The Dark Secret of Josephine rb-5

by Dennis Wheatley

  Unlike other women, Amanda had never made demands upon him. Her only faults had been an irritating vagueness about practical matters, and an irresponsibility about money which could at times

  prove embarrassing. She had been the easiest person in the world to be with; gentle, kind, generous in thought and deed, ever ready for laughter. And now she was gone—gone for ever.

  "Roger!" Madame de Kay's gentle voice impinged only faintly on his bemused brain. "I know this must be a terrible blow to you. I would have tried to break the news more gently had I had warning of your corning. I wish you could have seen her. She looked so sweet, and utterly at peace. But in this hot climate the funeral...."

  "Please! Please!" He held up his hand. "I beg you say no more. I wish to be alone to think." Then he turned away and strode off to the bedroom he had shared with Amanda.

  It was neat and orderly, just as he had last seen it Amanda's toilet things were laid out on the dressing-table, and. pulling open a wardrobe, he stared at the dresses which still hung there. On hearing a faint movement at the door his heart almost stopped beating. For a moment he was seized with the thought that he had just woken from an awful nightmare and that on turning he would see Amanda walk into the room; but it was Cousin Margaret, who had followed him.

  She had wiped away her tears and spoke in a carefully controlled voice. "You cannot have breakfasted. You must eat to keep up your strength, my dear. Please come downstairs in a quarter of an hour. By then I will have had a meal made ready for you."

  "Nay, food would choke me," he replied harshly. "I want nothing. Except, yes—please have the best spare room prepared for me at once."

  "It is always kept ready for guests," she murmured. Then, feeling that at the moment any attempt to console him would be useless, she quietly withdrew.

  For some ten minutes he remained fiddling dazedly with Amanda's things. Then he walked along to the big guest room and threw himself down in an arm-chair.

  An hour later Dan knocked on the door, and, receiving no reply, went in. He said nothing, but his silence as he stood with bowed shoulders, just inside the door, was more eloquent of sympathy than any words could have been.

  After a moment, Roger said: "Bring me some wine. Madeira. Half a dozen bottles."

  Without a word Dan executed the order, uncorked one of the bottles, filled a glass, and left him.

  Late m the afternoon Dan came in again, carrying a tray of food. Three of the bottles were empty and Roger was slightly glassy-eyed, but not drunk. For some inexplicable reason alcohol has little effect on some people when in a state of either great joy or great grief. He had consumed the other three bottles and was still sober when Dan came in that night but he allowed Dan to help him off with his jack boots, undressed himself and went to bed.

  Next morning his cousin came to see him, but he bade her leave him in peace; then Doctor Fergusson, but he drove that pleasant young man from the room by snapping at him: "I am in no need of physics; go mind your own affairs!"

  That day and the next he ate little, continued to drink but with more moderation, and sat for hours on end moodily staring into vacancy. On the fourth morning his door opened and Clarissa stood framed in it She was dressed in full black, which showed off her gold hair and milk-and-roses complexion to great advantage. In her arms she carried a bundle of muslin and lace. Behind her stood Cousin Margaret looking distinctly apprehensive.

  "Roger." Clarissa addressed him with a slightly hesitant smile "I have brought your little daughter to see you."

  ‘Take her away," he replied coldly. "I do not wish to see her."

  "But Roger!" she protested. "She is such a sweet little thing, and your own child. How can you possibly reject her when dear Amanda gave her life to give her to you?*'

  "You have said it!" he roared, his blue eyes suddenly blazing. "How can you think that I would wish to look upon the thing that killed her? Be gone from here! Be gone this instant!"

  After that they left him for three days to mope, and the New Year of 1796 came and went unnoticed by him. Then on January the 2nd Colonel Penruddock entered his room unannounced and said:

  "Mr. Brook! Or, if as an older man and your friend you will permit me to call you so, Roger. All of us here who hold you in affection are most concerned for you. No one who knew your lady could fail to sympathize with you in your tragic loss; but however deeply you may grieve within, the outward manifestation of the sentiment does not become you when carried to such excess. You have a duty to yourself and others. I am told that you refuse to see anyone; but your post requires that you should listen to my report as Deputy Governor upon events which have occurred here during your absence. There are, too, enquiries from the Assembly, the Garrison and the Town Council, all asking when it will be convenient for you to receive deputations from them, so that they can make their duty to you on your return; and you cannot keep them waiting indefinitely. Above all, you are behaving with monstrous unkindness to Madame de Kay and Miss Marsham, in repulsing their sympathy and shutting yourself away. I pray you, for all our sakes, to play the man, and now face the world again."

  Eyeing him gloomily, Roger replied: "Colonel, I appreciate the motive of your visit, but must ask that you do not repeat it. I no longer have a use for the world, and give not a damn what it thinks or does. Should I emerge I would do you little credit with these deputa­tions. Worse, I would, mayhap, strangle with my own hands the French physician who allowed my wife to die. Then on your hands you would have a hanging. Had the Prime Minister required a continuance of my services in Europe I might not have returned here for a year or more; and for however long I was away it would have been for you to carry out my duties. This shock has rendered me incapable of attending to business, and I had not yet taken over from you; so I desire you to leave me to my misery, and carry on as though I had not returned."

