I felt the muscles of my legs begin to tremble, and I gripped the hard edge of the bureau with my fingers.
“Oh, Brett, can it really be?”
“I don’t see what else,” he said somberly. “When you think about it, the lake at Deer’s Leap would be the obvious place to dispose of a body they never expected anyone to search for.”
Chapter Twenty
There was a thin mist lying low across the surface of the lake. I rowed with smooth strokes, dipping the oars carefully, feeling a curious need to preserve the silence. From the bank Brett signaled to me with a flashlight, sweeping the light around in a counter-clockwise circle—a prearranged signal that meant I was to go more to his left.
The dinghy responded at once to my pull on the oar. As it glided on its new course, I noticed that the lights of the house, hazy through the mist, were suddenly cut off from view by a rise in the bank.
I had been astonished when Brett told me that he proposed making a dive that night.
“But you can’t,” I’d protested. “I mean, not in the dark.”
“There’s no reason why not, Gail. The lake isn’t exactly crystal clear, so I’d have to use an underwater flashlight whether it was night or day. I’ve got to go down at once. I couldn’t sleep not knowing whether Alexis is down there or not. And neither could you.”
Brett was right, of course. But I was frightened for his safety.
“Don’t you need all sorts of elaborate equipment?”
“I’ve got an aqualung and all the rest of the gear out in the car. I borrowed it from a club I belong to. You don’t have to worry, Gail. I’ve done a fair bit of scuba diving in my time.”
Brett had slipped through to the main wing of the house to make some excuse to Caterina about us not joining them for dinner. I don’t know quite what he told her. I guessed that Elspeth wouldn’t be pleased. While he was gone I sped upstairs and dressed myself in the thickest pair of slacks I possessed, a chunky sweater, and a quilted anorak jacket.
Rudi wasn’t anywhere around when I came down again. As soon as Brett got back, we went outside and collected the diving equipment from the rear seat of the Lancia. Brett carried the aqualung cylinder itself, the life jacket, and various bits and pieces. I took the pack containing the “wet suit,” which was bulky but not heavy.
“I’ll need to wear the full gear for warmth,” he said. “This time of year a spring-fed lake is going to be mighty cold.”
At the lakeside we had righted the dinghy, and I climbed in. Brett shoved me afloat, and then, taking the flashlight with him, he started clambering through the tangled mass of dead bracken on the bank up to the point where Eddie Fox had set up his camera. By comparing the photograph with the actual scene, looking at the lake from the same angle, Brett had decided he could guide me fairly accurately to the right spot.
He was signaling to me again now, a series of short flashes, which indicated that I was to go out toward the middle. After a moment, the light was waved in a clockwise direction. Responding, I edged a little to the right.
The light went out. Brett reckoned I was now in position. I fumbled around at my feet and found the small marking buoy made of bright-orange plastic and dropped it over the side.
By the time I had rowed back to the little pebble beach, Brett had already thrown off his clothes and was climbing into the skin-tight wet suit. Slipping his arms through the harness, he heaved the aqualung cylinder onto his back. Then he put on the inflatable lifejacket. He tossed the pair of fins into the dinghy.
“All set now.”
It was difficult for me to keep the boat steady while Brett climbed in. I followed him, pushing off with an oar and rowing toward the center of the lake once more. When we judged ourselves in about the right position, Brett shined the bright beam across the water while I slued the boat around, scanning a wide semicircle, searching for the orange ball floating on the surface.
“There it is,” said Brett. “Ease her over a bit, Gail —that’s right.”
Brett had pulled the rubber fins onto his feet. He made some final small adjustments, then sat up on the end board in the stern, facing me, ready to dive. Silhouetted against the whiteness of the mist, he looked a strange, almost monstrous figure.
“Here goes, then,” he said. “Wish me luck.”
“Luck ... ?”
“It’s what we want to find, Gail—what we’ve got to find. We know—both of us—that no amount of wishing will ever bring Alexis back to life.”
