Victoria Holt

by The Shivering Sands

  On the way home I thought of poor Sylvia and I wondered if she had caught her cold by going into the copse to shine a light in the ruined walls.

  She would never have the courage. But would she? She was a strange girl—the one I knew least about.

  ***

  Godfrey was leaning against the Stacy vault. It was afternoon of the same day and my walk had led me there. We had fallen into a habit of being there at certain times of the day in case the other should turn up. The grass grew long between the gravestones and there were trees which gave a certain privacy.

  “How’s the invalid?” I asked.

  “Poor Sylvia! Not very well. The doctor says her temperature is too high and she’s to stay in bed for a few days.”

  “Do you think it might be the result of getting wet in the rain?”

  “She’s had a cold for several days. She often has colds, poor child.”

  “What do you think of Sylvia?”

  “I don’t think of her.”

  “Shame on you after all her mother’s efforts. I’m sorry for her and I wonder what effect it’s having on her.”

  “It?” he said. “Do you mean her mamma?”

  “I do. Sylvia always seems so cowed. Do you think that someone who’s treated as she is might want to assert herself in some way?”

  “I’m sure she would like to assert herself if she could.”

  “What about going to the ruin and waving a lantern about?”

  “As a ghost, do you mean? But ghosts are so anonymous. So where’s the glory?”

  “In knowing that people are afraid to go there because of her. In knowing that she is the one who is making them all uneasy.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t quite see where the glory comes in.”

  I felt a little impatient with him. “Of course you don’t. You’ve never had to make people notice you. You’re so…so normal.”

  He burst out laughing. “You sound as though there’s something rather disreputable about that.”

  “No, too reputable. But I want to understand Sylvia.”

  “That’s easy. She’s just a mouse of a girl with a great big tomcat of a mother always waiting at the mousehole to catch her.”

  I laughed. “More like a bulldog than a tomcat. And I’m sure we’re both wrong to change her sex. The female of the species is always more deadly than the male.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “In the case of the vicar and his wife…yes. But I want to think of Sylvia. Do you know it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s the one who is doing the haunting. Frustrated mouse…seeking self-expression…seeking to form her own personality…seeking a chance of gaining power. That’s it: Power. She who is made uncomfortable so often now has the opportunity of discomfiting others. It fits. Besides, how did she become ill? By going out in the rain when she already had a cold.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Godfrey thoughtfully. “When I came in last night after going to visit Mrs. Cory…”

  “The same who had previously received soup through Sylvia’s bounty?”

  “The same. When I returned from visiting her and hung up my clothes in the cloakroom I saw that Sylvia’s boots were there also…saturated.”

  “So she had been out, too. Could she have done so without her parents knowing?”

  “Yes, if she had retired to bed early as she might have done—having a cold—and slipped out afterwards.”

  “We’re beginning to get somewhere,” I said. “So it’s Sylvia asserting herself, not someone trying to drive Napier away. The very next chance I get I’m going to catch that girl.”

  “Mr. Wilmot. Mr. Wilmot…” It was Mrs. Rendall’s voice, cooing sweetly yet somehow invincible.

  “You’d better go and take tea with her,” I said. “For if you don’t she will search until she finds you.”

  He grinned and went off.

  I stood for some time looking at the memorial to Beau, thinking that I should be glad if it did prove to be Sylvia asserting herself.

  ***

  As I moved through the long grass a voice cried: “Hello!” And the gypsy seemed to materialize before me. She had in fact been lying in the long grass and I wondered if she had overheard my conversation with Godfrey.

  She grinned at me.

  “Where did you come from?” I asked.

  She waved a hand. “I’ve a right, ain’t I? This place is free to the dead and the living alike…music teachers and gypsies.”

  “You appeared so suddenly.”

  “I was wanting to have a talk with you.”

  “With me?”

  “You look surprised. Why not? I like to know what’s going on up there.” She jerked her head in the direction of Lovat Stacy. “How do you like working there? I worked in the kitchens once. The cook they had…ran me off my feet, she did…or tried to. I was always missing when there was taters to peel. I never could abide peeling taters. Lazy good-for-nothing, that old cook used to call me.” She winked at me. “But I found something better to do than peel taters.”

  “I am sure you did,” I said coldly and turned away.

  “Hey. Not so fast. Don’t you want to talk to me about them up there…about Nap, for a start?”

  “I can’t believe you would be able to tell me anything I want to know.”

  She burst out laughing. “Do you know,” she said, “I like you…in a way. You remind me of myself. Oh that makes you sit up and listen don’t it. How can a high class lady music teacher be like a gypsy? Don’t ask me. Ask Nap.”

  “If you’ll excuse me I have work to do…”

  “But I won’t excuse you. Don’t you know it’s rude to push a lady off when she wants to talk with you? Tell me about Allegra. She’s a little beauty, wouldn’t you say? A bit different from that Alice. I wouldn’t change Allegra for Alice not for a mint of money. I’ve got four of them now…girls…all girls. Now that’s a funny thing. Some has girls and can’t get boys. That’s me. I’ve seen it in the cards every time. ‘It’ll be a girl again’ I say and so it is. But Allegra…she plays the piano lovely, does she? Do you know she’s the image of what I was at her age. Only I had me wits about me more than she has. Had to. I was a woman at her age. Why it was then I came to work in the kitchens…What made me do that? Wouldn’t you like to know? Oh, wouldn’t you like to know! But I reckon you can guess…though you might guess wrong.”

