voice reverberated angrily.
“You do not imagine that I left them behind on purpose! It was an unfortunate inadvertence on my part. I was hurrying to catch a train, and at the last moment I had occasion to open the safe. I had just relocked it, when I was called to the telephone. As I rang off, James announced my taxi. I must have put the keys down upon your table.”
Jeremy drew back from the mouthpiece. The table was a model of neatness. There was no cover for so much as a single key. He leaned forward again.
“They’re not on this table, sir. If you’ll hold on, I’ll have a look round the room.”
The keys were not on Mannister’s own table, or on the mantelpiece, or on any of the book-shelves, neither had they slipped down into one of the deep chairs.
Jeremy came back to the telephone.
“I can’t see them, sir. Are you sure?”
The wire thrummed with Mannister’s exasperation.
“Of course I am sure! I went straight from the library to the taxi. They are in the room somewhere, and they must be found.”
“I’ll do my best, sir. M. Brunon has not rung up yet.”
Mannister appeared to feel no interest in M. Brunon. He said “Tchah!” and rang off.
Jeremy hung up the receiver and walked over to the hearth, where he stood looking down into the fire.
So Mannister had lost his keys. … Had he? And if he had, why? … It looked to Jeremy uncommonly like a variant of the open safe plant. You can either leave your safe open, and then leave your secretary alone with it, or you can lock your safe, leave the key about, and arrange for your secretary to be in the room with the key and the safe, waiting for a telephone call from Paris. If there is anything missing out of the safe, who should be guilty but Jeremy Ware?
Jeremy liked it less and less. He thought what a fool he was not to have cleared out before it came to this. He said, “Oh damn!” and drove a furious kick at the fire. The embers scattered, and the charred log broke into brilliant flame.
Then he turned and saw Rachel standing in the middle of the room looking at him.
CHAPTER XXVIII
SHE STOOD IN THAT still way she had, but the first glance told Jeremy that this time she was not asleep. She wore black shoes and stockings on the feet which before had gone bare and silent over the stone flags in the old cellar. She must have moved almost as silently now, for he had not heard her come. Something had made him turn, but it was not a sound. Her dark hair no longer flowed in loose curls, but was gathered into a knot at the nape of her neck. The line of the throat was clear and fine. Instead of a nightgown, she wore a thin black dress which left her neck and arms bare. A shawl of crimson silk trailed from one shoulder to the floor, as if it had slipped just then when Jeremy turned. Perhaps she had moved, quite silently like a wild thing that has been startled, and the shawl had slipped. It had a knotted fringe, and the colour reminded him of old Cousin Emily’s embroidery silks. There was a skein which he had wound—it was just that colour. Cousin Emily’s voice came to him across the years: “That is what I use for damask roses. It is just the right colour.” Rachel’s shawl was just the right colour for damask roses.
Her eyes met Jeremy’s, and at once he had the strangest sensation. It was as if some very sensitive place had been lightly and quickly touched. The sensation was not unpleasant, and yet it was very nearly pain. He felt his thoughts a little unsteady, as they are when one has had a shock.
He came forward, not knowing what to say, and so said only her name.
“Rachel!”
Her eyes held his in a look that was at once quiet, steady, and distressed, and it came to him that she had known he would be here.
He said the first thing that came into his head.
“How did you come?”
And quite suddenly that young, earnest look of hers was broken by the prettiest quick smile. It was like seeing a piece of dark water ruffle into silver. The ripple touched her voice as she said,
“You didn’t hear me come?”
“Not a sound. I believe you floated through the door. I’m not sure yet that you’re not something out of a dream, you know.”
The smile came and went. She had very white teeth: Her lip trembled a little. Her eyes shone, and crinkled at the corners. And then the water was dark again. The young, mournful look came back.
“I didn’t come—I was here all the time—behind the curtain.” She half turned to point at the window, and Jeremy saw how white her arm was. But her hand was brown. She might almost have been wearing a little brown glove. Forehead, cheek and chin had the same touch of the sun.
He thought, “She never tanned like that in town.” And with that he remembered the old coat she had worn in the Park, with its salt water stains. He said aloud,
“And how did you get behind the curtain, if that isn’t a secret?”
She began to smile again, and then stopped. She said,
“It is a secret.” And then, “I had to come. I had to see you.”
All this time neither of them had moved, but now Jeremy suddenly came nearer. He had the feeling that she might vanish. And then he knew that this time she had come of her own free, waking will, and that she would stay until she had fulfilled whatever purpose it was that had brought her. He came and stood beside her.
“I had to see you,” she said.
“Well, I’m here,” said Jeremy.
“Yes, I know. I came here to tell you something.”
“Did you?”
She said, “Yes,” and they were both silent.
