Quest for Alexis

by Nancy Buckingham

  I couldn’t give an answer, even to myself.

  I felt Rudi’s hand on my shoulder. He spoke softly, gently. “Gail ... dear Gail—you must be exhausted. Go to bed, and I’ll bring you up something. You need to rest, to get some sleep.”

  Still leaning against the mantel, I stared down between my arms at the empty hearth. Unwanted to my mind there suddenly came the memory of the hearth at that little mas in the mountains, a massive rough-hewn slab of stone piled high with blazing pine logs.

  At that moment, I couldn’t imagine how I would ever sleep again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  As I crossed the room on my way up to bed, a sudden commotion just outside the door halted me. A clash of voices. Freda Aiken’s, kept low, muttering persuasively, followed by Madeleine’s, her high-pitched protest clearly audible through the solid oak panels.

  “How dare you try and stop me. My husband has come home, and I want to see him.”

  For a fleeting second Rudi and I stared at each other in dismay before the door was abruptly flung open and my aunt burst in. She was wearing her quilted pink satin robe over her nightdress.

  Seeing me there, Madeleine stopped in surprise, frowning. Then she broke into a warm smile of welcome.

  “Gail, darling, so you are back as well.” She looked anxiously from one to the other of us. “Where is he? Where is Alexis?”

  My heart plunged. I was totally unprepared to face Madeleine tonight.

  “I heard the car arrive,” she was saying eagerly. “Quite a long while ago. I’ve been waiting and waiting for him to come up to me. In the end I couldn’t bear to wait any longer, so I came down. Where is he?”

  I went to her, leading her gently to one of the leather armchairs.

  “Darling, it wasn’t Alexis you heard arriving. It was me. I’m sorry, but Alexis isn’t here—as you can see.”

  Her look of happy expectancy was wiped away. Her face crumpled, and she sank weakly into the chair.

  “But I was so sure it was Alexis. Where is he? It’s been such a long time now, and not a word from him.”

  From the doorway, Freda Aiken said, “Mrs. Karel ought to go straight back upstairs. In her state of health it’s not right to jump out of a warm bed in the middle of the night. I can’t be held responsible.”

  I knew the woman was right. But did she have to be quite so brutally direct and unsympathetic? I shook my head at her, warning her not to say any more.

  “Madeleine, you really had better go back to bed. I’ll come up with you.”

  In such an excited mood as this my aunt could behave exactly like a child—one moment easy to handle, the next obstinate and self-willed. Tonight, fortunately, she allowed herself to be persuaded.

  She stood up again as I took her arm, and we walked slowly out of the room and across the hall. At the foot of the staircase, she paused, as if gathering her strength. Mounting one stair at a time, she held her free hand against her heart.

  “I was so happy, Gail. I thought... I thought...”

  “Don’t try to talk now, darling. Get back to bed first.”

  Her acute disappointment, added to the labor of climbing the stairs, was making her very breathless. I made her stop for a few moments before we continued on up.

  On the landing, Freda Aiken bustled past us, going ahead to straighten the bed. Madeleine turned to me, saying in a breathy whisper, “That woman isn’t a bit like Belle. Dear Belle, I miss her, too—so much. I hope her friend will soon be better so that my Belle can come back to me.”

  I squeezed my aunt’s thin arm in silent sympathy. What could I say to comfort her? Only empty lies that would have to be unsaid tomorrow. Tomorrow, I reminded myself firmly, Madeleine would have to be told. I had just a few hours left for reflection, before coming to a decision about what I was going to tell her.

  In the bedroom, I waved Freda Aiken aside. Madeleine needed the most loving care just now—not efficient, impersonal nursing. I helped her into bed, smoothing the pillow and gently tucking her in.

  In an undertone, I said to Freda, “Could she have another sleeping pill, do you think? Otherwise, I’m afraid she’ll lie awake fretting.”

  “I suppose so,” she said ungraciously. “I’d better go down and warm a drop of milk for her to have with it.”

  Madeleine smiled at me wanly. In the soft light of the bedside lamp, her golden eyes were huge and luminous. I saw in their depths the indelible mark of suffering, of sadness, of tragedy. My heart twisted in pity for her, thinking of what she yet had to face.

