The Shrouded Walls (18 page)

I said nothing. I was too uneasy, too nervous, too full of doubts.

“If you send this letter to Alexander,” he said, “you stir up the whole affair anew. He’s only a seventeen-year-old schoolboy and young for his years, and God knows what trouble he would cause if he panicked and acted foolishly on the receipt of this letter. Besides, there’s absolutely no reason for him to leave school early. He’ll be home in three weeks’ time for Christmas and you’ll see him then.”

“Four weeks,” I said.

“Three—four weeks—what difference does it make? Things will be better by then. I’ve no doubt Mary’s death has been a considerable shock to you, but by Christmas you’ll be feeling much less depressed and will have forgotten this involvement which you mistakenly think you have in my father and Rodric and the manner in which they met their deaths.”

I was again silent. Then suddenly I burst out impulsively: “Need Esther stay at Haraldsdyke?”

“I’ll discuss the matter with her.”

The silence was uncomfortable. He reached out uncertainly, touched my arm with his fingers. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m sorry you had to find out about my past relationship with her. I had hoped you would never have to know.”

I turned my head aside sharply so he would not see into my eyes.

“It was very brief,” he said. “A moment of madness and foolishness for which I’ve paid very heavily. I had fancied she would now be as ashamed of the memory as I am but apparently she feels no shame at all. I’ll see that she doesn’t stay a moment longer under this roof than is necessary, but it’s possible she may protest or cause difficulties to spite me, so you must be patient if you have to wait a few weeks yet.”

“I see,” I said.

His fingers pressed against my cheek and turned my face to his. “Whatever I felt for her in the past is quite finished now,” he said. “I hope you realize that.”

I nodded, not looking at him. “That’s why you’re so harsh on Ned, isn’t it,” I said suddenly. “Because he’s the only one who knows you and Esther were ever close, and you’re ashamed that he knows.”

Axel gave a short mirthless laugh. “Ned’s a young rogue,” he said. “It’s probably not his fault, but that doesn’t make any difference. There’s a certain element of truth in what you say, but I still hold that he’s a rascal who needs discipline.” He turned aside. “I must go,” he said abruptly. “I have to see the rector to make arrangements for the funeral. Vere had gone into
Rye to see the undertaker. I’ll see you at dinner, my dear, and meanwhile please no more melodramatic letters to Alexander.”

He was gone.

Presently I went back very slowly to the bedroom and stood for a moment by the window as I watched the winter sunlight cast a dappled light on the green expanse of the Marsh. Rye and Winchelsea on their twin hillocks seemed deceptively near.

I wanted so much to believe him. I wanted more than anything else now to believe every word he said and not to be tormented so continuously by all my doubts and anxieties. But he had not explained why such a time had elapsed between the descent to the hall to see his father and Esther’s screams when she had discovered the body. He had not let me send the letter to Alexander. And he had refused to admit the possibility that Mary had been murdered
...

I summoned Marie-Claire, put on a black gown and fidgeted while she dressed my hair. When I was ready at last I went downstairs to the kitchens.

But Axel had been telling the truth about the poison. The cook confirmed the story that no poison had been kept on the premises since the incident with the serving girl.

I went back upstairs to my rooms.

Either Axel was right and Mary had not been murdered at all, or else she had been poisoned. But if she had been poisoned how had the murderer obtained the poison?

I thought of Dame Joan the witch, dismissed the thought and then recalled it, wondering. Dame Joan would know how to prepare a poison. Axel had been in the village that afternoon—he had seen me enter the church
...
He had gone to the village in the hope of finding me, he had said, and had then seen me enter the church. But supposing he had come to the village to get the poison? I had been a long time in the church while I had wrestled with my conscience. Supposing he had seen me go into the church and had then walked past me to Dame Joan’s cottage
...

But I did not really believe Axel was a murderer. It was Axel who understood me. How could I love someone who might be a murderer? But there was no logic any more, only the turbulence of confusion and the agony of doubt. I only knew that love and fear now ran shoulder to shoulder, and that my dilemma seemed even worse than before.

