Kirkland Revels

  I rose eagerly and when we were in the corridor she put her fingers to her lips. " Don't want anyone to hear us," she said.

  "They're still in the first-floor drawing-room. It's early yet ... for a Boxing night.

  All very well for you to retire early. That's on account of your condition. But the others . "

  We mounted the stairs and went through to her wing. It was very silent in this part of the house and I shivered whether with cold or apprehension, I was not sure.

  She led the way to her tapestry room, and she was now as excited as a child with a new toy which she wants to show off. She lighted several candles from the one she was carrying; then, setting that one down, she ran to the cupboard. She took out the canvas and held it in front of her as she had on another occasion. I could not see very clearly although it was obvious that the blank side had now been filled in with some thing. I picked up a candle and held it close to the canvas. Then I saw the outline of a drawing.

  I looked closer. On one side were the dead bodies of Gabriel and Friday, and on the other a faint pencil drawing This was of another building, and the effect was that of looking through barred windows into a room which was like a prison cell. In that cell was the vague outline of a woman who held something in her arms. I felt a thrill of horror as I realised this was meant to be a baby.

  I looked into Sarah's face. Illumined as it was by the lighl of the candles, all shadows and lines seemed to be eliminated ; she was rejuvenated more than that; she seemed not quite human. I longed to know what secrets, what motives lay behind those calm eyes which could at times seem so simple, at others so wise.

  " I suppose that figure is myself?" I said.

  She nodded. " You saw the baby, did you? You see, the baby is born."

  " But we seem to be in a sort of prison."

  " I think it would feel like being in prison."

  " Aunt Sarah, what would feel like being in prison?"

  " There," she said. " That place."

  I understood. " That's all cleared up," I explained. " II was all a mistake. The doctor made a mistake. There is no need to think of that any more."

  " But it's here." she insisted. " It's here in the picture." 234 "

  That's because you don't know all that's happened."

  She shook her head almost petulantly, and my apprehension increased. I knew she moved quietly about the house. listening from secret places; and then quietly in this room she recorded the family's history. The history of the Rockwells was the most important thing in her life.

  That was why she spent hours over her exquisite tapestry. Here in this room she was supreme, a sort of goddess looking on at the follies of her creatures; elsewhere she was of no account--merely poor Sarah, who was a little simple.

  I was foolish to allow myself to be upset by the vague ideas which circulated in her wandering mind.

  " In a prison," she murmured, " there has to be a jail or I can see him. He's all in black, but he has his back to me and his hood makes it impossible to recognise him."

  "The monki" I spoke lightly for I could think of that creature without fear now.

  She came up to me and looked into my face. " The monk is very near you, Catherine," she said. " The monk is waiting for you, waiting to catch you. You should not think the monk is not near ... and coming nearer."

  " You know who it is!" I accused her.

  " It's a lovely night," she answered. " The stars are wonderful.

  There is frost in the air, and, Catherine, the view is beautiful from the balcony."

  I drew away from her.

  " You're right," I said. " It is cold here. I think I should go back to my room."

  "Wait awhile, Catherine."

  " I think I should go."

  I went to the door but she had caught my robe and was clinging to it.

  I had begun to shiver again, but this time not with cold.

  "The candle," she said.

  "You'll need one. Take mine."

  Still holding my robe, she drew me into the room. She picked up one of the lighted candles and thrust it into my hand. I grasped it and, disengaging myself, hurried along the corridor, 'half expecting her to pursue me.

  I was breathless when I reached the sanctuary of my room and my apprehension remained with me. I could not dismiss Sarah's ramblings from my mind because I was certain that there was some meaning hidden within them.

  How uncertain I was on that night 1 I longed to confide in someone.

  When I was with Simon I could not help but 23'? trust him and I doubted my ability to resist him; I believed that if I told him what I had discovered and he gave me a plausible explanation, I should be only too glad to meet him half-way. Readily would I believe any story he could tell me if only it would exonerate him from the murder of Gabriel and from the attempted murder of me and my child.

  I believed that night that I dared not listen to Simon. I had to remain aloof. For the first time I could not trust my own good sense.

  I was at the mercy of my feelings for this man. It was humiliating, and yet in a way it was exhiliarating, because love must always be like that. And I learned that night, if I had not known it before, that I was in love with Simon.

  The next day Simon and Hagar left Kirkland Revels. I said good-bye warmly to Hagar, coolly to Simon. He was aware of my changed attitude and it seemed to amuse him. I thought: Can he really be as cynical as that?

  When they had left I went to my room. I wanted to be quiet and formulate some plan. I knew that I must act quickly, because it might be that already the robe had been missed.

