Lost Island

by Phyllis A. Whitney

  “Elise!” I cried. “Elise!”

  She did not stir at the sound of my voice. Far down the beach Giles heard my cry and turned back. I stood up and called to him frantically. He began to run along damp sand, hampered by his robes, and his shadow ran with him up the beach in my direction. I was aware of the sea breeze on my face, of the brightness of the stars overhead, of the pale gleam of Elise’s hair, the brocaded sheen of the gown which covered her body. All my senses were alive to the night and to the terror it had brought to fulfillment.

  Others had heard my cries because before Giles reached me, Floria and Paul were there, standing among the rocks, staring down at what lay sprawled on the far side of the wall. Paul moved first. He knelt beside her, turned her over gently. The gash across her forehead was black in the moonlight, her face lifeless.

  Paul looked at Giles as he came up the sand toward us. “Help me with her,” he said.

  Giles flung off his scarlet cape, then bent and picked Elise up in his arms. Stepping carefully, he made his way over the wall and went ahead of us toward the house. I ran after him, and Floria and Paul closed in behind me. No one spoke. We reached the house in that desperate silence, and Giles went across the side veranda to the open doors of the library. The music from the hall assailed our ears, the tune entreating, “Dance with me!” We followed Giles into the room, watching as he laid Elise upon the long couch. Paul went at once to the telephone, calling Malvern for Dr. Lane.

  “I’ll get Mother,” Floria said, and slipped out of the room, incongruously vivid in her saffron yellow dress.

  A moment later she was back, with Aunt Amalie at her side. The older woman went directly to her daughter and knelt beside her. The draped veil of her hennin got in the way and she snatched off the headdress with a quick gesture.

  “She’s gone,” Giles said quietly. “There’s nothing we can do for her now.”

  Floria made a choking sound. Aunt Amalie gestured to her at once. “Stop it! Get me a basin of water quickly.”

  While Floria fled from the room for a second time, Giles put his hands beneath Aunt Amalie’s elbows and raised her to her feet.

  “It’s no use, dear,” he said. “It’s too late.”

  Amalie met his look, standing there regally in her flowing purple gown. But her face was white, her lips trembling.

  He held her so she would not stumble. “The fall must have killed her at once. She was climbing across the rocks in the sea wall, down on the beach.”

  Amalie drew herself from his support and knelt in anguish beside her daughter. “No! she cried. No—I won’t believe it. I can’t believe it.”

  Paul put down the telephone and I saw his hand shake. “Dr. Lane is coming as quickly as he can,” he told us.

  Floria came in, with Vinnie behind her carrying a basin of warm water, and a pile of clean cloths. Aunt Amalie held out her hands for the basin, dipped a piece of soft cloth into it, and bent to bathe the dreadful gash on Elise’s forehead. It was plain that she had closed off her attention to everything else. She would not listen to any voice that told her Elise was dead. But when the blood had been washed away, the lovely face was white and lifeless as before.

  I found myself looking about the room dazedly, noting the brilliant colors—Giles in his golden-brown robes, Floria in her saffron, Paul wearing blue and silver, and Aunt Amalie in her regal purple. It was as if I watched some dreadful carnival at which Death had moved among us, unrecognized till now.

  I thought of Richard, wondering where he was, and who was to break this dreadful news to him. An inner voice whispered that Giles was free now, and that Elise could never try to harm Richard again, but horror silenced the voice. The cost was too high. I would not have wished for this. Once, long ago, the woman who lay upon the couch had been my playmate and my idol. Once Giles had loved her.

  Outside the library door the music wailed “… these foolish things …” and dancers circled the big hallway.

  Aunt Amalie rose upon her knees. “Make them stop playing that music! Someone, please, send them all away!”

  “I’ll do it,” Floria said.

  She ran out of the room as though she was glad to escape, and in moments we heard the music break off, heard the flurry of shocked voices that burst into the sudden hush.

  Within in the library we were very still. Vinnie had stood by while Aunt Amalie bathed Elise’s face. Now she set the basin of water aside and took the cloth from Amalie’s hands.