His hand went up to his face, fixing the mouthpiece, holding the mask in place. He rolled slowly backward, overbalancing and hitting the water with a splash that seemed to tear the night apart. Suddenly freed of his weight, the dinghy bobbed wildly. I steadied it, gripping the sides with my hands, and stared down into the dark water. For a few moments I could see a glow of yellowish, brownish light. But swiftly it faded until I could detect nothing.
The boat’s dancing motion grew less, and soon it was quite still again, the surface of the lake barely rippling. I could hear a curious faint plopping noise, and at first I was puzzled. Then I knew what it was—a stream of tiny bubbles rushing to the surface, the air that Brett was breathing out.
A plane droned faintly overhead, lost in the vastness of the sky. Across the surface of the water the mist was drifting sluggishly in some unfelt wind, curling into mysterious white wraiths that seemed about to engulf me. But my thoughts were concentrated on what was happening below me. Somewhere down there Brett was moving slowly on the bottom of the lake, groping his way, searching the mud-stirred depths with his flashlight.
Minutes crept past. The soda stream of air bubbles breaking on the surface was my only contact with Brett. But somehow I couldn’t feel it as a contact. It was too unreal, too remote to have any meaning.
Yet if it were to stop….
I had never, ever, known time to drag as it did now. Though I knew that in truth it was only minutes, to me the wait seemed unending.
Peering down, trying to pierce the secret darkness of the water, my eyes began to play tricks. Could I really see something, or was it just my wishful imagination?
After another long age I felt certain I could detect the faintest paling, a lessening of the utter black opacity. Very slowly, the glimmer grew stronger, more definite, until I could see the round yellow disk of the flashlight itself.
Suddenly, five yards away from me, Brett broke to the surface in a quick swirl of water. He looked around him, saw where I was, and swam over. Grabbing the side of the dinghy with one hand, he slipped out his mouthpiece and lifted the mask.
The beam of the flashlight shone up into the sky, but in the light scattered by the mist, I could see Brett’s face, a circle of white in the black rubber hood.
I waited fearfully, unable to voice the question.
He said at last, “Yes, Gail.”
Even now, something within me wanted to reject the dreadful knowledge.
“You’re ... you’re sure it is Alexis?” I faltered. “Really sure?”
“Who else?” said Brett wearily. “A body, wrapped in some sort of canvas, weighted down, at this exact spot. Who else could it be, Gail?”
There were things to be done now, and that saved me from breaking down. First I had to help Brett back into the boat. He unclipped the harness, and I knelt and took the heavy aqualung cylinder off his back, then helped him as he heaved himself over the stern, clumsy and awkward in the slippery rubber suit.
“Row straight back. There’s a good girl. We’ll leave the buoy to mark the spot. I’ve got to get out of these things. I’m freezing.”
Chapter Twenty-one
In my bedroom, the room that had been mine since I was a girl of thirteen, I wandered around touching things, trying to find comfort in fingering my childish treasures. There was the collection of china dogs that Alexis and I had added to whenever we came across one with a suitably appealing face; the little mother-of pearl jewel box that had been a birthday present from Madeleine; a serpent-shaped
piece of driftwood brought back from an outing to the sea on one of Madeleine’s good days.
Brett, at this moment, was on his way to London.
When we returned from the lake, Brett had sent Jenny to fetch his father from the dining room. Sir Ralph came at once, his table napkin still in his hand.
“We’d better go to the library,” he said. “Gail, are you here too?”
“Yes, Sir Ralph.”
Long familiar with every room at Deer’s Leap, he walked with unhesitating steps across to the fireplace, where a bright coal fire burned. He turned and faced us.
“Jenny said it was something very important.”
Brett told his father everything, as briefly as such a story could be told. I had to admire Sir Ralph’s self-control. His blind face registered his emotions—astonishment, horror, grief—but he allowed Brett to finish without interruption. I pitied him. Years seemed to have been added to his age in the space of a few minutes.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this before, Brett?” he said at last in a quiet voice.