Sitting down once more at the secretaire, I wrote a brief note to Alexander in which without explaining my reasons I begged him to leave Harrow without delay and journey at once to Haraldsdyke.

Ned was in an outhouse by the stables, a gun in his hands. It appeared that he was about to go shooting.

“Will you walk as far as Rye?” I said.

His narrow black eyes looked at me speculatively. He smiled with an air of appraisal. “For you,” he said, “I would walk anywhere in England.”

“Fiddle-de-dee,” I retorted. “I’m not interested in the entire country. I’m only interested in the road from Haraldsdyke to Rye.”

“If you’re interested in it, then I am too.”

“Could you take a letter to Rye for me and see that it goes on the coach to London? You would have to pay for it to be transferred in London to the coach to Harrow in Middlesex. It’s for my brother.”

“Have you the money?”

I gave him a coin. “This should be enough.”

He pocketed it deftly and stowed the letter into the breast of his shirt. “It’s a secret,” I said threateningly.

He smiled again. “All right.”

“You’ll do it for me?”

“I’d never refuse a request from you,” he said, and he spoke ironically so that I could not tell how serious he was. “If you ever want anything from me, you know you have only to ask
...”

The day slipped away. Vere returned from Rye after arranging for the coffin to be made, and Axel returned to the house with the rector who expected to be provided with refreshment. Esther was busy writing to all Mary’s distant relatives, and Alice was in conference with the cook to decide on a suitably sombre menu for dinner. It was left to me to interview poor Mary’s governess and tell her she could stay at Haraldsdyke for a further month, if necessary, until she found a new position.

This made me remember how nearly I had been forced to be a governess and I spent a long time wondering what would have happened if I had refused Axel’s proposal. Perhaps Mary would even be alive
...
but those were useless, abortive thoughts and I did not dwell on them. I did not really want to dwell on any of my thoughts very much, least of all the memory of how I had written again to Alexander against Axel’s wishes and had entrusted the letter to Ned.

So I busied myself as much as possible and tried to keep myself fully occupied, and soon it was dark and time for bed.

The next day, Tuesday, followed much the same pattern; several people called to express sympathy and I was busy receiving them courteously and creating a correct impression. The undertakers brought the coffin and Mary was laid out in it amidst the stifling odor of flowers in the small yellow morning room which was normally never used. I went to view the body out of mere respect for convention but I have such a horror of death that I could not bring myself to look in the coffin, and escaped from the room as soon as possible.

The funeral was set for the next day and I retired early to bed to get a good night’s rest. I knew in advance that I would find the funeral an ordeal.

In the middle of the night, I woke up suddenly, not knowing what had awakened me, and sat up just in time to see the bedroom door closing as someone slipped out of the room. A glance at the pillows beside me told me that Axel had left. I waited, wondering where he had gone, and then when the minutes passed and there was no sign of him returning I slipped out of bed and donned my woolen wrap.

He was not in the adjoining room. Very cautiously I went out into the passage but it yawned black and empty before me. I nearly went back for a candle, but I thought better of it. I did not want Axel to see me as soon as he came back into sight.

On reaching the landing I glanced down into the hall, but there was no one there either and I was just deciding to go back to bed when I heard the muffled sound of horse’s hooves far away. I stood motionless, thinking that I must surely be mistaken, and then I went to the window at the other end of the landing, parted the curtain and peered out into the night.

There was no moon. The night was dark as pitch. Yet I could almost be certain that I heard those muffled hooves again as a horse was ridden away from the house. The minutes passed as I still stood listening by the window, but finally I turned and found my way back to the room. I was amazed. Unless I was much mistaken, Axel had dressed hurriedly, saddled a horse and ridden off into the night.

I lay awake for a long time, but he did not come back. I was just slipping into a drowsy half-consciousness shortly before dawn when I heard the horse’s hooves sound faintly again in the distance. I waited, too sleepy to make a second venture down the dark passage to the landing, and at last many minutes later, Axel slipped back into the bedroom and padded through to his dressing room to undress.

When he came to bed he slept straight away as if he were exhausted. His limbs were cold but soon became warmer, as if the night air had chilled him yet the riding had exercised him enough to keep severe cold at bay. I lay awake then, all sleepiness vanished, and wondered where he had been for so long at the dead of night and whether I would ever find out what he had done.

