The Astonishing Adventure of Jane Smith: A Golden Age Mystery

by Patricia Wentworth

  She went into the walled garden and walked up and down. Perhaps Anthony Luttrell would come to her as he had come once before. Presently she came to the tool-shed, stopped for a moment hesitating on the threshold, and then went in. There was a way into the passages from here; she was quite sure of it. If she could find the spring, she believed that she would be able to reach the cross-passage where she had run into Henry. She did not believe that Ember used it. Why should he, since it would be of no use to his schemes? If she could get into the passage and hide there, she need not go back to the house. She could wait there for Henry and catch him as he passed. She would be able to warn him too, and it came to her with startling suddenness that he stood very much in need of warning; so much had come to light in the forty-eight hours since he left.

  It took Jane an hour to find the spring. She might not have found it then, but for the chance that made her slip and throw all her weight upon one place just under the wide potting-shelf. There was a creak, and one of the boards gave a little. She found a trapdoor and steps beneath it.

  There were some old sacks in the shed. Jane took one of them, climbed down the steps, and shut the trap-door again. She felt her way down to the level, spread the sack on the second step, and sat down. She felt utterly forlorn and weary.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Mr. Ember, having completed all his arrangements, went in search of Lady Heritage. She had sat silently through lunch and disappeared directly afterwards. Having failed to find her downstairs, Ember was about to pass along the upper corridor to the steel gate which shut off the north wing, when he noticed that the door of the small Oak Room on his left was standing ajar. He thought he heard a movement within, and, after pausing for a moment to listen, he pushed the door wide and looked in. As far as his knowledge went, Lady Heritage had never entered this room during the time that they had been in the house. He accepted the fact and could have stated the reasons for it. It had been the playroom, and the walls were covered with Anthony Luttrell’s school groups. The book shelves held his books, the cabinets his collections. In a very intimate sense it was his room.

  Raymond Heritage stood at the far end of it now. She wore a dress of soft white wool bound with a plaited girdle from the ends of which heavy tassels swung. She had taken one of the groups from the wall and was looking at it with an intensity which closed her thought to all other impressions. She stood half turned from the door. Ember looked at her and, looking, experienced some strange sensations. This was Raymond Carr-Magnus, a younger, softer, lovelier woman than Raymond Heritage. The curious cold something, like transparent glass or very thin ice, which seemed to wall her from her fellows, was gone. It was as if the ice had dissolved leaving the air misty and tremulous.

  The little flame which always burned in him took on brightness and intensity, and a second flame sprang up beside it, a flame that burned to a still white heat of anger because this change, this softening, was for Anthony Luttrell and not for Jeffrey Ember.

  There was no sign of emotion, however, in face or expression as he moved slightly and said:

  “Are you busy? May I speak to you for a few minutes?”

  It was characteristic of Raymond that she did not appear in the least startled. She turned quite slowly, laid the photograph on the open front of the bureau by which she stood, and said:

  “Now? Do you want me now?” A softness was in her voice as she spoke, and a dream in her eyes.

  Her beauty struck Ember as a thing seen for the first time. He had to use great force to keep his answer on a note of indifference.

  “If you can spare the time,” he said.

  Raymond looked round her. There was a caressing quality in her glance.

  “Yes; I’ll come downstairs,” she said.

  This was Anthony’s room. She would not talk to another man in Anthony’s room. The thought may have been in her mind. The breath of it beat on Ember’s flames and fanned them higher still. He led the way downstairs and into Sir William’s study.

  Raymond Heritage had passed from the despairing Bipod of her first interview with Anthony. Then to know him alive and to feel him unforgiving had stabbed her to the quick. But that phase had passed. During the many hours that she had spent alone the one amazing radiant thought that he was alive had come to dominate everything. The cold finality of death had been lifted. Instead of a blank wall, there opened before her an infinite number of ways, any one of which might lead her back to her lost happiness. She began to live in the past, to go over the old times, to make a dream her companion.

  She came into the study with Ember and waited to hear what he wanted, giving him just that surface attention which he recognised and resented. His first words were meant to startle her.

  “Lady Heritage,” he said, “you know, of course, that there are certain passages and rooms under this house?”

  She did start a little, he thought. Certainly her attention deepened.

  “Who told you that, Jeffrey?” she said, and hardly heard her own voice because Anthony’s rang in her ears insisting, “I know that you told Ember.”

  “Mr. Luttrell told me,” said Ember.

  She exclaimed incredulously. At least her thoughts were not wandering now. Ember felt a certain triumph as he realised it. He went on speaking quite quietly:

  “It was when Sir William and I were down here the year before Mr. Luttrell died. He, Mr. Luttrell, was taken very ill and I sat up with him. In the night he was delirious. It was obvious that he had something on his mind. He began to talk about the passages and to say that the secret must not be lost. He took me for his nephew Henry March, and nothing would serve him but he must show me the entrance in the hall. He got out of bed, and was so much excited that I thought it best to give way. When he had shown me the spring he calmed down and went quietly back to bed. In the morning he had forgotten all about it.”