  “I suppose it was silly of me, being so sure it was Alexis come home,” she said. “But I was so hoping. Why has he been away so long, Gail, and not a letter —not even a telephone call? It isn’t like Alexis, is it, to be thoughtless? I can’t help being worried that something may have happened to him.”

  I ought to have told her then. I ought to have been honest with her. But I was too cowardly.

  “There are all sorts of possible explanations, darling,” I murmured weakly. My aunt was so innocently trusting that I felt stabbed through with guilt.

  “I expect you’re right, Gail dear. I’m just a silly woman with not enough to occupy my mind.”

  When Freda brought in the glass of warm milk, Madeleine sat up to drink it, accepting without question the extra sleeping pill. She awarded the nurse a faint smile.

  “You do your best for me, don’t you, Freda? And I expect I can be a trial sometimes.”

  Freda Aiken set her lips, making no reply.

  I kissed my aunt’s pale forehead and left her with a promise to come and see her first thing in the morning.

  “Then we’ll have a lovely long talk, won’t we?” she said eagerly. “It’s so good to have you home, dear.”

  Rudi was waiting for me outside the door.

  “You didn’t say anything to her, Gail?”

  I shook my head. “I couldn’t, not tonight.”

  “No, of course not. Look, you go straight to bed now, and I’ll bring something to your room. A sandwich.”

  “No, Rudi—I couldn’t eat.”

  “Well, just a cup of Ovaltine, then. You must have something.”

  “I suppose so. Thanks.”

  Ten minutes later, when he knocked at my door, I was already in bed and almost asleep. Rudi put the beaker on the bedside table and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  I found I couldn’t focus properly on his face. I felt dizzy, and the bed seemed to be swaying and dipping under me. It was as if I was drunk, or drugged, as if I had taken the sleeping pill, not Madeleine. But I knew it was the effect of exhaustion. Too much had happened to me in this one day.

  Twenty-four hours ago I had been sleeping on a couch in a primitive Provencal mas, with Brett beside me on the hearthrug, rolled up in blankets. I had wakened in a gloriously happy mood, trusting him completely.

  My trust had been so short-lived.

  I could feel my brain working turgidly, like a machine that was filled with too thick oil.

  Alexis dead. Brett a murderer. An almost perfect double of my uncle, acting out an evil charade to destroy the value of his life’s work.

  Or was I wrong? Was Rudi right? I hated myself for feeling even the faintest stirring of doubt. Alexis and Belle, here at Deer’s Leap—I could not dismiss that. Rudi had stood by and watched unhappily as the situation developed between them. But Alexis, I was still unalterably convinced, would never have deserted Madeleine so callously.

  Which did I believe? Which did I want to believe?

  “Oh, Rudi, what am I to do?”

  He leaned forward and touched my forehead with his lips. “You poor darling, you’re worn out. Here, drink this up and get to sleep.”

  Rudi held the beaker for me while I drank from it, as if I were a sick child. Then, as I lay back upon the pillows, he stood gazing down at me.

  “If only things could have been different, Gail,” he murmured. “I wish to God that____”

  I don’t remember whether
he finished the sentence. I couldn’t keep my eyes open a moment longer. I slept deeply, and my dreams were a twisted, tangled nightmare of fear.

  * * * *

  In the morning the sun was shining, filtering through the yellow curtains, filling my bedroom with a warm golden light.

  But I lay cold under the covers, desolate, dreading the day before me. My head throbbed with dull pain. I slid out of bed and went to the basin to splash my face with cold water. Then I crossed to the window and drew back the curtains.

  The sky was cloudless, rain-washed, the delicate pale blue of summer harebells. The grounds of Deer’s Leap seemed to shimmer, every blade of grass, every tuft of heather, every feathery spray of the conifer trees reflecting sunlight from the clinging raindrops. I had seen countless such mornings, mornings when I’d felt thrilled to be alive, when I’d been impatient to have breakfast over and get out into the soft, tangy air that blew in over the ridge of downs straight off the sea.

