The Devil's Caress

by June Wright

  “It was Kate. She killed King and that idiot. She and King were always wrangling for power. Kate won. She’s trying to push the blame somewhere else. She always did that. I’ve seen it happen before.”

  “Dr. Kate had nothing to do with it,” Marsh said fiercely. “She has done nothing.”

  “Kate!” Arkwright sneered. “You’re crazy about her. She’ll use you the way King always did with others. Kate is a—”

  “Shut your mouth!” Marsh shouted, losing her grip of the situation at his jibes. There was a baling-tin near her. She picked it up.

  “What about the steel needle I found? The one you took from your wife? A long thin instrument made that incision in Sam. And why were you so keen to attend Waring? You were afraid I’d pull him through. You dare accuse Dr. Kate! You fat swine!” and she threw the tin at Arkwright.

  It caught him on the side of the head and fell into the water to bob away on the swell. Marsh stopped aghast. Arkwright’s eyes were queer. They were terrifying. His whole face seemed to quiver.

  “I warned you,” he said. “I warned you. Surely you guessed that the night in the laboratory. I knew you were up to something, poking and prying and questioning.”

  The laboratory, Marsh. thought quickly. Arkwright. He has been wanting me to leave all along. He even tried by beating me up. He’d try anything.

  “You little fool!” Arkwright burst out, and his hands moved quickly.

  The boom swung over and caught her across the shoulder-blades. She staggered and slid over the sloping deck. The next minute she was in the water.

  Chapter Nine

  I

  She came to the surface with one shoe off and her slacks billowing about her legs. The first thing she saw was the cliff, dark and forbidding and quite close—frighteningly close. It seemed to be coming nearer. Then she saw something else. Someone on the cliff. A man on horseback, immobile against the brilliant blue sky, watching her as she kicked and threshed against the current.

  A call came from behind and she turned. The boat looked very large as it bore down, the wind filling the sail. For a moment she had a desperate fear Arkwright intended to run her down, and with an effort lifted one heavy arm from the water to point to the horseman on the cliffs. He would not dare do anything if he knew they were being watched.

  But the murderous expression had gone from Arkwright’s face, and his eyes now looked like an anxious cod’s. He drew near and reefed sail, shouting and giving directions; too many for Marsh to follow coherently. She grasped the side of the boat. They were too close to the rocks for Arkwright to leave the tiller, but he coaxed and shouted her on to the deck. She made a tremendous effort to heave herself up and succeeded at last in sprawling across under the boom with her feet over the side. She lay there panting with her eyes closed.

  Above the sound of the sea and the breeze filling the sail she could hear Arkwright’s voice, anxious, apologetic, defensive, whining. But only when they came into the cove did she open her eyes. It was quieter, and intensely hot after the ocean.

  She was too dazed and tired to speak to Arkwright, to answer his questions and allay his anxieties for his own skin. She did not hear them but only the tone of his voice. At the mole she pulled herself up heavily and climbed on to the landing, her one shoe squelching water and her clothes clinging to her body.

  He called to her to wait until he made the boat fast, but she plodded ahead and started to limp up the path. It was rough under her bare foot, and she kept her gaze on the stony ground trying to pick the smoother parts. Arkwright was still calling but presently she lost the sound of his voice as she came into the breeze at the top of the cliff.

  A man spoke her name, and as the voice was not Arkwright’s it jolted her out of her dazed condition. She looked up bewildered.

  Shane stood barring the path, the horse’s bridle over his arm. He said something, but she heard only one word. She began to laugh.

  “Accident!” She bent double as a stitch caught her side. “Accident! What is that trite saying? ‘Accidents will happen in the best regulated circles’? Yes, an accident—like poor Sam, like Kingsley Waring’s overdose.” She laughed and then turned to vomit up some salt water.

  Arkwright was coming. She could hear him panting and whining up the path. She looked at Shane. He was closer and asking her a question.

  Certainly she’d ridden a horse before. When she was ten. She had bolted into an orchard and had her face scratched by branches.