  Under his icy glance Penruddock saw nothing for it but to retire; so, with a bow, he said: "Your Excellency's servant," and left the room.

  During the six days that followed Roger made not the slightest alteration in his regime. Alternately he slept or sat in moody contem­plation with a vacant look on his face. He would see no one but Dan, and, from his reports, Madame de Kay and Doctor Fergusson feared that he was going out of his mind; but Dan would not agree to that He insisted that his master's brain was sound as ever, but had become dormant and needed some special impulse to rearouse it Fergusson agreed that he was probably right, but added that unless some such impulse could be given it fairly soon, a general deterioration might set in which would rob him of his wits for good. Clarissa was present a this conversation and after it went to her room, where she sat for some time in deep thought

  That night Roger went to bed about ten o'clock, which was his usual hour. By eleven he was sound asleep. Soon after midnight he was roused by a faint noise. Opening his eyes he saw a glow of light. Then he turned over to find that the curtains of his bed had been drawn aside and that Clarissa stood there, a candlestick in her hand, gazing down upon him.

  She was wearing a dark coloured chamber robe caught together at the neck by a big silk bow which stuck out on either side of her chin. Above it her oval face, framed in golden ringlets, was lit up by the candle light For a moment he thought he was dreaming; but she caught his thought and said softly:

  "I am no dream. I'm real."

  "What... what the devil has brought you here?" he asked sleepily.

  "Don't be so rude, Roger," she smiled. "I am perhaps a little late, but I came to wish you a Happy Birthday."

  "Birthday!" he muttered, propping himself up on an elbow. "Is it my birthday? I'd no idea of the date. Recently the days seem to have merged into one another. Since Amanda's death.... Oh God!"

  "I know. You have been half out of your mind with grief. But she would not have wished you to continue so. And with her last breath she charged me to take care of both her child and you."

  "Why you, and not Cousin Margaret?"

  "Because she believe
d that I could make you happy."

  For a moment Roger remained silent then he said roughly: "You told her, then, that you were in love with me?"

  "No. I would never have done that. She guessed it. Women instinc­tively know such things about one another."

  "And she did not resent it?"

  "Nay. Although I did not deserve her generosity, she trusted me completely. She had no idea that I had confessed my love to you; but as she lay dying she sent your Cousin Margaret away and told me that she knew it, then expressed the hope that you would marry me."

  "I've not the least intention of marrying anyone."

  She shook her head. "I did not suppose you had. So as it is your birthday I brought you a present"

  He gave a puzzled frown. "A present? What have presents to do with this? I do not understand."

  As he was speaking she had set the candlestick on the bedside table and stepped back. With one hand she gave a swift pull to an end of the bow at her neck and with the other ripped open the fastenings of her chamber robe. Beneath it she had nothing on at all. Pulling off the robe she threw it over the back of a chair, then stood before him with downcast eyes, revealed in all her beauty.

  "I have brought you myself," she said in a breathless whisper.

  "Clarissa!" he gasped. "What are you thinking of? You must be mad! Put on your robe and go back to your room."

  "I am not mad!" Her blue eyes suddenly looked straight into his and she spoke firmly. "I am nineteen, and I know what I am doing."

  "Ah, you are a; grown woman," he admitted, "but you have bewitched yourself, or you would never behave in such a fashion."

  "It is you who are bewitched!" she retorted swiftly. "I am no more so than any woman who has loved a man to near distraction for above a year. 'Tis you who are under a spell! A spell cast by death, which is slowly destroying your mind. And I am here to break it"

  Suddenly she shivered, took a pace forward, grasped the bed­clothes and pulled them back, exclaiming: "Roger, I am cold! For pity's sake let me come into your bed."

  "No!" he cried hoarsely. ‘No, no! I'll not let you do this!"

  But she was already half kneeling above him m the bed. As he sat up to push her out her shoulder brushed against his, and the warmth of it ran through him like an electric shock. Next moment she had flung her soft arms round his neck and pressed her half-open mouth on his in a passionate kiss.

  Carried out of himself he clasped her to him, and his lips responded with equal vigour. As they broke the kiss she gave a cry of triumph.

  "There! I have made you come alive again; and I knew that you could love me if you would."

  Silently he put up his hands, clasped her wrists, pulled them from behind his neck, and pushed her away from him. Then he said coldly:

  "You are wrong in that I have never ceased to be alive, and I have no intention of making love to you." After a second, deciding that it was the only way to chill her, he added what had now become a lie. "Please understand that this has nought to do with the memory of Amanda. It is simply that I have never bad the least desire to have you for a bedfellow."

  His words had an instantaneous effect. Suddenly, still half sprawled upon him, she went absolutely limp; then she slid down beside him, a sob burst from her throat, and she moaned: "Oh God! That I should have to suffer this!"

  "I pray you be sensible," he urged with swift contrition. "I implied as much long since, that night in the forest."