  I had no desire to continue this conversation so I assumed a look of indifference and glanced at my watch.

  She came closer to me and said: “I saw you with me lord from the vicarage just now. Very nice and friendly. I’ve heard talk too the way the wind blows there. Good luck, I says. Why don’t you take that luck, eh, and get out while you can? You’ve been warned, you know. Can’t you take a hint?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You should know after being nearly snuffed out in that old cottage. And would have been but for Miss Alice. I reckon Amy Lincroft was very proud of her daughter on that day.” She laughed aloud. “Oh, very proud.”

  “If you know anything I should be glad if you told me.”

  “Gypsies! They’re an ignorant lot. Don’t know anything, but they can warn you. Ever heard of the Gypsy’s warning?”

  “What do you know about the fire at the cottage?”

  “I wasn’t there. How could I know? But I’ll tell you this much. People are not what they seem. There’s Amy Lincroft for one. Why don’t you get away from here? Why don’t you marry his lordship and go? You won’t though, will you? Not yet. Mettlesome, that’s you. You’ve got to know. But tell me about Allegra.”

  I thought: She is talking as gypsies will talk, feigning some second sight which is denied to the rest of us—and I suppose a woman who has a narrow escape from death seems a good subject.

  In fact
she was really a mother eager for news of her child.

  “Allegra is a very intelligent girl but she’s rather lazy and won’t concentrate. If she did I think she would do very well indeed.”

  She nodded and then went on: “In the house there you see the way things are. Sir William, is he fond of her? Is he going to find a husband for her?”

  “She is young yet.”

  “Young! Why at her age…but no matter. Is he fond of her?”

  “Sir William has been ill since I’ve been in the house. I haven’t seen him and Allegra together.”

  She was fierce suddenly. “He’ll have to remember her. After all she’s his granddaughter.”

  “I’m sure he does not forget it.”

  “Wrong side of the blanket,” she said. “It counts. But she’s the granddaughter for all that…no getting away from it. I tell you what I’m afraid of. That Amy Lincroft. She’s a cunning one, she is. She’ll try to push her Alice in and my Allegra out.” She narrowed her eyes and looked wicked. “If she does, I’ll…I’ll…I’ll make her sorry she was ever born and Alice was ever born too.”

  “I’m sure Mrs. Lincroft couldn’t be kinder to Allegra.”

  “Kind! When she’s trying to get her pushed aside for her Alice! She’d better not.”

  “I don’t think anyone’s being pushed aside. I’m sure both Alice and Allegra will be provided for.”

  I moved impatiently, asking myself what I was doing standing in a graveyard arguing with a gypsy.

  “But suppose Nap was to get pushed out again.”

  “Pushed out?”

  “Well he was before. Sent away. Sir William couldn’t bear the sight of him. There was talk then that he’d disinherit him because he’d shot Beau. Well then who’d inherit? If Nap’s pushed out? He has a granddaughter, my Allegra. So…”

  “I really must be going.”

  “Listen!” Her eyes were pleading and she was suddenly beautiful. I could see in that moment why Napier had fallen into temptation. “Keep your eye on Allegra, will you? Tell me if anyone tries to hurt her.”

  “I shall certainly do my best to see that she is not harmed. And now I must go.”

  She smiled at me, nodding slowly.

  “I’ll be on the watch,” she said. “No one’s going to drive me away. They daren’t. I’ve told them so. Neither Nap—and he’d be glad to see me go—nor Amy Lincroft. I’ve told them both and they know I mean it.”

  “Good day,” I said firmly and walked toward the lych-gate and the road.

  ***

  That evening I saw the light again. Alice had come to my room to bring me the first of the pillowcases she had been embroidering.

  “I wanted to see whether you like this kind of flower. It’s pansies. Pansies are for thoughts, they say. But you could have another flower. I wonder whether it would be nice to have all your pillowcases with different flowers.”

  “Why, Alice,” I said, “you’ve worked it beautifully.”

  She smiled with pleasure. “I’m so glad you like it, Mrs. Verlaine. You’ve been so kind to me and to Mamma. Mamma was only saying the other day how glad she was that you had come here.”

  “And you,” I said, “saved my life. That’s something one never forgets, Alice.”

  She turned pink and replied: “But I just happened to be there. It would have been the same with anyone who had been on the spot. They would have done the same.”

  “It was very brave to go into a burning house.”

  “I didn’t think of it. I only thought that you were in there and how awful it would be…But my mother says we shouldn’t talk of it. It’s better for you not to think of it…if you can help it. Allegra’s pillowcase is coming along very nicely now. She does try, you know—but I think sometimes she feels she has to be naughty. It’s on account of her unfortunate birth. Mine was unfortunate, too, in a way. It would have been so much more respectable of Mamma and Sir William to have waited…and then married. But you see, he never married her. It was because she gave in first, but you mustn’t think badly of her for that. It was because she loved him. May I sit in your window seat? I love window seats. There are lots in this house. What a lovely view you have across the copse.”