Jeremy did not mind how long the silence lasted. It shut them in together, and it was full of impalpable waves and currents of feeling which flowed and eddied about them. It was like the pause before a burst of music, or the stillness which is waiting for the dawn. Without any words, he felt that they had come nearer than he had ever come before to any human being. It was a nearness which was absolute. After what might have been a moment, or a very long time, he said,
“What is it, Rachel? What did you want to tell me?”
All at once she had gone farther away. It hurt. Perhaps it hurt her too. She looked mournfully at him and said,
“It isn’t easy.”
“Come and sit down. I keep thinking you’re going to vanish.”
“I won’t. I came here to tell you.”
He pushed the leather-covered couch nearer to the fire, and they sat on it side by side. She had caught up her shawl. It crossed her shoulders now and flowed over her knees. The damask colour, and her black dress, and the whiteness of her skin where the sun had not caught it put Jeremy in mind of the story of the princess who was as white as snow, and as red as blood, and as black as ebony—“The Queen sat sewing at her window, and as she sewed, she pricked her finger and a drop of her blood fell on the snow that lay on the ebony casement, and the Queen wished that she might have a daughter who would be as red as blood, and as white as snow, and as black as ebony.”
Jeremy smiled with his eyes and said,
“How old are you, Rachel?”
“I am nineteen.”
“I was thinking that you had come out of a fairy tale.”
Her lip quivered suddenly.
“It’s not a nice fairy tale, Jeremy.”
“Isn’t it, my dear?”
He saw a shiver go over her.
“No.”
She shivered again, and he said quickly,
“You’re cold.”
“Yes.”
“It’s those horrible cellars.”
“It’s not th
at kind of cold—it’s being afraid.”
“Are you afraid?”
“Yes.”
Jeremy put out a strong, warm hand and covered hers.
“Won’t you tell me about it, Rachel?”
Her hand felt very small and cold. It quivered under his as she said,
“Some of it.”
“You’re not afraid of me?”
Her smile came and went like the ripple on water, a ripple just touched by the sun. Her eyes looked into his.
She said, “No,” and the most absurd elation filled Jeremy.
“Do you realize,” he said, “that I don’t even know what your name is? Won’t you begin by telling me that?”
“Rachel Carew. You won’t tell anyone?”
“Is it a secret?”
“Yes.” She gave a little shuddering sigh. “I do hate secrets. Don’t you?”
“It won’t be so bad if you’ll tell me,” said Jeremy. “It won’t really, Rachel.”
“Yes, I must tell you. I came here to tell you.” She put up her free hand and pushed back her hair. “You won’t ask questions—will you?”
“I don’t know,” said Jeremy soberly. “I don’t think I can promise.”
She let her hand fall again, as if some defence had failed her.
“You mustn’t ask. I’ll tell you why I came. You know, they lock me into my room, so they think it’s quite safe—they can talk, or they can go out, and they think I’m safe. You know, I do walk in my sleep. It began like that.”
“Yes, I know,” said Jeremy.
An extraordinary warmth filled all his thoughts. A spring day with the sun shining and the wind blowing—trees not yet green, but flushed with sap—hedges full of rosy twigs and little wagging catkins—an April sky brimful of light. That’s what it felt like in Mannister’s library on a January night between ten and eleven of the clock. That’s what it felt like in Jeremy’s thoughts.
“So they locked me in. But I can’t stand it—it’s the most dreadful feeling. ‘Prisoners and captives’—that piece always made me cry in church ever since I was little. So I found another key. My room is the back attic, and the box-room key fits it. I hid it. No one knows. They think I can’t get out.”
“I see. Who are ‘they’?”
The corners of her eyes just crinkled as she shook her head.
“You mustn’t ask.”
“Is it the Dart woman who locks you in, Rachel?”
She pulled her hand away, but not before he had felt how it quivered at the name. Something broke in him like warm rain.
“Rachel—is she unkind to you?” He had both her hands and was holding them to his face. “What does she do to you? Tell me at once!”
She dissolved into tremulous laughter.
“No—no—she doesn’t do anything.”
“Then why are you afraid? She makes you afraid.”
“She doesn’t—really. She’s fond of me. She’s my old nurse.”
“By gum!” said Jeremy to himself. He kept tight hold of her hands and kissed the coldest one.
“Then why are you afraid? You’re afraid of someone.”
“I’m afraid about you,” said Rachel. “It’s very nice of you to kiss my hands, but will you please stop doing it now, because—”
“‘Because’ is a bad reason,” said Jeremy. “Why are you afraid about me?”
She leaned towards him then with a shadow in her eyes.
“Did someone ring you up just now?”
“If you were behind the curtain, you heard me talking.”
“Yes, I did. He was asking you about something. You were looking for something. Was it a key?”
“The key of the safe,” said Jeremy.
She pulled her hands away and put them over her face. It was as if she had run into another room and shut the door on something she was afraid of. But only for a moment. Her hands dropped. She looked at him steadily.
“Jeremy, the key is in your pocket.”
“What?”
“I think it is.”
“How can it be?”