  Shane smiled and put his hands to her waist. For one extraordinary moment she felt utterly helpless. She remembered that same time in the orchard when her father had lifted her from the ground and had held her against his shoulder, so firm and familiar and secure. Then she was high above the ground and staring at the coarse long hairs of the horse’s mane. She put out one hand and twisted her fingers into it. There was a slight jolt and Shane had mounted behind her. The horse lifted his head and moved along the cliff path.

  She jogged uncertainly away from the main centre of the animal’s movement as she tried to lean forward from Shane. But she was pulled back to where it was admittedly more comfortable.

  “Spare my horse as much discomfort as you can, my dear.”

  It was amazing to hear a man’s voice so close to her ear, and to feel his breath on her cheek. It was a singular experience to Marsh. She murmured childishly, “I hate all men.”

  Shane’s brusque laugh, familiar before but intimate now, startled her, too.

  “After this afternoon’s event I can’t blame you,” he said. “What possessed you to go out with that land-lubber?”

  Marsh, always just, said: “You’re wrong. He handles a boat expertly. I was trying to get him to talk. He had a knitting-needle. A long, steel, sharp-pointed needle.”

  The horse jumped under a twitch on the reins. “You little fool!” Shane said. “It’s a wonder you weren’t drowned. Why did you do it?”

  His rough words made her a little tearful. She felt disconcertingly feminine and tried to beat off the weakness. She might not like men but she despised women who behaved girlishly.

  “It’s all your fault,” she told him. “I had to do something. You must give me more time.”

  “Mowbray, stop feeling sorry for yourself. I’m taking you back to Reliance. Have a bath, have a brandy and go to bed to sleep. And don’t start thinking again until you have done all three. I’ll count this as time off. Recreation time.”

  She sat up. “Sit still,” he ordered. “Don’t you think this is very pleasant?”

  “No,” she replied crossly. “I’m most uncomfortable. Let me down now. I must have left Arkwright far enough behind and—”

  “And—?” queried Shane, as he drew rein. “You don’t want anyone to see you, do you?” He helped her lift her leg over the horse’s neck and slide down, but he did not dismount himself. “What would your precious Dr. Kate say if she could see you now?” he said, looking down on her tired face.

  She did not appear very attractive with her hair streaked over her forehead, but she seemed very young. He lifted his hand, touched the horse’s flank with his heel and cantered along the soft ground which bordered the road.

  Marsh turned towards Reliance with a sigh. Shane had an uncanny way of getting to her subconscious thoughts.

  She tried to creep into the house unobserved, and had even gained the upper hall, when inopportunely Delia Arkwright came out of her room. She saw Marsh, glared, and hurried forward.

  “Where is Henry?” she demanded. “What has happened? Really, Dr. Mowbray, your appearance is scandalous. What happened to you?”

  “I fell into the water,” Marsh replied, edging along the wall. “I must go and change. Your husband is coming.”

  She got into her room, slammed the door and locked it.

  II

  When she came back after a bath Mrs Arkwright was ou
tside her door again. She had intercepted her husband there.

  “It’s the look of the thing, Henry,” she was haranguing him. “She came in looking—well, looking as though you had attacked her.”

  “Oh, I say, Delia!” Henry protested. “Do be quiet. Everyone will hear you.”

  “And a good thing, too,” she continued loudly. “I’ve had enough of your philandering, Henry. First that Peterson creature, but she has cottoned on to Michael now. And talk about damaged goods! Part of King’s legacy, I presume. And now this doctor of Katherine’s. We leave tomorrow.”

  “And I’ve had enough of you,” Arkwright burst out. “If I liked, I could make things pretty sticky for you.”

  There was a pause. Marsh stopped brushing her hair and frowned at her reflection.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Henry,” Mrs Arkwright said acidly. “Go and get out of those stupid clothes and try to act like a reasonable adult. And bring down my knitting-bag when you come.”

  Arkwright was breathing heavily. “I trust, my dear,” he said, with ponderous significance, “that you haven’t been mislaying your needles again.”