  “Come, Miss Amalie,” she said. “Come rest you’self in a chair. There’s nothing to do till Doctor comes.”

  Aunt Amalie let Vinnie draw her to her feet, help her across the room to Charles’s easy chair. There she lay back with her eyes closed. For the first time I wondered where Charles was. No one had thought to summon him. Aunt Amalie had not asked for him.

  I went to the door and looked out into the hall. The first hubbub had ceased, as guests filed quietly toward the door. Already the hush of death lay upon Sea Oaks, and the gay dress of the dancers looked shockingly out of place. Near the front door I saw Charles, with Floria beside him. The two of them were acting as hosts, bidding the guests good-bye, doing what the rest of us could not do. I looked down at my own white gown that had belonged to Elise, and for the first time I realized that I was in my stocking feet. I had left my slippers on the beach. It did not matter.

  When I turned back to the room, Paul was bending over Aunt Amalie, speaking to her softly. Giles stood at one of the open French doors, looking out at the night. Now that the music had ceased, the sound of the ocean filled the house again, the waves rolling endlessly up the beach toward the straggling rock line of the sea wall. There was nothing I could say to Giles. Strangely, Elise’s death had set us apart as though some barrier had been raised between us. I did not know yet how serious that barrier might be.

  When the last guest had gone, Charles and Floria came to join us. Charles went at once to his wife, the full red sleeves of his dark blue tunic falling gracefully as he bent toward her. She opened her eyes and looked at him as though she did not know who he was until he kissed her cheek.

  Then she found her voice. “Does anyone know anything more about how it happened? Did anyone see her fall?”

  Giles turned from the veranda door. “I don’t believe anyone saw her, but she must have slipped on a stone in the wall. Perhaps her dress tripped her.”

  Aunt Amalie moaned softly. “Why was she near the wall? She never went down to the beach that way!”

  “Perhaps I can answer that,” a voice said from the library door.

  We all looked around in shocked surprise to see Hadley Rikers standing there. He was dressed entirely in green—the dashing dress of a hunter—and the red-feathered cap he wore was set at a jaunty slant that seemed to match the very tilt of his dark beard. It was as though Robin Hood had stepped suddenly among us, defiant and more than a little challenging.

  He paid no attention to our blank shock, but went directly to the couch where Elise lay. For a long moment he stood gazing down at her white face, at the rumpled gold and azure of the fleurs-de-lis on her gown. Then he spoke without looking at any of us.

  “When Lacey and Giles were talking in this room earlier, she stood outside a door to the veranda. She heard Lacey ask Giles to meet her in an hour down on the beach. She meant to play a trick on him in the moonlight and make him think it was Lacey coming toward him over the wall. She meant to take him by surprise and see how he would react. Whatever happened, she meant to spoil the meeting between them.”

  We heard him in silence. No one moved. He stepped back from the couch and faced Giles, his look challenging.

  “I advised her not to play games,” he said. “I didn’t think you would welcome them.”

  There was a certain arrogance in the words, as if he flung down the gauntlet and dared Giles to pick it up.

  Giles said nothing, made no move, and I found myself speaking into the quiet of the room. I was not sure what Hadley meant, but
his challenge could not be left hanging without an answer.

  “When I went down to the beach, Giles was a long way off near the lighthouse. He couldn’t have been anywhere near the wall when Elise started across. I saw them both from the balcony upstairs, and he was nowhere near her then. I came downstairs at once and followed the path to the beach. When I came out into the open, Giles was still walking toward the lighthouse and Elise wasn’t in sight. I didn’t see that she had fallen until I climbed over the rocks of the sea wall.”

  Aunt Amalie made the same soft moaning sound she had made before.

  “I think there was a loose rock,” I went on. “When I got down on my hands and knees to reach her I felt it tilt under my hand. If she stepped on it, it would have thrown her.”

  “You’re not telling the truth, Lacey,” Floria said abruptly. “I’ve waited to see what sort of story you’d offer, but I needn’t wait any longer. Mother, Lacey pushed Elise down on those rocks. We saw her, Paul and I. She must have pushed her from behind before Elise ever knew what she was about. My sister didn’t stand a chance—she fell directly forward on the rocks, and the fall killed her.”

  “No!” Aunt Amalie said. “No!”

  I choked over my dismay at Floria’s words, but before I could find an answer for her, Paul put a hand on her arm.

  “It wasn’t exactly like that. I was there, too. I saw what Floria saw.”

  “Oh, it’s not that I blame Lacey!” Floria cried, paying no attention. “I’d have been tempted if I’d been in her place. If Elise had been trying to do to me what she was doing to Lacey, I think I’d have felt the same way. I’d have taken any chance that came my way.”

  Giles spoke sharply. “What really happened, Paul?”

  Floria twisted her arm from beneath Paul’s hands. “You’re afraid to tell them the truth! You’re trying to save Lacey!”

  “Lacey doesn’t need saving,” Paul said quietly. “When we came out of the path onto the open beach, Lacey was standing on top of a big rock with her arms outflung as if she balanced there. A moment later she called to Giles, and he turned and came running toward her. We never saw Elise at all until we reached Lacey and looked down among the rocks of the wall.”

  “Lacey’s arms were flung out because she had just pushed my sister,” Floria said. “Not that it matters. Not that I will tell anyone else. Elise has only received what was coming to her.”

  There was hysteria in Floria’s voice, and Paul put an arm about her, holding her still when she would have struggled.

  Aunt Amalie covered her face with her hands and Charles leaned over her, murmuring.

  I looked from one to another around the room. Paul was quieting Floria. Vinnie watched Aunt Amalie solicitously. Charles gave me a quick, pitying glance, and turned his attention back to his wife. Aunt Amalie would not look at me at all, while in Floria’s eyes there was only accusation, and certain angry triumph. Giles came swiftly toward me across the room.

  “Lacey wouldn’t hurt anyone,” he told the others. “We all know that. What happened was an accident—nothing more. It’s nonsense to believe anything else.”

  “Of course you’d stand by her!” Floria said shrilly. “Now you can be together. Now everything will be fine for the two of you!”

  I had to disengage myself from Giles’s arm. He meant to help me, but I could not accept that help now.

  “What Floria thinks she saw, didn’t happen,” I assured them all. “Elise must have been lying there for ten minutes before I found her. She must have fallen shortly after I saw her from the upstairs balcony and started down to the beach. When I came across that part of the wall, she was already lying upon the rocks.”

  The room was quiet again. No one answered me or contradicted my words. Aunt Amalie rose slowly from her chair, moving like a very old woman. She returned to the couch where Elise lay and reached for the brown wool throw that lay folded at her daughter’s feet. With hands that were as controlled as she could manage, she drew it up over Elise, covering her face. It was brave acceptance at last. But in accepting, she had aged.

  Floria seemed to deflate like an empty balloon. She turned to Paul and began to sob softly in his arms. Aunt Amalie turned away from the couch, her shoulders back, her voice steady.

  “Who is to tell Richard?” she asked.

  “I’ll tell him,” Giles said. “But let him sleep for tonight. There will be time enough in the morning.”

  “Thank you,” Aunt Amalie said. “I don’t know how I could bear to—”

  I broke in on her words. “Has he gone back to bed? When I came downstairs a while ago he wasn’t in his room. Elise sent him on an errand, but I don’t know what he did after that.”

  Vinnie moved quickly toward the door. “I’ll go see,” she told us, and hurried out of the library.

  For the first time I noticed that Hadley Rikers was no longer among us. While we were absorbed in what Floria was saying, he must have slipped away. He was hardly missed. He did not belong.

  “Come and sit down,” Charles said to Aunt Amalie, and she walked to the big leather armchair and let her husband help her gently into it. She had no sooner seated herself, than Vinnie was back, her dark eyes wide with alarm.

  “He’s not in his bed! I called for him upstairs, but he don’ answer me.”

  Giles moved quickly. “Go back and look in every room upstairs, will you, Vinnie? Paul and I will take the downstairs rooms. We must find him quickly.”