  The only person in whom I could confide was Mary Jane and what could she do to help me? Still, at such a time it was a comfort to confide in anybody. I thought of going to Sir Matthew, showing him what I had discovered, and asking him to make up a party to explore the passage between the house and the Abbey. Ruth? Could I tell Ruth? I was not sure of Ruth and it would not have surprised me to learn that she--although not the prime mover in the plot against me-was not unaware of what was going on. Sarah? What sense could one hope to get from Sarah? And Luke . I still clung to my belief that Luke was my real enemy.

  I could not make up my mind.

  I was in my room trying to come to some decision when I noticed an envelope lying on the floor by the door. I hurried to it and picked it up. There was nothing written on it. I opened my door, hoping to find someone hurrying away, but there was no one there; the letter might have been quietly pushed under my door some minutes before I had noticed it.

  I shut my door and slit the envelope. There was a single sheet of paper inside; and on it was written in a shaky handwriting :

  " Go back to your old horn without delay. You are in imminent danger."

  I stared at it. I did not know the handwriting and I wondered whether the shakiness was a method of disguising it, for the letter was unsigned and there was no address on the paper.

  Who had pushed the letter under my door? And what did it mean? Was it yet another trick?

  But there was something tangible about a piece of paper. No one could say I had imagined this.

  I went to the window and looked out. Then my heart began to hammer wildly because I saw someone hurrying away from the house and I recognised her Damaris!

  I suspected Damans of working against me. How could I do otherwise when she had been with me and had seen the monk, and then had declared she had not?

  I looked back at the paper. I would not let myself believe that she was working with Simon in this. And yet the position was desperate. I must look at the facts; I must face the truth. I had seen them together on Christmas night, and what had been implied by their words shocked me deeply. But I couldn't believe this of Simon. My common sense might try to insist that I did, but my ridiculous feminine emotions refused to be convinced.

  Someone had sent Damaris to put that note under my door. Was it Luke?

  He could have done it himself. Dr. Smith? I looked again at the handwriting, and becau
se I had seen his I decided that those words could not in any circumstances have been written by him.

  Then I remembered that occasion when I had called at his house. I thought of the sick woman, me wife who was such a disappointment to him that he threw himself so whole heartedly into his work. The shaky handwriting might be that of a sick woman, a woman who was in some stress.

  I put the paper into my pocket, wrapped myself in my heavy cloak and left my room. I paused on the stairs by the minstrels' gallery; then I opened the door and looked inside, because I thought that someone might be biding there.

  There was no one.

  I went down through the hall and out of the house.

  There was a bitterly cold wind blowing but I was impervious to the weather. I hurried away from the house, looking back only once to see if I was being followed. I could see no one, but I felt that from every window eyes might be watching me.

  1 went on until I came to the doctor's house. It seemed more gloomy than it had on that other occasion The Venetian blinds were all drawn and the wind whistled through the firs.

  I rang the bell and the maid let me in.

  " The doctor is not at home, Mrs. Rockwell," she said.

  " I have come to see Mrs. Smith."

  She looked surprised. " I will tell her you are here."

  " Please tell her that I am very eager to see her on a matter of importance." ;

  The maid went away almost reluctantly, while I wondered what I should do if Mrs. Smith refused to see me. I might ask for Damaris. I would insist on knowing whether it was she who had brought the note, why she had denied seeing the monk, what part she had played and was playing in this plot against me. I was determined to know the truth without delay.

  In a few moments the maid returned;

  " Mrs. Smith will see you," she said; and I followed her up the stairs to the room which I had visited once before.

  I was astonished to see Damaris with her mother. She was standing by Mrs. Smith's chair, and it seemed as though she were clinging to her mother for protection. Mrs. Smith looked even more emaciated than when I had last seen her; her eyes were enormous and they seemed to bum with some deep purpose.

  She said in a quiet voice: " Good morning, Mrs. Rockwell It was good of you to call."

  I went forward and took the hand she extended; and then the door shut on the maid and we three were alone.

  " Why did you come here?" she asked quickly. " This is the last place you should come to." , I took the sheet of paper from my pocket and held it out j to her. '/, "Have you shown this to anyone else?" she asked. | " To no one." i " Why ... do you come here?" i " Because I believe you wrote that and sent it to me. I saw Damaris leaving the house."

  There was silence.

  Then I cried: "You did write it, didn't you?"

  Damaris put her arm about her mother. " You must not be disturbed," she said. She looked at me almost defiantly " You are making her ill."

  I answered: " I think she can help me to find out who has been trying to make me ill."

