‘Jeremy?’ I asked.
He also shook his head, and looked away.
‘Well?’ I demanded, more forcefully.
‘I thought it’d been destroyed,’ Jeremy said, his voice low. His right fist was quietly, gently, thumping the table surface.
‘That would have been a terrible thing—’
‘It’s vile!’ he interrupted, his voice suddenly too loud. ‘Revolting.’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘All right. But it’s only a book. Black marks on paper. It doesn’t become anything until you read it. The whole thing’s a miracle, you know. Little black marks. Your eyes scan them, and your brain turns it all into images. They’re your own images, Jeremy. Inside your brain. It’s not the book. It doesn’t shout the words at you—’
‘I don’t want a bloody lecture!’ he shouted. ‘I thought it’d been destroyed. It had to be...oh Lord...’
He put his hands over his face. I glanced at Paul, who was looking completely confused, even embarrassed. Those two, brothers, with not too many years between them, had probably thrown at each other all the words Lawrence had used — and which had been expurgated from the first edition in England and had probably discussed and argued over the same sensual and erotic aspects that Lawrence had exploited. So why, now, this attitude from Jeremy? Paul’s shock — and he was shocked, I saw — was at Jeremy’s response. Jeremy’s shock, still possessing him, seemed to have disorganised him altogether.
His eyes were wild when he at last looked directly at me. He shot out a hand. ‘Give it to me. Hand it over.’
‘No, Jeremy. Sit down. Relax. It’s only a book.’
‘It’s mine—’
‘No. If anybody’s, it’s Paul’s.’
‘I’ve got to get rid of it.’ Jeremy said, one arm flying out wildly. ‘Control yourself, Jeremy, for God’s sake.’
‘Give it to me!’ he shouted, his voice breaking, and close to a scream.
Paul raised his eyebrows, glancing worriedly at his brother. I said, ‘And have you tear it apart? I’d as soon hand you a fistful of tenners to tear up. Stop acting like a fool, Jerry.’
I tucked it firmly under one arm. He stared at me with murder in his eyes. If I’d dropped down in a fit, he’d have gone first for the book. But I was too big for him to tackle — even he with his martial arts — because they would have taught him that every move, every blow, had to be calmly calculated. Not in anger. His face crumpled. I didn’t want to see a man his age weeping. I’d seen such a thing, several times before, and I’d never got used to it
I turned away. I said, ‘I’ll take care of it. When you’re feeling calmer, Jerry, we’ll discuss what to do with it.’ Then I turned and walked out. At that point, it would’ve taken a regiment to tear it from me, because I knew it had to be important, for some reason or another.
The DC was still at his post. If he’d heard anything of what had been going on, he gave no indication of it.
I took Lady Chatterley up to my room. There had to be something to be understood involving it. I wanted time to think...and Mary? Maybe I’d get time to have a look at it before I went and spoke to her.
I sat on the edge of our bed and opened the book across my knees. It creaked a little, and I was having to be very careful with it. At once, I was in some difficulty, because I had persuaded myself that there had to be something special, something different about this copy, other than the fact that it was less dusty than the other books had been. But I wasn’t in a position to assess anything. I had never read it, in any version. I’d only heard of it.
It wasn’t at once obvious. I dipped into it at random, not being selective in any way. A phrase here, I read, a phrase there. And I came across nothing that would shock any reader of a modern best-seller. But then I spotted something: an annotation. Then more, as I flipped through, now knowing what to look for.
They were in pencil, one with a hard lead, very tiny and delicately in the margins. It was as though brief comments had been made with the expectation that they could be eventually erased. But they hadn’t been. They were short, mostly monosyllabic. ‘Absurd’ and ‘Yes, yes’, ‘Fool, fool!’ and ‘Now — oh, please...’, ‘No!’
I closed the book on my lap, and sat, thinking about it. I couldn’t remember having seen Mary’s writing. Little notes, she had left for us, yes. I had read those, but not attentively. And in any event, these furtive little comments had been entered so minutely that all trace of normal script would have been extinguished. But Mary...if the notes had been hers...well, I knew her. No notes. Simply, she’d have laughed it off, on catching the book. ‘Well, fancy that. This old thing!’ Yet I had difficulty imagining Mary defacing a book.
