Room Beneath the Stairs (21 page)

She flung aside a bolt of indigo silk. It fluttered in the air like a living blue creature before expiring limply on the floor. “I've decided to design my own clothes,” she said in that bright, chatty voice. “I've ordered all this lovely cloth. Patterns, pins, thimbles. I still sew exquisitely—” She pointed to an ancient sewing machine in the corner, half buried beneath stacks of dress patterns and banners of vivid cloth. “Now, let me see—oh, yes! I took it upstairs to my bedroom. Under the pillow!
That's
where I put it!”

She dashed out of the room with amazing agility. The spaniels pursued her, barking lustily, snapping at the hem of her caftan. Her heels clattered on the staircase leading to the bedroom above, and I could hear her moving about, hear her exclamation of satisfaction. She came back down, the spaniels spilling behind her. Her eyes were filled with triumph as she waved a gleaming blue-black revolver in her hand.

I leaped up, startled.

“Isn't it a beauty!” she cried. “Fully loaded, oiled and primed. Do you know anything about guns, dear? No? I shouldn't think so. You
do
go to movies, though. You use it exactly like they do in films. Hold it in front of you and fire away. This is the safety catch. You pull it back and then you squeeze the trigger. Bang! Don't be alarmed. It won't bite you. I want you to have it.”

“I—I couldn't—”

She frowned impatiently and thrust the gun into my hand.

“You must keep it with you at all times,” she said firmly. “Put it in your purse. Carry your purse. I'll feel so much better now. When you didn't leave at once, I knew you intended to stay and fight. Spunk! I like that. But I worried, dear. You have no idea—”

“Carlotta, I can't take this gun. I—”

“Don't
argue
, Carolyn! Do as I say. You'd better leave now. I've got things to do. There's a fascinating book on herbs I want to finish, and I haven't done the crossword puzzle yet. The ones in
The Times
are so tricky, deliberately obscure, but I'm onto them. Never takes me more than thirty minutes to fill in the last block. Yes, dear, do run along—” She began to slam back bolts, unfasten latches. “The tension is mounting, mounting. Something's going to happen soon. I can
feel
it. Remember what I told you about the gun. Keep it with you at all times—”

Before I could protest further, she shoved me out of the room, slamming the door behind me. I stood on the landing, dazed, listening to the locks snap and click. I was more confused than ever, utterly bewildered by Carlotta's bizarre conduct. Gripping the gun firmly, terrified to be holding anything so loathsome, I went down the tower stairs and into my room. I put the gun in one of the bureau drawers, covering it up with a pile of handkerchiefs. I certainly didn't intend to carry it around with me. What if it went off?

It was a quarter to five, almost an hour and a half before I was to meet Valerie. I was exhausted. Lack of sleep and an overabundance of exercise had left me depleted. Wondering idly if Grey and Evan had returned yet, I sat down in the overstuffed jade-green chair, hoping I could relax a little before going to meet Valerie. The house was silent. I thought of what Carlotta had said about vibrations. It was true. I could feel them. The house seemed to be alive with some invisible substance that filled the air, growing stronger, building up. Everything was still, but it was that brooding stillness before a storm, when everything seems to hang suspended, waiting for the first rumble of thunder.

Wearily, I closed my eyes. I must have fallen asleep, for when I looked up it was ten to six. Footsteps sounded on the spiral staircase. Someone passed through the sitting room. I got up just as Helen Porter stepped into my bedroom.

“Grey—” she said, glancing anxiously about the room.

“He isn't here,” I told her.

“Oh—I didn't see you. I thought he might be—”

Her face was deathly pale, her eyes dark as ink. Her chignon had come loose. She looked as though she might fly apart at the least noise. She stared at me, but she wasn't seeing me. She saw something else, something vastly disturbing.

“He isn't here? I see. I'd better go back. They might need me. I didn't mean to—”

“What's wrong?” I asked anxiously.

“Why—nothing.”

“You seem—”

“I—I haven't been myself today.” She made a valiant effort to control herself, only half succeeding. “On edge. Migraine. I have them frequently. I didn't mean to alarm you.”

“You look distraught. Is—”

“I just wanted to speak to Grey. It's nothing important. I thought he might be here with you. If you happen to see him, tell him I want to speak to him.”

