The Complete Short Stories of L.P. Hartley

by Leslie Poles Hartley

  ‘Exactly. And the plan seems to have worked remarkably well.’

  ‘But the family did die out in the end,’ observed Maggie.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mr. Ampleforth, ‘soon after the middle of the eighteenth century. The best human plans are fallible, and Lady Elinor was very persistent.’

  He held the company with his glittering raconteur’s eye.

  But Mrs. Ampleforth was standing up. ‘Now, now,’ she said, ‘I gave you twenty minutes’ grace. It will soon be midnight. Come along, Maggie, you must be tired after your journey. Let me light you a candle.’ She took the girl’s arm and piloted her into the comparative darkness of the hall. ‘I think they must be on this table,’ she said, her fingers groping; ‘I don’t know the house myself yet. We ought to have had a light put here. But it’s one of Charlie’s little economies to have as few lights as possible. I’ll tell him about it. But it takes so long to get anything done in this out-of-the-way spot. My dear, nearly three miles to the nearest clergyman, four to the nearest doctor! Ah, here we are, I’ll light some for the others. Charlie is still holding forth about Lady Elinor. You didn’t mind that long recital?’ she added, as, accompanied by their shadows, they walked up the stairs. ‘Charlie does so love an audience. And you don’t feel uncomfortable or anything? I am always so sorry for Lady Elinor, poor soul, if she ever existed. Oh, and I wanted to say we were so disappointed about Antony. I feel we got you down to-day on false pretences. Something at the office kept him. But he’s coming to-morrow. When is the wedding to be, dearest?’

  ‘In the middle of September.’

  ‘Quite soon now. I can’t tell you how excited I am about it. I think he’s such a dear. You both are. Now which is your way, left, right, or middle? I’m ashamed to say I’ve forgotten.’

  Maggie considered. ‘I remember; it’s to the left.’

  ‘In that black abyss? Oh, darling, I forgot; do you feel equal to going on the picnic to-morrow? We shan’t get back till five. It’ll be a long day: I’ll stay at home with you if you like—I’m tired of ruins.’

  ‘I’d love to go.’

  ‘Good-night, then.’

  ‘Good-night.’

  In the space of ten minutes the two men, left to themselves, had succeeded in transforming the elegant Queen Anne drawing-room into something that looked and smelt like a bar-parlour.

  ‘Well,’ observed Ronald who, more than his host, had been responsible for the room’s deterioration, ‘time to turn in. I have a rendezvous with Lady Elinor. By the way, Charles,’ he went on, ‘have you given the servants instructions in anti-Elinor technique—told them only to admit visitors who can enter the house under their own steam, so to speak?’

  ‘Mildred thought it wisest, and I agree with her,’ said Mr. Ampleforth, ‘to tell the servants nothing at all. It might unsettle them, and we shall have hard work to keep them as it is.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ said Ronald. ‘Anyhow it’s no part of their duty to show the poor lady out. Charles, what were you going to say that wasn’t fit for ears polite when Mildred stopped you?’

  Mr. Ampleforth reflected. ‘I wasn’t aware—’

  ‘Oh, yes, she nipped your smoking-room story in the bud. I asked “Who carries Lady Elinor out?” and you said “The undertaker’s men; she goes out with the corpse,” and you were going to say something else when you were called to order.’

  ‘Oh, I remember,’ said Mr. Ampleforth. ‘It was such a small point, I couldn’t imagine why Mildred objected. According to one story, she doesn’t go out with the corpse, she goes out in it.’

  Ronald pondered. ‘Don’t see much difference, do you?’

  ‘I can’t honestly say I do.’

  ‘Women are odd creatures,’ Ronald said. ‘So long.’