  Raymond listened, frowning.

  “Why do you tell me this?” she said. “I knew Mr. Luttrell had told Henry.”

  “Henry March knows?” said Ember.

  “Yes, I think so. Yes, I’m sure he does. Why, Jeffrey?”

  Ember was too busy with his thoughts to speak for a moment. What an appalling risk they had run. If Henry March knew of the passages, then they had been on the very brink of the abyss all along. He spoke at last, very seriously:

  “I want you to come down with me into the passages if you will. There’s something I want to show you— something which I think you ought to know.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “I think you ought to see for yourself. I’d rather not say any more if you don’t mind. I’ll show you what I mean. I really think you ought to come and see for yourself. This is a good time, as the servants are safely out of the way and Miss Molloy seems to have taken herself off.”

  “Very well, I’ll come. I must get a cloak though, or I shall get into such a mess. Those passages simply cover one with slime.”

  Ember stood still with his hand on the half-opened door.

  “You’ve been down there?”

  “Why, yes, once or twice.”

  “Lately?” His voice was rather low.

  “Yes, quite lately.”

  Ember gripped the door.

  “And how did you know—oh, I beg your pardon.”

  “Yes, I don’t think we need go into that.” She spoke gently but from a distance. As she spoke she passed him and went through the hall and up the stairs. The heavy tassels of her girdle knocked softly against each shallow step.

  Ember went on gripping the door until she came down again wrapped in a long black cloak. When he dropped his hand there was a red incised line across the palm. He saw that the cloak was smeared with green. How near to the edge they had been, how horribly near!

  He opened the door and lighted her down the steps in silence, and in silence walked as far as the laboratory turning. When he turned to the left and flashed his light ahead of them, Raymond spoke:

  “I’ve never been
along that passage,” she said. “I know there are holes in some of them, and I’ve never liked the look of these side tunnels.”

  “This one’s quite safe,” said Ember, and led the way.

  Jane heard the murmur of their voices, and for a moment saw the faint glow of the light. Then the glow and the voices died again. It was dark, she was alone, she was cold, she wanted Henry, oh, how she wanted Henry.

  At that moment Jane’s idea of Paradise was to be able to put her head down on Henry’s shoulder and cry. It was not, perhaps, a very exalted idea, but it was very insistent.

  When Ember switched on the light, swung open the steel gate, and stood aside for her to pass, Lady Heritage uttered a sharp exclamation.

  “Jeffrey, what’s this?” she said.

  “That is what I wanted you to see,” replied Ember.

  She crossed the threshold, walked a pace or two into the room, and looked around her with eyes from which all dreaminess had vanished. Bewilderment took its place.

  “Who did this? What does it mean?” she asked.

  Ember did not answer her until he too was within the chamber. He pushed the steel gate with his hand and it fell to with a clang.

  “It is, as you see, a well-equipped laboratory,” he said—”worth coming to see, I think.”

  “Yes, but, Jeffrey—”

  “You are interested? I thought you would be; won’t you sit down?”

  She looked about her with puzzled eyes.

  “Do sit,” said Ember in his quiet, friendly way. “You will find this chair more comfortable than the benches.”

  He brought it forward as he spoke—a high-backed chair with arms. It struck her then as a curious piece of furniture to find in a laboratory.

  “Brought here on purpose for you,” said Ember.

  But Raymond did not sit. Instead she rested her hands lightly on the back of the chair, and, looking across it, said:

  “Jeffrey, what does all this mean?”

  “I’m going to tell you,” said Ember seriously. “I have brought you here to tell you, only I wish you would sit down.”

  “No, thank you. Jeffrey, what is this place?”

  “A laboratory,” said Ember. “As you see, a laboratory, and the scene of some extremely interesting experiments.”

  “Carried out by you?”

  “Carried out by me… and some others.”

  “You have brought other people in here? Jeffrey, I think that was inexcusable.”

  “I have not yet attempted to excuse myself.”

  For a moment his eyes met hers. She saw something, a spark, a flash, from the flames within. It was her first hint that there was, or could be, a flame there at all. It startled her in just the same degree that an actual spark touching her flesh would have startled her—not more.

  He spoke again at once.

  “Just now I called this place a laboratory. If I were a poet”—he laughed easily—“I might have used another word. I might have said, ‘This is the crucible out of which has come the new Philosopher’s Stone.’”

  Raymond lifted her eyebrows.

  “You’ve not been touched by that mediaeval dream?” she said. “This is the twentieth century, Jeffrey.”

  “Yes,” said Ember slowly. “Yes; the twentieth century, and I said… ‘a new Philosopher’s Stone.’ The mediaeval alchemists dreamed of something that would turn all it touched to gold, that would transmute the baser metals. I have found something which will touch this base civilisation, this rotten fabric with which we have surrounded ourselves, and dissolve it. And when it is in solution there will be gold and to spare.”

  “What do you mean?” said Lady Heritage.

  Ember met her frown with a smile.