He was very tired the next morning. I saw what an effort it was for him to rise from the bed, and when he was dressed and shaved I noticed the shadows beneath his eyes and the tired set to his mouth. But perhaps the tell-tale signs of weariness were only clear to me who knew how little sleep he had had, for certainly no one else seemed to notice. Everyone was, in any event, much too preoccupied with the funeral.

Mary was buried that morning in Haraldsford churchyard. Rain was falling. I loathed every moment of the ceremony which reminded me horribly of my parents’ death, and the emotional strain together with the fact that I myself had had very little sleep the previous night combined to make me feel exhausted.

But there was no respite, even after the return to Haraldsdyke. Several mourners had to be entertained at a formal dinner, and I had to summon all my reserves of strength to be polite and courteous to some distant cousins of Mary who had traveled from Hastings to be present at the funeral. To my horror they decided to stay the night, and I had to give orders for bedrooms to be cleaned, beds to be aired, fresh linen to be taken from the cupboards.

Before I knew it, it was time for tea to be served and there was no escaping that either. Finally after half an hour of dreariness over the tea cups I managed to retire early to my room where I collapsed before the hearth of the sitting room fire and prayed I would never have to attend another funeral for as long as I lived.

I was still feeling too weary even to make the supreme effort to go to bed, when the door opened and Axel came into the room.

“Aren’t you in bed yet?” he said, and there was an edge to his voice as if he found my behavior annoying. “I thought you excused yourself on account of weariness.”

“I’m almost too tired to undress,” I said, but he wasn’t listening and I heard him go through into the other room.

A moment later he reappeared.

“Incidentally,” he said, his voice abrupt, “what’s this?”

I turned. In his hand was the jar containing Dame Joan’s potion which I had hidden so carefully behind the tallboy. As I rose to my feet, the color rushing to my face, I saw the expression in his eyes and realized that he knew exactly what the potion was and what it was for.

We stood there looking at each other, he waiting ironically for me to try to tell lies in explanation, I hating that dreadful day which now seemed to be about to culminate in some appalling scene, and as we stood there I heard the footsteps in the corridor, the light hurried footsteps which I knew and loved, and heard that familiar, much-loved voice shouting my name.

It was as if a miracle had happened. Without a word I ran to the door, flung it open and hurled myself headlong into my brother’s arms.

Seven

It seemed that Alexander had left Harrow after receiving my first letter hinting that something was wrong, and had not even received my last letter which Ned had taken to Rye for me. He had traveled south as quickly as possible, left his bags in Rye itself and walked from there to Haraldsdyke where Vere had received him in the hall. Vere had been in the process of seeking us in our room to tell me of my brother’s arrival when Alexander had pushed past him impulsively, and calling my name had run down the passage as if he feared some mishap had already overtaken me.

“How wonderful to see you again!” I said, tears in my eyes. “How wonderful of you to come!”

Axel was furious. Alexander did not seem to notice that he was not welcomed with enthusiasm by his brother-in-law but I knew the signs all too well, the extreme coolness of voice, the deliberately stilted courteousness of manner, the withdrawn opaque expression in his eyes.

“Please Axel,” I said politely, trying not to sound as nervous as I felt, “please don’t feel obliged to stay up to receive Alexander. I know how tired you must be.”

“On the contrary,” he said in a voice so icy I was surprised Alexander did not notice it, “I’m no more tired than you are. Let me order refreshment for you, Alexander. You must be cold and hungry after your travels.”

I saw at once that he had no intention of leaving us alone together. Frustration mingled with anger overcame me, but Alexander was saying agreeably: “No, actually I feel warm after walking, but I’d like some tea all the same, if that’s possible. I’m very partial to tea, particularly in the early morning when it helps me wake up, but I often drink it in the evening too.”

We drank tea. Conversation, smothered by Axel’s presence, drew to a halt. Alexander eventually began to fidget in the realization that the atmosphere was not as relaxed as it should have been.

“Perhaps you could show me to my room,” he said uneasily to me at last.