  “Yes, it is a beautiful view. I have to be grateful to your mother for…giving me this room.”

  “All the rooms are beautiful but naturally Mamma would want you to have one of the best. Poor Sylvia! I do hope she is better. She looked ill when we saw her. She could hardly speak to us and the doctor says she’s to have at least three days in bed. I’m going to collect some books to take over for her tomorrow.”

  “Does she enjoy reading?” I asked dubiously.

  “No. But that’s all the more reason I should take her books, isn’t it? Then she will learn to like it and improve her mind.” Alice caught her breath. I took a step to the window and saw the light flash.

  “There!” she cried. “It’s there again.” She stood up. “Would you like to come to my room, Mrs. Verlaine?”

  “No thank you, Alice,” I said.

  She nodded gravely and went to the door.

  “I’m glad you saw it tonight,” she said, “because I believe you thought it was Sylvia doing it. And now you know she’s in bed…so it couldn’t be her, could it?”

  I said: “It’s someone on the road somewhere.”

  “But the road doesn’t…” She paused and smiled at me a little sadly. “I want to go up to see if it flashes again. I always think I may see something else.”

  “Then you go,” I said; and she went.

  As soon as she had gone I put on a cloak and went swiftly down the great staircase, through the hall to the gardens.

  I might just be in time. It wasn’t Sylvia then, so who was it? Someone who wanted to keep the legend of the ghost alive and so the story of the unfortunate shooting accident. Someone who was hoping to drive Napier away.

  The ground was a little spongy underfoot on account of the recent rain and when I reached the copse the grass was very wet My footsteps made a squelching sound which I feared would betray me. The important thing was speed. I must reach the ruin before whoever was haunting it had time to disappear.

  There was no moon but the sky was clear of cloud and there was enough starlight to show me the way. I confess to a sudden panic as I caught sight of the gray bricks of the chapel.

  I hurried on wishing I had changed my footwear for I was only wearing house shoes and I could already feel the damp seeping through them. I put out a hand to touch the wall and with my heart leaping uncomfortably went inside the ruin. It was a little darker than outside for some of the roof remained, but glancing up I could see a patch of starlight, which was comforting.

  There was nothing there. No sign of anyone.

  “Who’s there?” I whispered.

  No answer. But had I heard a faint sound which could be that of feet on wet grass?

  I felt a great urge to get outside, to escape from those walls, and as I stepped out and looked up at the sky I was suddenly caught from behind and held firmly in a vise-like grip.

  I had not been so terrified since my adventure in the cottage and I immediately thought what a fool I had been to come. I had been warned—as both the gypsy and Sybil Stacy had pointed out to me. I could not expect to be so fortunate again.

  “Well,” said a voice, “you always wanted to meet the ghost of Beaumont Stacy.”

  “Napier!” I gasped, and tried to wriggle free but he would not release me.

  “You came here to meet Beaumont, didn’t you?” He let me go but as I turned he caught me by the shoulders.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “You terrified me.”

  “You haven’t by any chance been displaying lights?”

  “I came to see who was.”

  “Good God, haven�
�t you learned your lesson?”

  “My lesson.”

  He looked at me quizzically; and I thought of his bringing the spade into the stables, of his meeting me here in the copse when he discovered that I was looking for a grave. And shortly afterwards I had been trapped in the cottage—and he was asking me if I had not learned my lesson! And I was here in the copse with him. It was dark and no one knew I had come.

  I heard myself stammer: “I…I saw the light. I was with Alice. I said I would come and investigate…”

  “All alone?” His voice mocked me. “You are a very brave woman. Only recently…” His voice sounded suddenly harsh; his grip tightened on my shoulders. “You were up there…and couldn’t get down. For God’s sake, take care.”

  “It is the sort of thing which happens once in a lifetime.”

  “Some people are accident prone.”

  “You mean without a reason?”

  “Perhaps the reason is an unseen one.”

  “This sounds very mysterious.” I was recovering after that terrible fear. I could not help it but when I was in his presence I could feel elation which banished all my fear. I said: “Did you come down here to discover the source of the light?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “And found nothing?”

  “The ‘ghost’ was too quick for me. Every time I am too late.”

  “And have you a suspicion as to who it might be?”

  “Only that it is someone who is trying to drive me away.”

  “How could they?”

  “By making things so uncomfortable here that I preferred to be elsewhere.”

  “I should scarcely have thought you were the sort of man to be driven away because you were uncomfortable.”

  “You’re right. All the same it revives the old story. It keeps it alive in my father’s mind. He could be the one to decide that I went away. He was before. I’m not really very popular here, Mrs. Verlaine.”

  “It’s a pity.”

  “Oh, don’t be sorry for me. I’m used to it. It doesn’t bother me.”

  I felt a great surge of emotion then because he was lying. Of course it did bother him.