But that hadn’t been her reaction. I decided that there was no alternative but to face her with it, not the fact of the annotations, but the fact of her obvious distress.
Yes, I decided, that was what it had been. Distress.
14
At last I heaved myself to my feet. I felt stiff and tired, and very worried. I took the book in my hand, quietly went out into the corridor, then strolled along to the door two past ours. I tapped on it.
‘Is that you, Richard?’ Amelia’s voice.
‘Yes.’
‘Then come along in.’
I did so, leaning back against the door until the latch clicked. Mary was sitting on the edge of her bed, with Amelia facing her, seated in another of those basketry chairs, which seemed to have been bought as job lots. Mary had her fingers linked in her lap, and was staring at them. She looked up, and twisted her lips at me with a smile that didn’t quite get there.
‘It seems to be all peaceful now,’ I told them. ‘They’re going through the books like a tornado, now, hunting for more treasures.’
In fact, they had been standing there as though suddenly frozen.
‘I expect they’ll find a great many,’ said Mary, not registering any enthusiasm either way.
‘But not...’ I allowed myself a small smile. ‘Not one that’ll get the same reception, perhaps.’
There was no response to that. I put the book down gently on to her bedside table, its fate in the balance.
‘And I don’t suppose there’ll be any more with little notes in the margins,’ I went on, trying to remain casual.
‘Notes?’ asked Amelia.
‘Annotations,’ I told her. ‘In pencil. Comments or reactions — I don’t know.’
‘Then Mary couldn’t have had anything to do with those.’ Amelia smiled at me, but there was concern in her eyes. I smiled back, dismissing with a flick of my hand the likelihood that Mary could have been involved. But Mary knew something. I went to look out of the window, standing at it and seeing nothing.
‘But you did recognise the book, Mary,’ I said gently. ‘At a glance, and it’d come flying at you.’
‘Mary’s explained that,’ Amelia told me, the hint being that she would fill me in afterwards. But I had to ignore that. Amelia might not have known the correct questions to ask.
‘Mary,’ I asked softly, ‘where had you seen it before?’
‘I thought it had been destroyed,’ Mary answered quietly.
‘But where had you seen it before?’
I turned to face her. She had not been weeping, but now the tears were there for the shedding. I hated to think I’d provoked them. She didn’t answer, tucking her lower lip between her teeth to prevent it from betraying her.
‘Mary?’ I persisted gently — I hoped gently.
Amelia was severe. ‘Richard, I won’t have you bullying Mary.’
‘As though I would! But I’ve got to know, love.’
‘Then I can tell you all you need to hear.’
I wasn’t sure exactly what I would need to hear. Mary, observing my dilemma, put in, ‘But it’s all right, Amelia. Truly. Richard and I are friends.’
‘That’s true,’ I said.
‘And I don’t mind him knowing. After all...’ There was a bleak attempt at a smile. ‘After all, I was only you
ng. Sixteen or so at the time. Naturally, I’d want to dip into it. I’d heard about it, you see, that book. I was naturally curious about it — and the first words my eyes fell on — oh, it was shocking! I can remember now. I went hot all over. So I put it back quickly, and got on with my work.’
‘Your work?’ I prompted.
‘Well...you know...I was a kind of a maid at that time, but I remember...I’d started taking on the looking-after of the boys. Jeremy would’ve been only about four, and Paul only a toddler.’
I was listening carefully, but not with my eyes set on her, in case she found my attention embarrassing. It was nervousness loosening her tongue.
Amelia prompted, ‘I’m sure they were delightful children.’
‘Oh yes. They were a bit of a handful.’
She stopped. I had to ease her back into it.
‘And where did you find the book, Mary?’ I asked.
‘I thought I’d told you that, Richard. Oh, men never listen. Don’t you find that, Amelia?’
‘Richard’s a terrible listener,’ Amelia agreed, not risking a glance at me. But I made up for it with patience.