  The cat stood by the library door, miaowing. Its intention was perfectly plain. First it had wanted to go out; then it strolled up and down outside the window, demanding to come in; now it wanted to go out again. For the third time in half an hour Antony Fairfield rose from his comfortable chair to do its bidding. He opened the door gently—all his movements were gentle; but the cat scuttled ignominiously out, as though he had kicked it. Antony looked round. How could he defend himself from disturbance without curtailing the cat’s liberty of movement? He might leave the window and the door open, to give the animal freedom of exit and entrance; though he hated sitting in a room with the door open, he was prepared to make the sacrifice. But he couldn’t leave the window open because the rain would come in and spoil Mrs. Ampleforth’s beautiful silk cushions. Heavens, how it rained! Too bad for the farmers, thought Antony, whose mind was always busying itself with other people’s misfortunes. The crops had been looking so well as he drove in the sunshine from the station, and now this sudden storm would beat everything down. He arranged his chair so that he could see the window and not keep the cat waiting if she felt like paying him another visit. The pattering of the rain soothed him. Half an hour and they would be back—Maggie would be back. He tried to visualize their faces, all so well known to him: but the experiment was not successful. Maggie’s image kept ousting the others; it even appeared, somewhat grotesquely, on the top of Ronald’s well-tailored shoulders. They mustn’t find me asleep, thought Antony; I should look too middle-aged. So he picked up the newspaper from the floor and turned to the cross-word puzzle. ‘Nine points of the law’ in nine—ten letters. That was a very easy one: ‘Possession.’ Possession, thought Antony; I must put that down. But as he had no pencil and was too sleepy to get one, he repeated the word over and over again: Possession, Possession. It worked like a charm. He fell asleep and dreamed.

  In his dream he was still in the library, but it was night and somehow his chair had got turned around so that he no longer faced the window, but he knew that the cat was there, asking to come in; only someone—Maggie—was trying to persuade him not to let it in. ‘It’s not a cat at all,’ she kept saying; ‘it’s a Possession. I can see its nine points, and they’re very sharp.’ But he knew that she was mistaken, and really meant nine lives, which all cats have: so he thrust her aside and ran to the window and opened it. It was too dark to see so he put out his hand where he thought the cat’s body would be, expecting to feel the warm fur; but what met his hand was not warm, nor was it fur. . . . He woke with a start to see the butler standing in front of him. The room was flooded with sunshine.

  ‘Oh, Rundle,’ he cried, ‘I was asleep. Are they back?’

  The butler smiled.

  ‘No, sir, but I expect them every minute now.’

  ‘But you wanted me?’

  ‘Well, sir, there’s a young lady called, and I said the master was out, but she said could she speak to the gentleman in the library? She must have seen you, sir, as she passed the window.’

  ‘How very odd. Does she know me?’

  ‘That was what she said, sir. She talks rather funny.’

  ‘All right, I’ll come.’

  Antony followed the butler down the long corridor. When they reached the tower their footsteps rang on the paved floor. A considerable pool of water, the result of the recent heavy shower, had formed on the flagstones near the doorway. The door stood open, letting in a flood of light; but of the caller there was no sign.

  ‘She was here a moment ago,’ the butler said.

  ‘Ah, I see her,’ cried Antony. ‘At least, isn’t that her reflected in the water? She must be leaning against the door-post.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Rundle. ‘Mind the puddle, sir. Let me give you a hand. I’ll have this all cleared up before they come back.’

  Five minutes later two cars, closely following each other, pulled up at the door, and the picnic party tumbled out.

  ‘Dear me, how wet!’ cried Mrs. Ampleforth, standing in the doorway. ‘What has happened, Rundle? Has there been a flood?’

  ‘It was much worse before you arrived, madam,’ said the butler, disappointed that his exertions with mop, floor-cloth, scrubbing-brush, and pail were
being so scantily recognized. ‘You could have sailed a boat on it. Mr. Antony, he—’

  ‘Oh, has he arrived? Antony’s here, isn’t that splendid?’

  ‘Antony!’ they all shouted. ‘Come out! Come down! Where are you?’

  ‘I bet he’s asleep, the lazy devil,’ remarked Ronald.

  ‘No, sir,’ said the butler, at last able to make himself heard. ‘Mr. Antony’s in the drawing-room with a lady.’

  Mrs. Ampleforth’s voice broke the silence that succeeded this announcement.

  ‘With a lady, Rundle? Are you sure?’

  ‘Well, madam, she’s hardly more than a girl.’

  ‘I always thought Antony was that sort of man,’ observed Ronald. ‘Maggie, you’d better—’

  ‘It’s too odd,’ interposed Mrs. Ampleforth hastily, ‘Who in the world can she be?’

  ‘I don’t see there’s anything odd in someone calling on us,’ said Mr. Ampleforth. ‘What’s her name, Rundle?’

  ‘She didn’t give a name, sir.’

  ‘That is rather extraordinary. Antony is so impulsive and kind-hearted. I hope—ah, here he is.’

  Antony came towards them along the passage, smiling and waving his hands. When the welcoming and hand-shaking were over:

  ‘We were told you had a visitor,’ said Mrs. Ampleforth.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ronald. ‘I’m afraid we arrived at the wrong moment.’

  Antony laughed and then looked puzzled. ‘Believe me, you didn’t,’ he said. ‘You almost saved my life. She speaks such a queer dialect when she speaks at all, and I had reached the end of my small talk. But she’s rather interesting. Do come along and see her: I left her in the library.’ They followed Antony down the passage. When they reached the door he said to Mrs. Ampleforth:

  ‘Shall I go in first? She may be shy at meeting so many people.’

  He went in. A moment later they heard his voice raised in excitement.

  ‘Mildred! I can’t find her! She’s gone!’

  Tea had been cleared away, but Antony’s strange visitor was still the topic of conversation. ‘I can’t understand it,’ he was saying, not for the first time. ‘The windows were shut, and if she’d gone by the door we must have seen her.’

  ‘Now, Antony,’ said Ronald severely, ‘let’s hear the whole story again. Remember, you are accused of smuggling into the house a female of doubtful reputation. Furthermore the prosecution alleges that when you heard us call (we were shouting ourselves hoarse, but he didn’t come at once, you remember) you popped her out of that window and came out to meet us, smiling sheepishly, and feebly gesticulating. What do you say?’

  ‘I’ve told you everything,’ said Antony. ‘I went to the door and found her leaning against the stonework. Her eyes were shut. She didn’t move and I thought she must be ill. So I said, “Is anything the matter?” and she looked up and said, “My leg hurts.” Then I saw by the way she was standing that her hip must have been broken once and never properly set. I asked her where she lived, and she didn’t seem to understand me; so I changed the form of the question, as one does on the telephone, and asked where she came from, and she said, “A little further down,” meaning down the hill, I suppose.’

  ‘Probably from one of the men’s cottages,’ said Mr. Ampleforth.

  ‘I asked if it was far, and she said “No,” which was obvious, otherwise her clothes would have been wet and they weren’t, only a little muddy. She even had some mud on her mediæval bridesmaid’s headdress (I can’t describe her clothes again, Mildred; you know how bad I am at that). So I asked if she’d had a fall, and she said, “No, she got dirty coming up,” or so I understood her. It wasn’t easy to understand her; I suppose she talked the dialect of these parts. I concluded (you all say you would have known long before) that she was a little mad, but I didn’t like to leave her looking so rotten, so I said, “Won’t you come in and rest a minute?” Then I wished I hadn’t.’

  ‘Because she looked so pleased?’

  ‘Oh, much more than pleased. And she said, “I hope you won’t live to regret it,” rather as though she hoped I should. And then I only meant just to take her hand, because of the water, you know, and she was lame—’

  ‘And instead she flung herself into the poor fellow’s arms—’

  ‘Well, it amounted to that. I had no option! So I carried her across and put her down and she followed me here, walking better than I expected. A minute later you arrived. I asked her to wait and she didn’t. That’s all’

  ‘I should like to have seen Antony doing the St. Christopher act!’ said Ronald. ‘Was she heavy, old boy?’

  Antony shifted in his chair. ‘Oh no,’ he said, ‘not at all. Not at all heavy.’ Unconsciously he stretched his arms out in front of him, as though testing an imaginary weight. ‘I see my hands are grubby,’ he said with an expression of distaste. ‘I must go and wash them. I won’t be a moment, Maggie.’

  That night, after dinner, there was some animated conversation in the servants’ hall.

  ‘Did you hear any more, Mr. Rundle?’ asked a house-maid of the butler, who had returned from performing his final office at the dinner-table.

  ‘I did,’ said Rundle, ‘but I don’t know that I ought to tell you.’

  ‘It won’t make any difference, Mr. Rundle, whether you do or don’t. I’m going to give in my notice to-morrow. I won’t stay in a haunted house. We’ve been lured here. We ought to have been warned.’

  ‘They certainly meant to keep it from us,’ said Rundle. ‘I myself had put two and two together after seeing Lady Elinor; what Wilkins said when he came in for his tea only confirmed my suspicions. No gardener can ever keep a still tongue in his head. It’s a pity.

  ‘Wouldn’t you have told us yourself, Mr. Rundle?’ asked the cook.

  ‘I should have used my discretion,’ the butler replied. ‘When I informed Mr. Ampleforth that I was no longer in ignorance, he said, “I rely on you, Rundle, not to say anything which might alarm the staff.” ’

  ‘Mean, I call it,’ exclaimed the kitchen-maid indignantly. ‘They want to have all the fun and leave us to die like rats in a trap.’