She left before I could ask any more questions. I wondered why it was so urgent that she see Grey, and what she wanted to speak to him about. He and Evan must have returned a long time ago. Frowning, I left the apartment, moving slowly down the long, wide hall. As I neared the staircase leading down to the main hall, I heard noisy barking, and a disgruntled Judy came up, stumbling as the spaniels strained at their leashes.

“This is the limit!” she cried irritably. “Me with twenty different things to do, and
she
wants me to take the dogs out again. Victoria wouldn't do a thing, and Disraeli broke loose and tried to chase a bird. Took me forever to catch him! That Burke was out in the gardens, too, prowling around behind the shrubbery. Made me ever so nervous! A girl doesn't feel safe around him. Those eyes—”

“Judy,” I interrupted, “have you seen Grey?”

“Not since they've come back. He's probably in his room. The old lady has kept me jumpin', and I'm gettin' good and sick of it. Every time I think I have a minute to spare she buzzes for me. Buzz, buzz, buzz, all day long! It's enough to give a girl heart failure.”

The spaniels leaped and cavorted, tangling their leashes, eager to rejoin their mistress. Judy gave me her martyr's expression, scolded the dogs roundly, untangled the leashes and stumbled on down the hall. Instead of going downstairs, I moved around the staircase and stepped into the other wing of the house, intending to check Grey's room to see if he was there. His room was at the end of the hall, right next door to Evan's, and the door was open. I went inside.

“Grey?” I said quietly.

There was no answer. Heavy tan curtains were drawn across the windows, and the room was dim. It was large, with heavy, masculine furniture and a dark brown carpet. A tan and brown striped counterpane of coarse linen was spread over the antique brass bed. A color photograph of me stood in a leather frame on a table beside a bright orange enamel box, and the tan sweater he had worn yesterday morning was crumpled up in a ball on one of the wheat-colored chairs. I stepped across the room and picked it up, smiling. He was so careless with his clothes, tossing them down anywhere. I folded the sweater up, smoothing down the soft material. His smell clung to it, that faint, musky male odor that I knew so well and loved so much. It was as I was carrying the sweater over to the bureau that I noticed the tiny piece of lint on one of the sleeves.

It was bright violet wool.

For a moment I didn't make the connection. For a moment I was merely puzzled. Where could he have picked it up? I had been wearing blue yesterday. He had gone down to the village early yesterday morning, and … of course. Valerie. He had been extremely evasive about his reasons for going, and now I understood. He had gone to see Valerie. She had been wearing her violet wool shawl.

It was quite natural for him to keep it from me. I felt no jealousy, none of the things I expected to feel. Grey loved me. If he had been to see her, it was for a good reason—to explain things to her, perhaps. But why hadn't she mentioned it this afternoon, I wondered. Could Grey's visit have had something to do with her reason for coming up to the house this morning? I put the sweater away and left the room, more eager than ever to meet Valerie.

As I went down the main stairs, I noticed once again the peculiar atmosphere, the stillness. The air seemed to retain impressions of great anxiety, as though something dreadful had just happened. Perhaps it was my imagination. Carlotta's talk about vibrations had made a deep impression. I wondered again why Helen had been so upset. Where was Grey? Where was Evan, for that matter? The great main hall seemed to be brooding, waiting for a distant rumble, a crash. My footsteps echoed loudly as I passed down the hall to the front door, and the walls seemed to watch me. It was with relief that I stepped outside.

Although it wouldn't be dark for some time, all the blue had drained from the sky. It was gray, with smeary brush strokes of gold and apricot beginning to spread on the horizon. The air was thickening with a faint twilight haze, and the tall green shrubs cast long black shadows over the lawns. Passing through the bowling green, I paused, remembering what Judy had said about Burke. Was he still in the gardens, still prowling around behind the shrubbery? I stood very still, searching, but I could see nothing. What had he been doing out in the gardens? Looking for something? Why else would he have been skulking around? Burke was nowhere in sight, but I felt slightly uneasy as I moved on past flower beds, past tall rows of shrubbery with trembling leaves.