‘No, Mary, you didn’t say. But you did mention you were still doing your maid’s duties. That, I take it, involved dusting, tidying up, making beds?’
‘Yes. Yes, all those, and more.’
‘And — I suppose — you came across the book during your tidying?
‘Yes.’
‘Where...exactly?’
‘In the bedside table drawer.’
In illustration, she drew open the drawer just below the surface of her own bedside table. These tables, as were the basketry chairs, seemed to be standard throughout the bedrooms.
‘In there?’
‘Not this one — I didn’t mean.’ She looked at me sternly, disappointed in me.
Avoiding the direct question, I asked, ‘Did your duties includee dusting inside drawers?’
Mary still had a reserve of composure. ‘Not really. But I peeked.’
‘Ah. Maids are notorious for that. Just peeked?’
‘The first time, yes. That’s when I saw what it was. The book. Then I slammed the drawer shut.’
‘Ashamed to be looking at it?’
‘Ashamed to be caught looking at it,’ said Mary, giving Amelia a conspiratorial glance.
‘You see, Richard,’ said Amelia.
I didn’t know what that meant. I smiled at Mary, and went on, ‘But I suppose you went back to it, at a more...’ I snapped my fingers. ‘More auspicious time.’
‘Yes. I just couldn’t help myself. I had to.’
‘And how did those occasions arise?’
‘Oh...in those days we had stables and horses and fox-hounds.’
‘Gladys mentioned that.’
‘So the master and the mistress used to go out riding together. Most days when the weather was fine. Sometimes when it was terrible. Then I had the...the time.’
‘You pounced on it?’
‘It was not exactly like that, Richard,’ said Mary reprovingly. ‘Not pounced.’
‘No. Of course not,’ I agreed. ‘Shall we say — you took the opportunity?’
‘Yes. That’s right. If Mrs Hughes was out of the way.’
‘Mrs Hughes?’
‘The housekeeper. We had six maids at that time, and a chauffeur. For the Rolls Royce Rowley used to have.’
‘And you then had time to read it?’ I asked.
‘Oh, Richard — I was so innocent then. I knew nothing. I was shocked, frightened. Frightened of the...of the emotions he was writing about.’
Amelia smiled at me. It was almost a sad smile — a reminiscent sad smile. I said nothing on that subject. What did I know about a woman’s emotions?
‘And it was then,’ I suggested, ‘that you made the pencil notes in the margins?’ This I said without any tone in my voice, although I knew that Mary wouldn’t have dreamed of doing such a thing.
‘Of course not!’ Amelia burst out. ‘What are these notes you keep talking about?’
Mary reached across and put a hand on Amelia’s. It was all right. Men had to be excused for being so brash and so lacking in understanding.
‘Now, you know I didn’t, Richard,’ Mary said. ‘Those were already there. I didn’t understand them, really I didn’t.’
‘You didn’t understand what they meant — or what they implied?’
Mary’s eyes were now huge. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘No, Richard. Explain yourself.’
‘The meaning of the actual pencilled words — or the meaning of what the writing of them implied.’
That got me two frowns. One from each one of them. I sighed, not knowing how better to put it. But I reached over for the book, opened it at random, found I’d fallen lucky, and indicated a pencil note in the margin. Amelia took the book from me.
‘Well, never mind,’ I said to Mary. ‘It doesn’t matter. Did you ever get to finish it?’
‘Oh no. Barely a quarter of it. A tenth.’
‘Why was that?’
‘One day it wasn’t in the drawer any more. I simply assumed it had been destroyed. That’s all it was fit for.’
‘Hmm!’ I went again to look out of the window. Now, at least, I was seeing and focusing. But nothing was happening out there.
It was all happening inside this room, and I couldn’t crack its shell.
‘But later, Mary...’ I turned back. They had been whispering together. I waited until the heads turned. ‘Later, surely, you understood?’
Mary didn’t answer.
‘Understood what it all meant, Mary,’ I said patiently. ‘Why the notes were made.’