  Today, without interest, I pulled on slacks and a sweater and hastily brushed my hair. I put on make-up only because Madeleine might notice if I didn’t. On this dreadful day, for her sake, I had to cling to normality in every little way I could.

  The house was silent, except for the sounds that came from the kitchen. When I entered, Freda Aiken and Mrs. Cramp at once broke off their conversation and stared at me. I said good morning, and Mrs. Cramp sniffed.

  “What’s good about it, I’d like to know! It’s not very nice for me, all this going on, and everyone knowing that I work here. I’ve been wondering if I ought to give my notice.”

  I was in no mood to placate Mrs. Cramp this morning. She was a gossipmonger, and I knew she must be loving every minute, storing up tales to tell when she went back home to the village each afternoon.

  I said curtly, “I’m sure Mrs. Karel would be very sorry to lose you. But if you feel you must leave ...”

  She shot me a killing look. “I might at that.” Her eyes swiveled to Freda Aiken, as if sharing a private joke, then she glanced back at me. “You made a proper fool of yourself, didn’t you, going chasing around all over the Continent after your uncle? That Belle Forsyth put you in your place by all accounts.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked feebly.

  “Don’t make out as if you didn’t know. It’s all in the paper this morning for everyone to read.”

  She pointed to a newspaper that lay open on the kitchen table. I was confronted with a picture of myself, hands coming up to shield my face—one of those snapped in the lobby of the Hotel des Alpes-Maritimes in Nice. Beside me stood Brett.

  Somehow, in all the turmoil of the past twenty-four hours, I’d forgotten about the newspapers. There was a full, maliciously slanted report of my encounter with Belle in Geneva. I felt sickened as I saw they had even included a veiled reference to her spiteful remarks about Madeleine.

  I was aware of the two women watching me, getting pleasure out of my distress. But if they knew the real truth, perhaps they wouldn’t be so unfeeling.

  “It’s horrible,” I said faintly. “The papers have no right to print things like that.”

  “Isn’t it true, then?” asked Freda with pretended innocence.

  I didn’t bother to answer her. I’d come to the kitchen intending to make myself a cup of coffee. But I had lost interest now.

  “Is my aunt awake yet?” I asked.

  Freda shook her head. “And she won’t be for some time. She’s got to sleep off that extra pill.”

  “Yes, I’d forgotten.”

  I left the kitchen and went in search of Rudi, but he was nowhere around. I guessed that he must have gone through to see the Warrenders. Caterina was certain to have told Sir Ralph what the morning papers were saying, and I shuddered to think how they’d be reacting to the sordid blaze of publicity. No doubt they would blame me for keeping it stirred up.

  Would Rudi pass on to them all that I had said? Would he tell them I believed my uncle was dead and that the man I had seen in Geneva was an impostor? But how could he tell them all that without mentioning Brett’s part in the plot?

  Anyway, Rudi himself thought I was mistaken. He had made that clear.

  I lacked the courage to face Sir Ralph, to see the condemnation in his blind eyes. I didn’t really feel up to facing Rudi, either. Never in my whole life had I felt more alone than at this moment. I was alone.

  Paradoxically, the realization brought with it a curious sense of peace, of calm determination. Upon my shoulders, now, rested the sole responsibility for Madeleine—a trust I had inherited from Alexis. It was a sacred trust that I would carry out to the best of my ability. Madeleine would have to be told the truth as I saw it myself, and I must protect her and help her through her grief. I must help her to understand that whatever cruel things might be said and written about Alexis, she had a right to be proud of him—in death just as she had always been during his lifetime.

  And I had another sacred trust - to vindicate the name of Alexis Karel in the eyes of the world, however long it took me. I owed my uncle that.

  I went upstairs at once to Madeleine’s room, opening the door quietly. She lay in a deep sleep, and I couldn’t bring myself to rouse her. A sound behind me on the landing made me turn. Freda Aiken stood there, frowning at me.

  “I told you your aunt was asleep, Miss Fleming.”

  “Yes, but I hoped she might have wakened by now. I want to see her just as soon as she does.”

  “Very well. I’ll let you know.”

  I wondered whether to go along to my own bedroom and wait there. But somehow the idea was almost claustrophobic. I needed to get out in the fresh air.