  There was no reply from Mrs Arkwright, and Marsh heard her steps going down the hall.

  Arkwright knocked at her door. “Dr. Mowbray, are you there? I must speak to you. Let me in.”

  The door handle turned but Marsh watched it silently.

  “Please open the door. I’ve something to tell you. I want to explain. You’ve got all the wrong idea.”

  Still Marsh remained quiet. For several minutes Arkwright kept up his plea. She could visualize him, his eyes bulging with apprehension and his pink face bedewed with perspiration, cringing outside her room. She was not so frightened of him now, but she was not ready to risk being alone with him.

  “Henry?” said a cool voice, in the form of a question.

  “Why, hullo there, Kate! Did Delia tell you about our misfortune? I was just about to inquire how my shipmate is. She took an uncomfortable ducking. A most regrettable accident.”

  “Most regrettable,” agreed Katherine Waring’s smooth voice. “I can’t understand how it happened, Henry. You are such a careful person as a rule.”

  There had been a slight nuance in her tone, which caused Arkwright to mumble and stumble.

  “Yes, Henry?”

  “I think I’ll go and change,” he said, at last.

  She waited a moment before she knocked at Marsh’s door. It was unlocked at once. After the frightening incident with Arkwright, Marsh felt closer to Katherine Waring. Her passage at arms with another had brought her back to the one whom she had previously mistrusted.

  Dr. Waring surveyed her with a faint smile. “Good girl,” she nodded. “You’ve had a bath. Get into bed. I’ve brought you a drink. All three should take away that nasty feeling.”

  Marsh, her barrier of reserve down, laughed shakily. She could say what she liked to Dr. Kate now. Arkwright’s blunder had done that much for her.

  “All three already prescribed by Dr. Shane,” she said, slipping off her robe. She got into bed and held out her hand for the glass. Then she saw Katherine Waring’s expression.

  “Dr. Shane?”

  The girl’s face closed suddenly, too. “He saw us from the cliff. I lost a shoe, so he let me ride his horse back to Reliance.”

  “You did not tell me he was a doctor before. Should I know this mysterious Dr. Shane?”

  “I think so,” Marsh faltered. “He knew your husband a long time ago.”

  “Very often King did not introduce his friends to me. Drink your brandy, Marsh, and then try to sleep for a while.” She went out of the room quickly.

  Marsh stared at the closed door. Tomorrow the Arkwrights were going and Gair had already left. That left—how many besides herself and Katherine Waring? She began to count.

  But it was Arkwright who had attacked her that night in the laboratory and again that day. Once he had gone she would have no fears. It was ridiculous to think of the departures as strands of rope being slowly unravelled between herself and Dr. Kate.

  Anyway, there was Betty Donne. She would not leave. She was Dr. Kate’s nurse. And Miss Jennet who prepared the meals. No, she would never be quite alone with Dr. Kate. She could leave soon now. After all, her boat sailed in another three days. There was always the excuse of final arrangements to be made. She would never be alone with Dr. Kate. She must never be alone with her.

  III

  She dozed fitfully, stirring when footsteps went along the passage outside now and then. Shane’s ultimatum had been transcended by something stronger. The instinct of self-preservation was just as powerful in her as it was in Laurence Gair. Blurred with weariness and fear she thought that no loyalty or ideal had a claim over personal safety.

  She started from her sleep when a knock came at her door.

  “Who is it?” she called, her voice fogged.

  There was no reply and she raised herself on one elbow. A small white note lay just inside her room. She got out of bed and picked it up. The writing was an agitated scrawl.

  I must see you. I am very sorry about today. I lost my head. You are wrong. Let me explain everything. I’ll wait in my room until I hear from you. Don’t be afraid of me, please. I wouldn’t do you any harm. I just lost my head this afternoon.

  The note was unsigned, but she could guess the writer.

  And how am I to know you won’t lose your head again? she thought grimly, crumpling the paper in her hand.