‘I see what you mean,’ said Amelia, looking up, startled by the realisation.
Mary shook her head at me. But I could see I was expecting too much of her. Then I caught her eye. She was frowning at me, and there was appeal in her expression. Don’t make me say it, Richard, please. So she did understand.
I smiled at her. ‘No. I suppose you didn’t.’
If my thoughts on the matter were in any way marginally accurate, I could see now that I would cause her further distress by pursuing it. If she had never understood, then I would be doing her a disservice by revealing it to her. If she had understood, she didn’t want to admit it.
‘And this bedside drawer where you found the book — I suppose that was in Sir Rowland’s room?’
‘Oh no. Of course not. It was in Lady Searle’s.’ She used that title now because she was mentally again a teenager. ‘Tessa’s,’ she amplified, dragging herself into the present.
‘Ah yes,’ I said, trying not to look surprised.
Amelia’s eyes were worriedly on me, but from her there was no surprise. She had guessed.
‘I’ll need to have a word with her,’ I decided.
‘Oh...no!’ cried Mary.
‘Not, of course, mentioning you, Mary.’
‘Must you, Richard?’ asked Amelia, her brow furrowed.
‘I think we must.’
‘We?’ She grimaced.
‘I don’t think I’d like to tackle this alone.’
If the thought crossed my mind that I ought to bring this to the attention of DCI Phillips, I allowed it to pass on its way. It seemed to have nothing to do with his murder, and it would take an hour to get over to him the meaning of all the undertones, and I’d find myself thrusting a virtual stranger on to Tessa, when at least I was more a friend than an enemy.
‘But how will you—’ began Mary, agitated.
‘I shall merely say I’ve come across this book in the library, and I’m trying to find out who’d entered the notes.’
And failed to rub them out again, was the thought that I had to consider. For, after all, the very gentle way the pencil had been used indicated that erasure had been in mind.
‘Must it be now?’ asked Amelia.
I hunched my shoulders at her. ‘The less wholesome tasks should be tackled at once.�
�� Oh — how often had I told myself this! And ignored it.
‘See how strong and masterful he is, Mary,’ said my wife. ‘Full of upright principles.’
Mary managed a minimal smile. ‘I hadn’t been aware of it,’ she admitted. ‘But I suppose he’s quite correct. Do it now. Yes.’
‘Then perhaps,’ I suggested, ‘you wouldn’t mind going to her to ask if she’s prepared to have a word with us.’
‘Richard!’ Amelia was annoyed. ‘Mary’s not a servant now.’
‘No. But she’s closer than we are to Tessa. And if it takes longer to do it than we’d expect, then that only means she’s used the time to slip in a little warning.’
‘As though she would.’
‘As though I’d dare,’ said Mary, rising to her feet. ‘Frankly, she’s still the mistress to me.’
‘I can’t believe that.’
‘But all the same, I’ll go and ask her,’ she agreed.
Then Amelia and I were alone. We weren’t looking at each other. In the end, she said, ‘I do hope you know what you’re doing, Richard.’
‘Me too.’
‘You’re not to upset her.’
‘Of course not. But you must have realised what it’s all about.’ She didn’t answer for some moments. Then: ‘I’m hoping...praying that it’s not what I think.’
‘Me too,’ I said with feeling.
‘I wish we’d never come here.’
‘It’s certainly been an experience.’
‘This house,’ she said, a little passion entering her voice. ‘It looked grim when we first set eyes on it. And just look at what’s coming out. And what might have to come out still.’
‘Yes, love.’
But houses were like people — you could never guess from the exterior what was going on inside. Oh yes, you can be sure that the residents stamp their personality on their houses. I’ve seen avenues of bright and coloured exteriors; rows of terraces with dirty, drab faces to warn away the world. But what went on behind those walls, not betrayed by the faces? I’ve seen as much violence behind smart frontages as drab ones. This very house...this grey and uninspiring front...yet it was proving to contain, in a material sense, bright and unexplored riches. As with people. And hidden inside these walls had also been displayed a hideous tangle of emotions. As with people.
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