  “I’ll be outside,” I told Freda. “Not far away, down by the lake. Would you mind giving me a call?”

  “Very well,” she said again, stonily.

  The grounds at Deer’s Leap were as full of poignant memories for me as the house itself. Crossing the terrace, I recalled how Alexis and I used to play energetic games of shuttlecock on the lawn—regrettably it was too uneven to have the makings of a tennis court.

  As I went down the flight of stone steps, the winter jasmine flowering against the wall brought back the year my uncle had inveigled me into helping him prune the straggly, overgrown bushes. Afterward, we were afraid that in our novice enthusiasm we’d been too drastic—until February came around and the delicate pale-yellow blossoms appeared in greater profusion than ever.

  The jasmine needed pruning again, I thought sadly.

  I followed the wide, sloping path that curved down to the lake. Only a yard from my feet, a brilliantly plumaged cock pheasant rose out of the dead bracken in sudden panic flight, startling me, as always, with its wildly flapping wings and raucous shrieks.

  The old dinghy was still there, I noticed, drawn up above the waterline on the tiny pebble beach. Probably it had not been used since the last time I had rowed upon the lake, an age ago. Now, the dinghy was awash with last night’s rain. I tipped it on its side to drain.

  The rustic seat by the willow tree had already steamed dry in the warm sunshine. I sat and gazed into the lake’s calm water, seeing the dark mirrored shapes of the conifers that fringed the farther bank. Suddenly, I saw a movement among the still reflections. A fallow doe. I looked up quickly. It was a long time since I had seen one at Deer’s Leap, a long time since I had sat quietly enough. Even from across the water she seemed to sense the lifting of my head and vanished among the trees, swiftly, with hardly a sound.

  Timid creature.

  But wasn’t I just as timid? Dawdling here on the pretext of waiting for Madeleine to waken. In truth, I was thankful for the delay which postponed the moment I dreaded.

  With sudden decision I rose to my feet and started walking up the path, back toward the house. I didn’t hurry, but I made myself walk on steadily without pause.

  I raised my eyes to look up at the rear facade of Deer’s Leap, so belovedly familiar. In the clear, bright sunlight the old house took on many hues. Th
e gray stone walls were tawny yellow in places where lichen grew, and the dark-green clinging ivy made a striking contrast. Sparrows flitted in and out, already busy with their nest building. Above the parapet, dotted among the jumbled peaks and valleys of the roof, soared tall chimneys built of terracotta bricks.

  The long casement windows of Madeleine’s room were open to the soft morning air, and through them I saw a flash of white. A quick, darting movement. Madeleine came flying to the window, standing framed there-with her arms outstretched, calling. But it was not my name she called.

  “Alexis! Alexis!”

  She appeared to be clambering up onto the low sill. Behind her, I saw Freda Aiken, trying to hold on to her, trying to drag her back to safety.

  With a horrified gasp, I started to run.

  I could see Madeleine struggling with Freda, fighting with a desperate strength to shake off her restraining arms. Then suddenly she gave a violent jerk, diving forward, plunging into space. I heard a long piercing scream as she fell.

  Frantic with terror, I raced across the lawn and up the terrace steps.

  Madeleine lay quite still, her poor crumpled body like a broken bird. I knew without a doubt that she was dead. I knelt beside her and lifted her head, cradling it in my arms.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The hours that followed were a confused blur of time.

  Dimly, I remember Freda Aiken reaching Madeleine only a second after I did. And the others came quickly —Rudi first, then Sir Ralph and Caterina, gathering around us. We were all in a shocked daze, numb with disbelief. Such a dreadful thing could not have happened. And then came the anguished questioning. What had made Madeleine do it—why, why, why?

  Freda Aiken, when she’d checked in vain for Madeleine’s pulse and knew beyond all hope that she was dead, had broken down completely. She seemed to blame herself.

  “I heard her scream,” she sobbed, “and I ran to her room. She was already out of bed, going to the window, distraught. For some reason she was crying her husband’s name. I tried to stop her, tried to hold her back, but she was so strong. She tore herself out of my arms, and suddenly she was gone. Oh, dear God.”