  "No, you did not." Her words came in a shaky voice. "You led me only to suppose that out of consideration for Amanda you would not allow your thoughts to dwell on me; and, for the same reason I told you that even did you want me I would refuse you. Yet I have always hoped that some twist of fate might bring us together in different circumstances. Not her death! God forbid! I had no thought of that; but that the two of you might separate again, as you did once before. In that hope, since arriving here, I have refused offers of marriage from a dozen men of good fortune and repulsed half a hundred who have done their best to seduce me. There is scarce a man here on the island who would not give a half of all he possesses to sleep with me. Yet you—the only one to whom I would give myself with gladness— have nought but harsh words for me. Though I lie here in bed with you, you treat me as though I were a leper. Oh Roger! How can you be so brutal?"

  '1 am truly sorry," he said huskily. "I did not mean to hurt you."

  "Hurt me!" she exclaimed. "You could not have done so more effectually had you thrust a white-hot iron right through my body."

  On the last word she choked, and burst into tears. For a moment Roger let her cry, then he pushed an arm under her shoulders and drew her golden head down on to his chest. She made no movement either to resist or cling to him but went on crying.

  "There, there!" he murmured, as to a child. "Do not take on so, my dear. At least you may be assured that I have a great affection for you."

  At the word 'affection' a shudder ran through her, and her sobs increased in violence until they shook her whole body. In vain Roger strove to comfort her, but whether she even took in his words he could not tell. She cried and cried and cried until, after a long time, gradually her weeping eased. There followed a period of silence, during which he had not the heart to tell her to get up and go to her room. Then, from her gentle, even breathing, he realized that, utterly worn out by her emotions, she had fallen asleep.

  One by one the hours of the night crept on, but he remained wide awake while she lay snuggled against his side sleeping peacefully. The arm he had about her grew stiff and cramped, yet he would not move it until he saw the light of dawn creeping beneath the curtains of the windows. Stooping his head, then, he roused her by kissing her lightly on the cheek.

  She turned over and her blue eyes opened, still dewy with sleep. Suddenly they widened, and she breathed his name. Recalling her words when she had woken him at midnight, he said:

  "I am no dream. I'm real."

  "Then I must have fallen asleep," she murmured.

  "Yes." A faint smile twitched the corners of his mouth. "This dropping asleep in one another's arms threatens to become a habit Still, you wanted to sleep with me, and you've had your wish."

  "But nothing happened?"

  "No, nothing."

  Her lovely face clouded over. "Then I failed after all to arouse in you the sort of impulse that Doctor Fergusson said you needed."

  For the first time in over a fortnight Roger laughed. "Oh come! I cannot believe that young Fergusson sent you to me, or that he had that sort of impulse in mind."

  "Indeed no! He implied only that some means of taking your thoughts off your grief must be found if your brain was to be restored to normal."

  "Then in that you have succeeded. I know not how, but I think it must have been your wish to heal me coupled with your nearness as you lay beside me all through the night. Something flowed out of you and into me that was balm to my troubled soul."

  "Oh Roger, I am overjoyed!"

  He made a little grimace. "I fear you may be less so when you hear the sequel. During the night I have had ample time to think. I must have work—real work—to occupy my mind; and the routine of

  a Governor in an island at peace will not provide it. Moreover, should I remain in Martinique I shall be constantly reminded of Amanda. 1 am going home by the first ship I can find to take me, and I do not intend to return."

  "What of your little daughter? Surely you do not intend to abandon her completely?"

  "No. Later I will endeavour to be all that a father should be to her. But for the present she is too young to travel. When I have surrendered my Governorship, Cousin Margaret will, I am sure, give her a home."

  "What then of myself? It was I whom Amanda charged with the care of her child, and I accepted the charge gladly."

  "I know it, and am truly grateful, but I do not wish her to become a tie upon you. It is my most earnest wish that either here or in England you should find a husband."

  "Do you then force me,
to the choice of marrying someone for whom I do not care, or returning to live with my Aunt Jane in near poverty?"

  "Perish the thought, Clarissa! What can you think of me? I had intended, whatever you decided, to regard you in future as my ward and make you a suitable allowance."

  "Bless, you for that," she smiled. "I had not really thought you meant to abandon me. Your Cousin Margaret would no doubt give me a home, for some months at least, out of kindness; but it would make me happier if I could offer to become her paying guest. Have you thought yet what you mean to do about the babe when she is old enough for me to bring her to England?"

  "As you must by now have heard, Georgina had a boy in August. The children will be much of an age so they can share a nursery. And now, my dear, it is time for you to go back to your room."

  Clarissa, still naked, had been lying on her back with the bed­clothes drawn up to her chin. Now, she slipped out of bed with her back to him and stretched out a hand to pick up her robe.

  "One moment!" he said, jumping out beside her, and taking her hand in his. "Come to the window. I want to see the dawn, and you in it"

  "But Roger!" she protested, trying to pull away from him.

  "Nay!" he laughed. "After last night you have no case to plead modesty with me, and nought to be ashamed of. Never again in all my life may I have a chance to look upon such rare and splendid beauty."

  Obediently, then, she allowed him to lead her to one of the tall windows. As he pulled back the heavy curtains the light came flooding in upon them. The sun had just overtopped the mountains to the east and beyond a deep belt of shadow lit the blue waters of the outer bay.