“Won’t you look?”
He stood up and went through his pockets. Mannister’s key-ring was in the left-hand jacket pocket. He fished it out by the chain and stared at it.
“Well, Pm damned!” he said. “But how? How in the world?”
He remembered the man who had butted into him in the fog and clung to him coughing. A pickpocket’s trick. Only this time something had been put in instead of taken out. He turned on Rachel.
“How did you know?”
A deep distressed blush burned in her cheeks.
“I—listened.”
“What did you hear?”
She bent her head. Her hands twisted in her lap.
“They want—to hurt you. It’s wicked. The first time I heard by accident. They’re going to send me away abroad—they won’t tell me where. It frightens me, so I came down at night to listen. I thought if they found me, they would think I had walked in my sleep. I hid the key of my door, and I came down. They weren’t talking about me—they were talking about you. They were going to leave the safe open and say you had taken a letter out of it. The letter would be in your drawer. It was wicked, I dreamt about it over and over. One day I woke up early, and there was a key in my hand. I dreamt I came here and showed you the letter and locked the safe. Did I do that?”
“Yes, my dear.”
She looked up at him for a moment. The hand that had held the key lay open on the crimson silk of her shawl.
“I thought I had. It’s dreadful to listen, but I did listen again. They didn’t know who had locked the safe. It frightened them. They couldn’t understand how it had happened. I had put the key back, you see. They wouldn’t try that way again. They made another plan. You were to be alone, waiting for a telephone call. The keys would be in your pocket and papers out of the safe would be hidden in your room.”
“What?” said Jeremy.
CHAPTER XXIX
HE STOOD LOOKING DOWN at her, half incredulous, half horrified. That lasted only for a moment. A conviction that what she said was true took bleak possession of his mind. She saw him frown, and heard the altered note in his voice as he said,
“But good Lord—why?”
She said in a quick, frightened way,
“I don’t know. They’re frightened too. It’s because they’re frightened. But it’s wicked, wicked, wicked”
Something in her voice hurt him. That deep sensitive place was touched. This time it hurt. He had a momentary sense of loss of balance. Then he spoke.
“You really heard this?”
“Yes.”
“Papers were to be hidden in my room?”
“Yes.”
“Who was going to put them there, and how were they going to get in?”
“They’ve got a key.” Her eyes were wide and bright. Suddenly she sprang up and caught his arm, pressing against him and saying in an urgent sobbing way, “Why didn’t you go—on Sunday when I told you? You ought to have gone when I told you.”
“I’m to run away?” said Jeremy. “Is that it? I’ll see them damned first!”
She pressed closer, quivering with earnestness. The crimson shawl fell soft against his hand.
“No—no, you can’t fight them! They’ll hurt you! I don’t want them to hurt you!”
Jeremy had his arm round her. When she trembled like that, he felt able to fight anyone. It was a most exhilarating feeling. He said,
“Oh, Rachel darling, do you really want me to run away?”
“Yes—yes—yes I”
“And leave you behind?”
She caught her breath and said “Yes” again, but faintly.
“What do you think everyone would say if I ran away, you dar
ling little idiot? Why, it would be as good as a confession. Do you know what I think? I think that’s what they’re after. I think they want to stampede me. Don’t you see, if they could get me to bolt, it would play right into their hands?”
He thought to himself, “By gum, that’s it! They’re in a tight place, and they’re trying to rattle me. If I can be got to bolt, they’ll put the Denny business on to me, and Lord knows what else.”
Rachel was leaning back against his arm. She said piteously,
“What can you do? I’m so frightened.”
“Well, the first thing to do is to get those papers back—I suppose they’ll have planted them by now. And then”—he laughed—“we can think of somewhere to put the keys, I’d like Mannister to find them himself, and I’d like to see his face when he finds them. I suppose he’s in it.” He felt her shrink. His arm tightened. “Rachel, tell me the whole thing, and let me take you away.”
Rosalind would take her in. Would she? Of course she would.
“I can’t,” she said.
“Why can’t you? It’s horrible to think of you with people like that. What hold have they got over you? Won’t you tell me?”
“I can’t.”
He could only just hear the words. He pulled her round to face him, and saw that she was pale to her lips, and her eyes dark with tears.
“What’s that woman Asphodel to you? She’s not your mother?”
Two big drops brimmed up and fell. Her eyelids closed. The long wet lashes made her look very young.
She said, “No,” and caught her breath in a sob.
Jeremy felt the most immense relief.
“Thank the Lord!” he said. “That’s what I’ve been afraid of. Not that it would have made any difference, but it would have been a most ghastly complication. I say, darling, don’t shake like that—it’s all right. I’m not going to let you go back.”
He felt her stiffen in his arm.
“I’ve got to go back. You must go and get those papers. Jeremy, will you let me go?”
“No, I won’t.”
“Jeremy, will you please let me go?”
He put his other arm round her too.
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