  “Was it a week ago that I heard you say, ‘If I could smash it all’? And didn’t you sing:

  ‘Ah Love, could you and I with Fate conspire

  To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,

  Would we not shatter it to bits, and then

  Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire?’

  You sang that as if you meant it, Raymond. You sang it with all your heart in your beautiful voice. Well, Fate has conspired for you and given this sorry scheme of things into your hands to shatter—to shatter and re-mould.”

  Raymond had been leaning a little forward over the back of the chair, touching it lightly. She straightened herself when Ember used her name, and looked at him with a sort of grave displeasure. He laughed a little.

  “Do you begin to understand?” he said.

  “I don’t think, Jeffrey, that I want to understand,” said Lady Heritage.

  “How like a woman,” said Mr. Ember. “Here is what you cried out for. Here is opportunity, power, the greatest adventure that ever has been or ever will be, and you are afraid to face it. I offer you the throne of the world—and you don’t wish to understand.”

  The extreme quiet of his voice was in sharp contradiction to the flamboyant words. Raymond looked at him in some anxiety.

  “You’re not well,” she began, and then stopped before the sarcasm of his glance.

  “I’m not mad,” he said. “This is a business proposition. You’ve had poetry, but I can give you prose if you prefer it. I have discovered something—I won’t at this moment go into details—which enables me to smash up civilisation as you’d smash a rotten egg. Every city, every town of the so-called civilised world is accounted for, divided amongst my agents. They only await my signal. Those alone whom we mark for survival will survive, the rest are eliminated. Remains a world at our disposal to recreate. In that world I am supreme—and you. Is that plain enough?”

  Her face showed deep distress and concern.

  “Jeffrey, indeed you’re not well,” she repeated.

  “Am I not?”

  He came a step towards her and saw her draw back, as it were, involuntarily. “Have I not made you understand yet? Perhaps a little documentary evidence will assist you?” He took a quick step towards her, looked at her full, and said in a different voice, “Raymond, I’m in dead earnest—dead sober earnest.” Then with a sudden movement he turned away and went across to the safe in the far corner of the chamber. With his back to Raymond he unlocked it, and occupied himself for a minute or two with the picking out of some papers. When he turned she was at the gate with her hand on it. He spoke at once in his most ordinary voice:

  “That’s a safety-catch. It won’t open without the key.”

  “Will you open it, please?”

  He said, “No, Raymond,” in a tone of cool finality, and she lost colour a little.

  “Jeffrey,” she began, then paused and bit her lip.

  “Raymond.”

  A scarlet patch of anger came suddenly to her cheek and she was silent until it had died again. Long years of self-control do not go for nothing. When she spoke at last there was only sadness in her voice:

  “Jeffrey, I have valued our friendship—very much.”

  “I hope,” he said, “that you will value my love even more.”

  Her hand dropped from the door. She did not answer. The hope of moving him died. She drew her cloak about her, crossed the floor slowly, and seated herself in the chair. She did not look at Ember.

  When the last faint murmur of voices ceased, and the dark silence closed about her, Jane sat quite still for a while. It is very difficult indeed to keep one’s eyes open in the dark. Jane found that her lids dropped, or else that the blackness became full of odd traceries that worried and disturbed her. She felt as if she had been there for hours and hours; and she knew that it really might be hours before Henry came.

  She got up and walked slowly to where the passage came out into the main corridor. She stood under the arch and looked towards the laboratory turning. She had only to feel her way as far as that, turn up it, and she would come within sight of the lighted chamber where Ember and Lady Heritage were talking. The laboratory drew her, and the light drew her. She began to move cautiously along the corridor. S
he had on light house-shoes which made no sound.

  The little glow which presently relieved the blackness cheered her unreasonably. It was a danger signal and she knew it, but it cheered her.

  “One would rather be doing something dangerous, than just mouldering in the pitch dark,” she told herself, and edged slowly nearer and nearer to the light.

  She was now at the corner, and could look round it and through the steel bars into part of the laboratory. The disadvantage of her position was that she might be taken in the rear by any one who came along either the passage that she herself had come up or the slanting passage with the well in it which ran into the other at an acute angle, about six feet from where she was standing.

  Jane, however, knew of no one who was at all likely to arrive except Henry. She therefore did not trouble about her rear, but looked with all her eyes into the laboratory. She saw Lady Heritage sitting in a tall chair, a little turned away. Her right elbow rested on one arm, and her chin was in her hand. Her eyes were downcast. She was speaking in a cold, gentle voice:

  “I have not many friends—I thought you were my friend. Was it all lies, Jeffrey?”

  Mr. Ember came into view for a moment. He must have been at the far end of the room. He came down it now, walked past Lady Heritage, and turned to face her. Jane saw his profile. He was smiling faintly.

  “I am not fond of lies,” he said; “they are very entangling—so hard to keep one’s head and remember what one has said. Now the truth is so simple and easy; besides, you may believe it or not, I really do dislike lying to you. I have always told you the truth where it was humanly possible to do so. Even in the matter of Miss Molloy—”

  Lady Heritage exclaimed suddenly and sharply, lifting her chin from her hand and throwing her head back: