Hunter's Green

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  IX

  The nightmare was one from which I could not waken. I was caught upon a chessboard, a helpless pawn in a game of life and death, and the green rook was hunting me. That tall rook of green-black yew who had it in his power to destroy the king and end the game.

  But this was hallucination and I fought my way back to reality. Hazy consciousness returned, and beneath my back I could feel hard stone. Beyond there was nothing to support me—and only the sky overhead. I knew that I lay upon the narrow ledge of the parapet, with the bricks of a courtyard waiting for me far below. Hands pinned me to the ledge, yet I could not scream, could not free myself of those thrusting hands. Worst of all, a visual haze engulfed me. Nothing was in focus, nothing sharp.

  From far away there came a sound of running footsteps coming this way, and I knew helplessly that Nigel must be hurrying to my aid, knew that he would never reach me in time. Then, as my clouded vision began to clear, I looked up into Marc’s face, alarmingly close above me, and knew that Marc’s were the hands that thrust me toward the parapet’s edge and oblivion.

  I fought in earnest then, and we struggled together on the rim of danger, Marc thrusting at me while I battled to save myself from going over to certain death far below. Somewhere there was now a high, thin screaming—my own!—and then nothing. Emptiness. Nothing.

  Fog swirled about me. Throbbing pain returned. I flung my arms out wildly—and found that it was Justin I fought. The hard parapet was no longer beneath my back. Something soft supported me. All around me swam a cold blue light, and I found that I was looking up into the blue canopy above my bed. I was in my own blue room and Justin was bending over me. When I ceased to struggle and looked at him rationally, he took his hands from my shoulders and stepped back.

  “That’s better,” he said. His face seemed dark with an anger which I comprehended no better than anything else.

  Maggie stood at the foot of the bed regarding me sadly, shaking her head. “Oh, Eve—how could you attempt a thing like that? Nothing is worth your life—nothing!”

  Justin supplemented her words roughly. “I’d have expected more courage from you!”

  I looked from his face to Maggie’s, trying to remember, to understand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Marc carried me to the parapet and tried to push me over. I’d fallen and knocked my head and I was too dazed to save myself. Was it you who stopped him, Justin?”

  Maggie and Justin looked at each other and I knew they did not believe me.

  “It’s true!” I cried a little wildly. “Marc tried to fling me over that parapet wall. I don’t know what saved me, what kept me from going over.”

  “Marc kept you from going over, dear,” Maggie said, leaning past Justin to pat my hand reassuringly. “It will all clear up in a few minutes. He wasn’t trying to throw you over. He was trying to keep you from flinging yourself down from the roof.”

  There was no convincing her, and I spoke to Justin, still trying to rouse myself fully. “Tell me what you think happened.”

  As he spoke, the note of anger deepened his voice. “I came up on the roof because I heard some sort of rumpus going on. Marc shouted for me to help him, and I called Nigel from his end of the south roof. We both rushed over to your side and found you fighting Marc and screaming your head off. It took the three of us to pull you to safety. You resisted being saved with all your might. Luckily you fainted at the crucial moment and we were able to get you downstairs to your bed. Marc has a scratched face to show for his efforts. You’d better get it clear in your mind that he was trying to save you. Nigel and I were both too far away to be of much use when he found you. If it wasn’t for Marc, you’d have gone off the roof. If that’s what you wanted, if you’re that lacking in courage, you’re not the girl I used to know.”

  “It’s not what I wanted!” I moaned. “It’s not, it’s not!”

  Justin looked at me coldly, and I closed my eyes to shut out a face I hated as much as I loved. Beyond him I could hear Maggie moving about, and remembrance crept slowly back.

  “Whatever has happened to this room?” Maggie murmured. “Why is everything in a turmoil, Eve?”

  My head throbbed and I put up my hand to feel the bruise that was swelling at my temple. So that part was real, at least. I had tripped and fallen, bumped my head. Then Marc had carried me to the parapet. And before that there had been the rapping on my tower door, the effort to coax me from my room. Perhaps they had expected me to go out by the corridor door, and then Marc would have come down from the roof and searched my room himself. But I had stopped him by going up on the roof, so Dacia had come instead. Then I had gone to the roof for a second time. But how was I to explain any of this to the two skeptics who watched me, one in sorrow, the other in angry disgust?