I thought about Burke. He was an enigma. What exactly was his position with the family? He was more than a chauffeur, more than a servant, of that I was certain, yet his duties had never been clearly defined. “Burke is extremely vigilant,” Evan had said. “He knows his job. He'll do it.” But what
was
his job? I remembered the way he had stared at me when he discovered me in the basement room. There had been nothing subservient in his manner, nothing of the paid employee. I was the intruder, the outsider. He had made that quite clear. His attitude had been menacing. His words had contained none-too-subtle threats. He had been with the family for years, ever since Grey was a small boy. In what capacity? I knew that Burke played a very important role in all this, but I had no idea what it might be.

Near the fountain I stopped. A noise. A stealthy footstep. I could feel someone watching me. It was a very strong impression. Leaves rustled crisply as the wind blew through them. Far below, the waves sloshed monotonously. I peered at the bank of shrubbery to my right, several yards away. The leaves were more black than green as the twilight haze thickened. Hostile eyes watched me. I felt my muscles tightening. A bird cried out in shrill discord, flying out of the shrubs and disappearing into the woods.

Nerves, I scolded myself. It had been a long, emotionally trying day, filled with tension and strain. I was tired, on edge. This was no time to let my imagination get the upper hand. No one crouched behind the shrubs. No hostile eyes watched me. I had been thinking about Burke, and when the bird made a noise my overactive imagination had clothed it with all sorts of sinister interpretations. Burke may have been in the gardens earlier on, but he certainly wasn't here now. There was no reason to be so jumpy, no reason for this quavery feeling inside. It was broad daylight and … well, almost broad daylight. The gold and apricot smears were spreading rapidly, the shadows lengthening.

Briskly, determined to conquer the uneasiness, I moved on through the gardens and stepped into the woods. In a minute or so I was completely surrounded by thick tree trunks, spreading boughs making a thick green canopy above. For some reason, I felt less vulnerable here than I had in the open spaces of the gardens.

Valerie hadn't been very specific. She hadn't had time. She had merely said she would meet me in the woods, and that covered quite a bit of territory. I knew, though, that she wouldn't come anywhere near the house for fear someone might see her. I moved on deeper into the woods. I would be bound to hear her when she arrived. I'd call out to her.

Following one of the paths, I walked slowly. Birds fluttered noisily in the trees, disturbed by my intrusion. On every side long greenish-brown tunnels stretched. High green boughs stirred with stiff noises in the wind. I could smell salt and lichen and mould. I had a sense of uneasy anticipation, for I felt that Valerie held the key that would unlock the mystery. I didn't know what she had intended to tell me before Burke's arrival in front of the pub, but it was of paramount importance, of that I was certain.

I had come quite a way into the woods. Still no sign of Valeire. Still no sound of approaching footsteps. I had been moving at a leisurely pace, killing time, and I knew it must be at least six thirty by now. Her replacement came on at six. She had promised to leave immediately. How long would it take her to come from the pub? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? It was a relatively short walk, but she would be climbing all the way. I was beginning to grow apprehensive, but I quickly subdued my fear. Reaching a small clearing, I sat down on a large gray rock and prepared to wait. No need to go deeper into the woods. I should hear her footsteps any second now.

Several minutes passed. Trees and shrubs grew thickly all around the clearing, and twisting, shadowy paths led off in various directions. The light was fading and the sky overhead had turned a deep, dull gray. Valerie had been alarmed when she saw me at the pub. She had been tense and nervous. That was perfectly natural. She had been speaking to the wife of her former lover. She had been concealing something else, though, and when I mentioned a child and told her about the room beneath the stairs, she had fallen apart, completely losing control of herself. Her eyes filled with horror, she had been as incoherent as Carlotta. The room, the child … hearing about them had made something click in her mind, had explained something that had puzzled her before. If only Burke hadn't arrived at that moment.

I tapped my fingers impatiently on the rock, peering down one of the shadowy pathways. Anxious, frustrated by the long wait, I couldn't even pretend to be calm now. Where was she? What if she didn't come? What if her promise to meet me had been merely a ploy, a means of getting me out of the pub? No, I mustn't allow myself to think along those lines. She would show. She had to. The disappointment would be too great otherwise; I couldn't bear it. Perhaps her replacement had been late in arriving. Perhaps she hadn't been able to leave immediately.