  Rundle ignored the interruption.

  ‘I told Mr. Ampleforth that Wilkins had been tale-bearing and would he excuse it in an outdoor servant, but unfortunately we were now in possession of the facts.’

  ‘That’s why they talked about it at dinner,’ said the maid who helped Rundle to wait.

  ‘They didn’t really throw the mask off till after you’d gone, Lizzie,’ said the butler. ‘Then I began to take part in the conversation.’

  He paused for a moment.

  ‘Mr. Ampleforth asked me whether anything was missing from the house, and I was able to reply, “No, everything was in order.” ’

  ‘What else did you say?’ inquired the cook.

  ‘I made the remark that the library window wasn’t fastened, as they thought, but only closed, and Mrs. Turnbull laughed and said, “Perhaps it’s only a thief, after all,” but the others didn’t think she could have got through the window anyhow, unless her lameness was all put on. And then I told them what the police had said about looking out for a suspicious character.’

  ‘Did they seem frightened?’ asked the cook.

  ‘Not noticeably,’ replied the butler. ‘Mrs. Turnbull said she hoped the gentlemen wouldn’t stay long over their port. Mr. Ampleforth said, “No, they had had a full day, and would be glad to go to bed.” Mrs. Ampleforth asked Miss Winthrop if she wanted to change her bedroom, but she said she didn’t. Then Mr. Fairfield asked if he could have some iodine for his hand, and Miss Winthrop said she would fetch him some. She wanted to bring it after dinner, but he said, “Oh, to-morrow morning will do, darling.” He seemed rather quiet.’

  ‘What’s he done to his hand?’

  ‘I saw the mark when he took his coffee. It was like a burn.’

  ‘They didn’t say they were going to shut the house up, or anything?’

  ‘Oh, Lord,
no. There’s going to be a party next week. They’ll all have to stay for that.’

  ‘I never knew such people,’ said the kitchen-maid. ‘They’d rather die, and us too, than miss their pleasures. I wouldn’t stay another day if I wasn’t forced. When you think she may be here in this very room, listening to us!’ She shuddered.

  ‘Don’t you worry, my girl,’ said Rundle, rising from his chair with a gesture of dismissal. ‘She won’t waste her time listening to you.’

  ‘We really might be described as a set of crocks,’ said Mr. Ampleforth to Maggie after luncheon the following day. ‘You, poor dear, with your headache; Eileen with her nerves; I with—well—a touch of rheumatism; Antony with his bad arm.’

  Maggie looked troubled.

  ‘My headache is nothing, but I’m afraid Antony isn’t very well.’

  ‘He’s gone to lie down, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The best thing. I telephoned for the doctor to come this evening. He can have a look at all of us, ha! ha! Meanwhile, where will you spend the afternoon? I think the library’s the coolest place on a stuffy day like this; and I want you to see my collection of books about Low Threshold—my Thresholdiana, I call them.’

  Maggie followed him into the library.

  ‘Here they are. Most of them are nineteenth-century books, publications of the Society of Antiquaries, and so on; but some are older. I got a little man in Charing Cross Road to hunt them out for me; I haven’t had time to read them all myself.’

  Maggie took a book at random from the shelves.

  ‘Now I’ll leave you,’ said her host. ‘And later in the afternoon I know that Eileen would appreciate a little visit. Ronald says it’s nothing, just a little nervous upset, stomach trouble. Between ourselves, I fear Lady Elinor is to blame.’

  Maggie opened the book. It was called An Enquiry into the Recent Tragicall Happenings at Low Threshold Hall in the County of Suffolk, with some Animadversions on the Barbarous Customs of our Ancestors. It opened with a rather tedious account of the semi-mythical origins of the Deadham family. Maggie longed to skip this, but she might have to discuss the book with Mr. Ampleforth, so she ploughed on. Her persistence was rewarded by a highly coloured picture of Lady Elinor’s husband and an account of the cruelties he practised on her. The story would have been too painful to read had not the author (Maggie felt) so obviously drawn upon a very vivid imagination. But suddenly her eyes narrowed. What was this? ‘Once in a Drunken Fitt he so mishandled her that her thigh was broken near the hip, and her screames were so loud they were heard by the servants through three closed doores; and yet he would not summon a Chirurgeon, for (quoth he)’—Lord Deadham’s reason was coarse in the extreme; Maggie hastened on.