  I tried to answer Maggie with a simple statement. “Someone searched my room for the negative of that picture I took in the ruins of Athmore Hall the day Old Daniel died.”

  “What picture?” Justin demanded. “What are you talking about?”

  I told him then. Told him of asking Nellie to have the film developed, of discovering in one of the prints a blurred figure that might or might not be Old Daniel. I did not tell him what Alicia had said about Maggie, nor did I betray my wild notion that it might be Alicia herself.

  Justin was impatient, unimpressed. “Why should anyone care about such a picture? Aren’t you jumping to far-fetched conclusions?”

  Since that was exactly what I’d done, I did not argue. My head hurt and I felt too dizzy to cope with the puzzle of the picture.

  “I don’t know!” I wailed. “I don’t want to think about it now!”

  To my surprise, Maggie came to my aid. “Of course you don’t, dear. You’re upset and confused—and it’s not necessary to think of anything except rest and sleep. Come along, Justin. Don’t torment her now.”

  He stood beside my bed and looked at me without sympathy. “Will it be necessary to place a guard at your door to watch you?”

  I turned my head from side to side on the pillow and felt warm, self-pitying tears upon my cheeks. Denial was useless. These two had decided against me and they would believe nothing I tried to tell them. So I had better be angry, rather than sorry for myself.

  “She’ll be all right now, I’m sure,” Maggie said, resolutely cheerful again. “I’ll go make you a cup of tea, Eve dear. And if you like, I’ll give you one of my capsules to help you sleep.”

  The last thing I wanted was drugged sleep. They were both moving toward the door and I propped myself on one elbow.

  “I don’t want any tea! But I won’t stay in this room alone. There’s no bolt on the tower door, and if you leave me I won’t stay.”

  Again they exchanged looks, Maggie despairing, Justin impatient.

  “I’ll send Deirdre in,” Justin said curtly. “She should do well enough as nursemaid, if you must have one.”

  He went to the door and whistled. A moment later Deirdre came bounding down the corridor and through the door, as though she had been waiting, not far away.

  “She doesn’t like this room,” I said. “I tried to bring her here yesterday, and there was something about it that bothered her, so she wouldn’t stay.”

  But even Deirdre belied my words. Nothing about the room seemed to trouble her now. She came to the bed and put her forepaws upon it, thrusting her head forward to lick at my cheek in tender solicitation.

  They left me then, apparently satisfied that I would stop my silly objections to the room, and at the same time be prevented from doing any harm to myself with Deirdre on guard. When the door closed after them I put my cheek against her rough coat and clung to her.

  “How can I make them believe me?” I cried. But Deirdre had no answer. She merely licked my cheek again to show that she believed me.

  Justin had never been able to abide weaklings, and now he believed that I had done something unutterably weak and unforgivable. The bruise on my temple made my head throb, and after a time
I got up and bathed it and took aspirin. The lump was tender, but no longer swelling. When I went back to bed, Deirdre stretched herself on the floor nearby, watching until I fell asleep.

  There were only a few hours left till daylight and I slept them through, thoroughly exhausted. When I wakened, Deirdre had been let out, and Nellie was moving about my room, picking up my scattered possessions, putting things to rights. A cheery fire burned in the grate.

  A fire in the grate!

  I sat up and waved a frantic hand at the coal scuttle. “Nellie—you didn’t—?”

  “No, Miss Eve, I didn’t,” she said, coming toward the bed with a troubled smile. “Here you are, then. I found your wallet in the coal scuttle and I didn’t think you meant it to be burned.”

  She produced it from her apron pocket, wiped off coal dust with a cloth and placed it beside me on the coverlet. Nellie had the gift of natural tact and having returned the wallet to me, she went on with her task of putting my room to rights, as though there was nothing remarkable in its state, or in my hiding my wallet in a coal scuttle.