“Because we couldn’t be certain until we had some sort of proof. It wouldn’t have been fair to worry you.”
There was an uneasy pause. Then Sir Ralph muttered, “You mean you were afraid I might not believe you? Perhaps you were right, Brett. It’s an incredible story.”
“The question is, Father, what do we do now? Ought we to contact the Intelligence people rather than the police? It’s possible they might want to keep quiet about the discovery of Alexis’s body and give themselves a better chance to track down some of the people involved.”
Sir Ralph nodded. “I think you may be right. I have contacts, of course. Do you want me to call someone now to put things in motion?”
“It might be risky to use the phone. When you remember how thorough the Communists are, there’s quite a possibility the lines here are being tapped. It would explain how they got on so quickly to the fact that Gail was going to Majorca. She rang the airport to book her flight.”
So in the end it was decided that Brett should drive at once to London to see a man Sir Ralph had known for many years.
Brett came and put his hands on my shoulders. “I may be very late getting back, Gail, so try and get some rest. I promise to come and wake you at once.” To his father he said, “How much will you tell Caterina?”
Sir Ralph hesitated. “Nothing, I think—for the moment. Tomorrow I suppose I shall have to.”
For a while after the sound of Brett’s Lancia had faded into the night, his father and I remained in the library. We were silent, both of us deep in our thoughts. At length Sir Ralph lifted his head, clearing his throat huskily.
“I cannot tell you how deeply I regret the harsh things I have said and thought about your uncle in these past days. He was my friend, and I should have had more faith. Unfortunately, unforgivably, I allowed myself to be deceived by appearances.” He turned his head away for a moment, then faced me again. “Gail, my dear, you know, don’t you, that Alexis would not have cared about death so long as the ideals he stood for survived? And now, when the world learns the truth, his books will be read, his teachings remembered. With ten times the force.” He gave a deep sigh. “Poor Madeleine—at least her sufferings are over now. Without Alexis, life would have had no meaning for her.”
I wanted to answer him, but I could not find my voice. He reached out a hand to me, and I put mine into it, feeling his fingers tighten. I knew that in his blindness Sir Ralph too was in need of this physical expression of sympathy.
After a long silence, he suggested that perhaps we ought to join Caterina and Elspeth. But I didn’t feel up to facing them this evening. Particularly Elspeth. So I said I was rather tired and would prefer to return to the west wing.
I intended telling Rudi at once about our discovery in the lake. But he was nowhere around, not in the Oak Room or anywhere else downstairs. Either he was up in his bedroom, or he’d gone out to get some air. Perhaps it was just as well, I thought with relief. I felt utterly drained, emotionally exhausted. I went up to my room and closed the door, thankful to be alone for a little while.
I kept my ears tuned to the stillness and silence of the house. When, presently, I heard the door of the Oak Room beneath me being opened, I braced myself to go down. I dreaded the task of breaking the news to Rudi, but I could not shirk it.
At the turn of the stairs I paused, hearing a voice. Not Rudi’s but Freda Aiken’s. A few steps nearer, and I realized that she was talking on the phone. The study door was slightly ajar, and though her voice was low, I caught the words distinctly.
“I tell you that they know.”
I froze at the foot of the staircase. More than what she said, it was the tone of her voice that arrested me. There was panic in it, a sort of desperation.
She was listening now to someone who spoke at length. I crept a few paces closer, standing behind the door.
Freda said in a cracked whisper, “But it was nothing I did. The girl realized it wasn’t her uncle she saw in Geneva. I heard her telling Rudi Bruckner. And then tonight she and Warrender were out on the lake in a boat. He had diving equipment and went down. They must have found the body,”
She paused again, and above the furious thudding of my own heartbeat, I fancied I could hear the voice at the other end—a man’s voice, charged with anger.
“You can’t blame me,” exclaimed Freda suddenly. “It was nothing I did.” Another pause, then hurriedly, “Yes, Bruckner’s outside somewhere. I saw him go. And she’s next door with the Warrenders at the moment. That’s why I took the chance to phone you. But I mustn’t be long.... Yes ... yes, I understand. I’ll leave at once—right away.”