  Floria came to herself and pushed Paul away from her. “Yes—hurry! Perhaps he heard what we were telling the guests.”

  I felt suddenly weak with alarm. If Richard had learned in some shocking way that Elise was dead, he might be capable of wild and frightening action.

  Charles went to one of the French doors and stepped out upon the veranda, calling Richard’s name. There was no answer. There was no answer from anywhere within the house. In a short time Giles and Paul and Vinnie were back in the room.

  “We’ll have to search for him outside,” Giles said. “We can’t let him run about in the dark if he’s frightened or uncertain. I’ll call the stable boys and George—they know the island better than the other servants.”

  “There’s the lighthouse,” I said. “He might go there.”

  “It’s possible,” Giles agreed. “I’ll look there myself. Paul, will you take the drive to the road, and circle back by way of The Bitterns?”

  “I’ll search the fort area,” Charles said. “I’ve got a good flashlight.”

  “And I’ll look through the burying ground and the tombs,” Floria offered. “But I’ll get out of this dress first. I’ll put on something of Elise’s. I don’t want to take the time to go home.”

  Aunt Amalie made a slight movement, but she did not object. “I’ll stay here and wait for the doctor,” she said dully.

  “Will you stay out in front, Lacey?” Giles turned to me. “Then if he comes back, or if anyone finds him, you can ring the bell on the side veranda.”

  In a moment they had all scattered—Vinnie to rouse her husband and the stable boys, the others to begin their searching. I left Aunt Amalie to her sad vigil, and went into the hall. Lights still burned brilliantly in two great chandeliers, but the wide hall was vacant—empty of revelers. Scarlet banners hung above emptiness. The band had dispersed along with the guests, and the empty chairs where the musicians had sat looked singularly deserted. A music stand lay overturned—mute evidence of sudden disaster. With the rugs gone and the hall empty, the space had an echoing, hollow sound to it. In all that bright bareness no one could hide.

  I went into the long double parlor, feeling like a ghost in my white dress—Elise’s white dress—as though only I inhabited this empty, deserted world. In this room, with the chairs drawn back against the walls, where men and women in medieval costumes had stood about smoking and drinking, there was more of an air of wreckage than in the hall, where they had danced. Ash trays were full, and glasses stood on small tables. The extra se
rvants had been sent away, to leave everything till morning. Floor lamps still burned, and for some reason I went about turning them off, one by one.

  I hardly knew what I did. I was thinking of Richard, perhaps shocked and frightened and grieving—somewhere out in the moonlit darkness, with no one to comfort him, no one to reassure him, to tell him that though Elise was gone he would still be loved and sheltered. I wondered why he had not come to his father. I wondered why he had not come to us in the library, where Elise lay. Why had he chosen the path of flight instead?

  Slowly I walked back into the wide entry hall that bisected the house, my thoughts troubled and busy. How differently the night had turned out from what I had expected and planned. If all had gone as I had intended, I would have crossed the wall myself, and Elise would not have been down on the beach at all. I would have run along the sands to meet Giles and I would have faced the truth, as it had to be faced, there beside the rolling surf. By this time Giles would have known that I was Richard’s mother, and Elise was not. How he would have reacted, what he would have said about the long deception Elise and Aunt Amalie and I had played upon him, I could not know. Instead, Elise had fallen upon the rocks and lay dead upon the couch in the library. And Giles still did not know the truth.

  I had reached the front door in my slow walk down the hall and I stepped between crossed lances and out upon the portico. The bricks were rough and cold beneath my stocking feet. The lamp that hung above the small second-floor balcony burned brightly and set the shadows of tall columns fanning away from the house. Beyond the columns, the two rows of live oak trees marched along the driveway, their high rounded tops gilded by the moonlight, their lower branches black with heavy shadow. Between them, making a white aisle under the moon, the shell drive wound its way toward the distant road. Above the sound of the surf I could hear voices breaking the night’s stillness as searchers called for Richard. Wherever he was, he could hear them calling him. He would know they were searching for him. Yet it might be like him to hear them and make no response. If he chose to, he could hide for a long time on the island.