  When I had reassured myself as to the presence of the negative in its pocket, I finished the tea Nellie had brought me. Once, as she worked she turned toward the bed, holding something up in both hands.

  “Why’s this here in your room, Miss Eve?”

  The object she held seemed to be a spear or lance, and at sight of it further memory swept back. The weapon had been dropped on the roof near my tower door last night. Twice I had struck it with my foot, and the second time I had picked it up. I must still have been clutching it when Marc carried me to the parapet, and someone must have brought it downstairs and forgotten it in my room.

  “It’s not mine, Nellie,” I said. “I don’t go in for jousting.”

  “Oh, it’s not the jousting sort, Miss. You’d never lift one of those. Looks more like a cavalry lance—I’ve seen some in the weapons collection downstairs.”

  I could think of no reason for its use on the roof, unless someone had indeed carried it as a weapon.

  At least I felt stronger now, and the bruise on my temple did not throb as it had last night.

  “Will you do one more thing for me?” I asked Nellie. “Do you suppose your husband could make an enlargement from one of the negatives he developed for me?”

  “Sorry, Miss Eve, but he’s sold off his enlarging equipment,” she reminded me. “If you like, I can take it to the village for you and have an enlargment made.”

  I handed her the negative. “That’s fine, Nellie. It’s very important, as you can guess, since I hid it where I did.”

  “I’m going on an errand for Miss Maggie soon,” she said. “So I can do this at the same time.”

  “Don’t show it to anyone, please,” I begged her. “Not even Miss Maggie. Take care of it yourself, and pick it up for me when it’s ready. Will you do that?”

  She wrapped the bit of film in a clean handkerchief and slipped it into an apron pocket. “I’ll see to it myself, Miss. And I’ll tell no one.” She did not go back to her work, but stood beside the bed, her look downcast, her manner hesitant.

  “I can’t tell you what happened,” I said. “I don’t think I can face explanations this morning. I mean about the room and—and all that.”

  “You needn’t say a word,” she told me quickly. “It’s just that I think you should know the talk that’s going ’round. Miss Dacia started it. When I brought her tea this morning she was already up and dressed—early for her. She seemed nervous and jumpy as a flea, and she kept bouncing around, bursting out with all sorts of wild things.”

  “About me?” I said.

  Nellie nodded, flushing. “Miss Eve, I hate to repeat what she said, but she told me you got so despondent about Mr. Justin wanting to get a divorce and marry Miss Alicia, you tried to throw yourself off the rooftop last night. She said it was just luck that Mr. Marc was on guard up there and he was able to pull you back in time and call for help when you fought him.”

  I closed my eyes, enveloped by an old and familiar sense of being hunted down by lies, of being chained and made helpless by plausible untruths until I was a ready target for the hidden enemy. I had not felt this for a long time, but I knew the feeling from old nightmare.

  Nellie’s hand touched mine and I opened my eyes to find her patting me gently.

  “There now, Miss. Don’t you look like that. I told Miss Dacia a thing or two right then and there. Maybe I didn’t mind my manners as I should, but I let her know straight off that I didn’t believe the shocking things she was telling me. You know what I said? I said, ‘Miss Eve is a fighter. She’d never go for doing a thing like that, and whoever says so is making up something that’s wickedly wrong.’”

  I squeezed her hand gratefully. “Thank you for standing up for me. Was she angry with you?”

  “No—that’s the funny part. She stopped bouncing around and got very quiet—like she was thinking about something. Then she said that was how she felt about you too. She didn’t think you were the quitting sort, even when quitting was sensible. And no matter what Mr. Marc said.”

  I felt a small rush of gratitude toward Dacia. I might have known it was from Marc that this story stemmed. Dacia wasn’t to be wholly trusted because she had to look after Dacia first, as she readily admitted. Yet there was a basic honesty about her, even in her self-interest.

  “You and Dacia are perfectly right, Nellie,” I told her. “I didn’t try to throw myself over that parapet last night. Nor did I make a shambles of this room myself. Will you go on believing that, please, until I get all this figured out?”