  "You must not fret, my darling," said Mrs. Smith to Damans. " She has come here, and it was very unwise of her. But she is here now and I must do what I can."

  " You already have ..."

  " If she would only take my advice!"

  "What is your advice?" I demanded.

  " Go away from here. Do not delay a moment. Return at once to your father's house to-day. If you do not ... it will be too late."

  " How do you know?"

  " There is a great deal I know," she said wearily.

  "Will you tell me this: Did you write that note?"

  She nodded. " Because I know that you must get away if you wish to give birth to a child that will live?"

  " How do I know that I can trust you?"

  " What could I possibly gain by warning you?"

  "Don't you see that I'm in the dark?"

  " Yes, I do. You are headstrong. You will not take my advice and go.

  You want to solve mysteries. You are too bold, Mrs. Rockwell. "

  " Tell me what you know," I said. " You owe that to me."

  "Mother!" gasped Damaris, and the mask dropped from her lovely face.

  I knew that she was terrified.

  I took the thin, clammy hand. " You must tell me, Mrs. Smith," I said.

  " You know you must tell me."

  "Unless I tell you everything you will never believe me. You will never understand."

  "Then tell me everything."

  " It is a long story.... It goes back many years."

  " I am in no hurry."

  " You are wrong. You should be in a great hurry."

  " I shall not leave until you tell me."

  "And if I can convince you that your child is in danger, that you are in danger, will you go to your father's house today?"

  " If I think that necessary, I will."

  "Mother," said Damaris, "you must not ... you dare not."

  " You are afraid still, Damaris?"

  " So are you. Mother. We both are ... as we always have been."

  " Yes," said Mrs. Smith, " I am afraid. But I am thinking of the child . and of her. We cannot stand by and see that happen to her .. can we, Damaris? We must not think of ourselves. We must thing only of her now. "

  I was beside myself with impatience. " You must tell me," I said. "

  Come now."

  Still she hesitated, then bracing herself as for a mighty effort, she began:

  " I married against my family's wishes. You may think my story has nothing to do with this. I am merely trying to tell you how I happen to know ..."

  " Yes, yes." I cried.

  She plucked at the blanket which was wrapped about her knees.

  " I have a small fortune of my own. As you know, when a woman marries, her fortune becomes her husband's. He needed the fortune ... so he married me. I had a great opinion of him. He was the dedicated doctor and I wanted to work with him. I wanted to help him ... his patients loved him so. He was so self-sacrificing. But you see there were two doctors. There was the doctor who went among his friends and patients such a charming man, so solicitous of others. And there was the doctor at home. They were two different men. He liked to play his part but we couldn't expect him to act all the time, could we. Damans?"

  Damaris murmured: "You must not ... oh, you must not. When he hears"

  "You see," went on Mrs. Smith, " he believed himself to be not quite mortal like the rest of us. He had done brilliantly at his work and from such humble beginnings. I admired that at the start. But he soon tired of playing the part for me j That happened before Damaris was born. He was very angry | that she was not a boy. He wanted a son, to be exactly like j himself which in his eyes meant perfect. Damaris quickly ; learned to understand him. Do you remember, Damaris, how I you would be playing, somewhere happily forgetful . | because children do forget and when they are happy for an ; hour they believe they have always been so. Then we heard his step in the hall; and you would come to me and cower : beside me, remembering. "

  "He ill-treated you?" I asked.

  " Not physically. That is not his way. But he hated me. Why should he do otherwise? He had wanted my money and when that was his. and after many attempts I had failed to 240 ( give him a son, I was of little use to him. Those dreary years of sadness and terror ... I cannot think how I have lived if through them."

  " So it is Dr. Smith who has tried to destroy me. Why ... why?"

  "I will tell you that too. I met his foster mother. She lives not far from here in a little cottage on the moors. He was brought to her when he was a baby. He was born to a gipsy girl who had forsaken her people for a while to work in the kitchens at the Revels. She was married to a gipsy named Smith; but when her child was born she did not want him and she deserted him. Sir Matthew took an interest in the girl. I do not know whether he was ever her lover, but that was what Deverel always believed. He believed that he was the son of Sir Matthew. Do you begin to understand now?" r />
  " I begin to see some light," I said.

  "And when Sir Matthew had him educated, and trained as a doctor he was certain of this. He married me, and our daughter was called Damans because the Rockwells had always chosen names from the Bible for their children. But it was a son he wanted. He wanted to see a son of his in the Revels. And so ..."

  She turned to Damans, who was crying quietly.

  " I must tell her this," she soothed. " It is the only way. I should have told her before. But you know how we have always feared his anger."