  She went over to the dressing-table to get a cigarette. With the same match she burned the note in the ash-tray. It was so traditionally the thing to do that she smiled even as she crushed the ashes with a dead match and then emptied the tray out the window.

  Outside it was still warm although it was nearly sunset. The sky was vivid, an indication of a still warmer morrow. The landscape was hushed and somnolent and bathed in a glowing light. For a while she stood looking out. Then with a sigh she turned away and began to dress.

  She went to her door and opened it. At once she saw Arkwright standing just outside his own room. He had his eyes fixed on her door, so that when Marsh opened it their eyes met in a startlingly direct gaze. He did not move, but put out one hand in a pleading gesture. She surveyed him thoughtfully for a moment and then, inclining her head in slight encouragement, she walked to the stairs. Arkwright followed humbly.

  They met Delia Arkwright going up to change.

  She said, “I hope you feel better, Dr. Mowbray,” without much concern, and to her husband six steps behind, “You’re ready early,” in an acid voice.

  Marsh replied conventionally, but Arkwright did not speak.

  In the lower hall he ventured closer to the girl. She flinched away, even though she knew he was frightened.

  “Not here,” he muttered. “I can’t talk in the house. Come outside. Someone might hear.”

  “Very well,” she agreed, and led the way to the verandah. Rex, the dog, rose and padded towards her.

  “Come farther away from the house,” Arkwright urged. “Yes, come this way. I will be able to explain better there.” He nodded to himself, looking more assured. As she hesitated he tried to smile and put out his hand to her shoulder. She moved away adroitly and, catching a glimpse of the dog’s leash hanging on the wall, clipped it on Rex’s collar.

  “I don’t like that brute,” Arkwright observed, as she was dragged down the steps. “He has been badly trained. Too many masters—King, Kate and Michael.”

  “Where are we going?” Marsh asked, as she followed him round the house.

  Below the cliff the sea was an unbelievable sapphire touched with gold. The sky was a molten hue and gulls winged their way across the approaching sunset. The sun slid in and out of the flat-banked clouds towards the rim of the sea. She saw a white sail cutting across the water, shiver
ed in spite of the warm air as she heard the lazy lap of the sea against the rocks just below her feet.

  Arkwright did not take her far from the house. On the other side of the garage a bungalow was built in the scrub. The dog suddenly stopped and refused to go farther. A growl came from his throat.

  “Leave him,” Arkwright said urgently. “We must hurry. We might be missed.”

  But Marsh bent to the dog cajolingly. Reluctantly Rex rose and padded along uncertainly as though against his instinct. Arkwright pushed open the door of the bungalow and stood aside. She went in.

  It was immaculately and simply furnished as a bedroom, and was lit by the full crimson glow from the sun. Inside it was hot and airless, for it had not been inhabited for several days now. There was a plain iron bedstead with a curious addition of parallel bars extending from one end to the other. She was reminded of a ship’s bunk.

  Another odd feature was the combination school-desk and bench in the centre of the room. It faced one wall to which a blackboard had been attached. On a table nearby was a heterogeneous collection, all carefully laid out; shells, seaweed, a brightly coloured handkerchief, some odd empty tobacco tins and even some fragments of coloured glass.

  “Sam’s room,” Arkwright said, and she drew in her breath quickly.

  The dog had crouched on the floor between them, his cars pricked. He watched Arkwright’s every movement.

  “Kate thought she could teach him,” Arkwright continued, “but he was a thieving slobbery creature. I hated to look at him. See those things on the table? That handkerchief belongs to Evelyn. He stole it. He would steal things and then weep and whine if he was found out. Like King’s snuff-box—I knew about that before.”

  “Why did you bring me here?” Marsh asked directly. “What is it you want to tell me?”

  “It’s Delia,” he whispered, trying to light a cigarette with shaking fingers. “My wife. I don’t know for certain but I think she killed the boy. It was the needle. You’re a smart girl. But it would have been better . . . I did try to warn you. And when Delia told me you’d been out all night I wrote an unsigned note to Katherine. I thought she’d want you to leave. Why did you start all this? Where is it going to end?”