  “Of course, Miss. And if they start talking belowstairs I’ll give them a piece of my mind—you can count on that.”

  I knew I could, and I watched her affectionately as she drew back the draperies upon a gray and rainy sky. When she had given my room a few last touches she returned to my bed.

  “Why don’t you rest awhile this morning, Miss Eve? There’s nothing you need be up and doing in this drizzle. Things will look better for a few more hours of rest. Meanwhile I’ll take care of the picture for you. Never fear.”

  Deirdre slipped through the crack of the door the moment Nellie opened it, and came to my bed to wish me a joyful good morning. Then, finding that I did not mean to get up right away, she stretched herself before the fire, her head upon her paws, her round brown eyes fixed on me unblinkingly. Her presence, at least, gave me a sense of comfort if not safety. The old feeling of being hunted, with my destruction as the inevitable goal, was growing stronger than ever. Its origin lay in the past, but Athmore was making it real.

  Until my mother’s death the nightmare had never touched me. Even in the following three years until I was ten, I had remained free of it. Lena White had come to cook and keep house and take care of me, and I loved her dearly. Lena’s skin was brown and her heart was big enough to ignore and forgive my own pale epidermis. Her prejudices were of a different sort. She hated all forms of dishonesty, and, as she said, she didn’t care if it was pink or green or purple.

  With Father and Lena and me—so comfortable together—I found it hard to understand that my father might be lonely and that a girl like Janet could offer him nearly all he needed to make his life complete again. Lena tried to make me understand before she left, and so did Father. He had always believed in calm reason when dealing with a child. So he explained to me carefully that loving Janet did not mean that either of us would stop loving my mother. In a lifetime there were many loves. Like mine for Lena, which I could easily see took nothing away from love for my mother. Janet was a new and different love and she would make our lives happier and richer. I did not see why we needed to be made happier when we had Lena, but I loved my father a great deal and I wanted very much to please him. Besides, Janet was a pretty young thing, very neat and shining, and always smelling lovely. So I wanted to please her too. Since I did not have to think of her as a mother, I would not mind doing that.

  I like to be
lieve that I tried. And perhaps Janet tried too, though I know now that her world was my father and that she had no room in it for loving another woman’s child. Her prejudices were larger and less noble than Lena’s, and I believe she must have harbored a consuming jealousy of my mother that she could not help.

  Somehow things went quickly wrong between us, though trouble remained beneath the surface for a time, since neither of us said a word to my father. I had my own solution, I had not slept with my teddy bear, Jumby, for years, but I dug him out of the mothballs in my mother’s old trunk and began to take him to bed with me every night.

  For some reason the sight of Jumby upset Janet more than anything else I did. It was true that he had been moth-infested at one time, that he was missing one shoe-button eye, and had a generally grimy look about him. His rather gray stuffing was leaking out in several places, and he offended Janet’s strict sense of cleanliness. She said he was germy and unsanitary, and she complained to my father about him. But not even Father’s reasonable remarks about my being too old for teddy bears moved me to give Jumby up.

  Matters dragged along in a more or less uneasy state for some weeks after I had unearthed my old companion. Then one day I came home from school and Jumby was gone. He was not waiting cheerfully for me on my bed, nor was he under it, or among any of my playthings. I searched for a long while before I went to Janet. She explained to me with kind patience that it wasn’t possible for me to go on sleeping with a dirty old thing like that, and he had been carried away by the rubbish man that morning and could not be retrieved. The invisible hunter had made his first kill! The scene I created must have been dreadful. Perhaps pressure had been building up in me for some time and Jumby’s horrible fate tore off the lid. I flew at Janet like a demon child. I kicked and scratched and screamed, until she finally got me into my room and locked the door upon me. In my bedroom I laid about me with a will for a few minutes, breaking what came to hand, and kicking things into damaged confusion. This vented my rage, but did not ease my pain. When my father came home I was sodden with weeping, and totally unable to speak coherently or listen to cool reason.