I heard her replace the telephone, and I quickly slipped through the open door of the Winter Parlor, out of sight. I heard the study light switched off, the door closed. Swiftly, Freda crossed to the stairs and went up, making for her bedroom.
I was too shocked and stunned to move. It hadn’t occurred to me that anyone else in the house could be involved now that Belle Forsyth was gone. Her unspeakable job had been completed, and Alexis was dead and discredited. What possible reason could the Communists have for placing another agent at Deer’s Leap? What had remained still to be done?
Madeleine.
My entire body went ice-cold. I began to shake, powerless to control the wild trembling of my legs, the sickness in my stomach, the crawling of my skin.
My aunt’s death had been the final condemnation of Alexis Karel. If anybody still doubted that he had behaved despicably, this act of desperation on the part of his heartbroken, invalid wife would have convinced them. Everyone the world over must be thinking now that he had as good as killed his wife with his own two hands.
Had such a convenient and superbly timed piece of propaganda really been pure chance? Or had the Communists contrived that, too?
I thought about the tragedy I had witnessed from the garden. Could it be that Madeleine had been fighting desperately with Freda in order to save her life and not to end it?
I closed my eyes, seeing it all again, reliving those horrifying moments. The flutter of white inside the room, then Madeleine at the window, calling, calling Alexis’s name. And Freda Aiken coming up behind her, holding her, pulling her back. Or pushing her? With so frail an opponent as Madeleine, it would be easy to make the one look like the other.
If Freda had told her that Alexis was out there in the grounds, it would have been enough to send Madeleine rushing impetuously to the window, calling his name. And afterward, the discovery of the newspaper in her room would account for her “suicide.”
If only Brett were here, I thought frantically. But he was halfway to London by now. Sir Ralph, being blind, could do little to help. Caterina and Elspeth hadn’t the least idea what was going on, and it would take too long to explain.
I had to find Rudi.
I’d heard Freda Aiken say on the phone that he was outside somewhere. I opened the French windows and s
lipped out to the terrace. Swiftly, I circled the house, then ran across to the stable. But there was no sign of him anywhere.
I dared not call out for fear of alerting Freda. I sped down the path to the lake, stumbling in the darkness, whispering Rudi’s name. But no answer came. In desperation, I turned and ran back toward the house. The light in Freda Aiken’s room, her shadow moving behind the curtain, seemed to draw me, making me hurry faster. I’ll leave right away, she had said. She must be stopped.
I went back in through the French windows and ran straight upstairs to Freda’s room. I burst open the door.
She was standing at the wardrobe, taking down hangers. A suitcase lay open on the bed, already half filled. The drawers of the dressing table were open, too.
She spun around and her face went pale.
“Oh, Miss Fleming—you did startle me. I didn’t know you were in this side of the house.” Already she was recovering, getting back to the pose of pathetic gratitude she had adopted since Madeleine’s death. “Actually ... well, to tell you the truth, I was thinking about your kindness in letting me stay on, but it doesn’t really seem fair to have asked you. I was going to move out in the morning, find a room somewhere.”
“You ... you killed Madeleine,” I said chokily.
Her eyes narrowed, going wary. The dress she was holding slipped through her fingers to the floor.
“Whatever are you saying, Miss Fleming? It’s dreadful to talk like that. I admit I feel to blame for not watching your aunt more carefully, but that doesn’t give you the right to accuse me of—”
“You killed her,” I repeated. “You killed her because that’s what you were sent here to do. I heard what you said on the phone just now.”
“You heard?” she gasped. “Oh dear, I thought you were safely next door with the Warrenders.”
Casually she started edging toward me. I stood my ground, defying her. But then, before I realized what she meant to do, she lunged forward and swiftly turned the key in the lock. Slipping it into the pocket of her cardigan, she stood and smiled at me maliciously. “There now, we can have a cozy chat while I finish my packing.”
Quest for Alexis Page 18