"Oh, they're all the same," said Beatrice. "I've given it up as a bad job." The old lady stirred hers with a spoon, her eyes very far and distant. I wished I knew what she was thinking about.
"Did you have fine weather in Italy?" said the nurse.
"Yes, it was very warm," I said.
Beatrice turned to her grandmother. "They had lovely weather in Italy for their honeymoon, she says. Maxim got quite sunburnt."
"Why isn't Maxim here today?" said the old lady.
"We told you, darling, Maxim had to go to London," said Beatrice impatiently. "Some dinner, you know. Giles went too."
"Oh, I see. Why did you say Maxim was in Italy?"
"He was in Italy, Gran. In April. They're back at Manderley now." She glanced at the nurse, shrugging her shoulders.
"Mr. and Mrs. de Winter are in Manderley now," repeated the nurse.
"It's been lovely there this month," I said, drawing nearer to Maxim's grandmother. "The roses are in bloom now. I wish I had brought you some."
"Yes, I like roses," she said vaguely, and then peering closer at me with her dim blue eyes. "Are you staying at Manderley too?"
I swallowed. There was a slight pause. Then Beatrice broke in with her loud, impatient voice, "Gran, darling, you know perfectly well she lives there now. She and Maxim are married."
I noticed the nurse put down her cup of tea and glance swiftly at the old lady. She had relaxed against the pillows, plucking at her shawl, and her mouth began to tremble. "You talk too much, all of you. I don't understand." Then she looked across at me, a frown on her face, and began shaking her head. "Who are you, my dear, I haven't seen you before? I don't know your face. I don't remember you at Manderley. Bee, who is this child? Why did not Maxim bring Rebecca? I'm so fond of Rebecca. Where is dear Rebecca?"
There was a long pause, a moment of agony. I felt my cheeks grow scarlet. The nurse got to her feet very quickly and went to the bath chair.
"I want Rebecca," repeated the old lady, "what have you done with Rebecca?" Beatrice rose clumsily from the table, shaking the cups and saucers. She too had turned very red, and her mouth twitched.
"I think you'd better go, Mrs. Lacy," said the nurse, rather pink and flustered. "She's looking a little tired, and when she wanders like this it sometimes lasts a few hours. She does get excited like this from time to time. It's very unfortunate it should happen today. I'm sure you will understand, Mrs. de Winter?" She turned apologetically to me.
"Of course," I said quickly, "it's much better we should go."
Beatrice and I groped for our bags and gloves. The nurse had turned to her patient again. "Now, what's all this about? Do you want your nice watercress sandwich that I've cut for you?"
"Where is Rebecca? Why did not Maxim come and bring Rebecca?" replied the thin, querulous voice.
We went through the drawing room to the hall and let ourselves out of the front door. Beatrice started up the car without a word. We drove down the smooth gravel drive and out of the white gates.
I stared straight in front of me down the road. I did not mind for myself. I should not have cared if I had been alone. I minded for Beatrice.
The whole thing had been so wretched and awkward for Beatrice.
She spoke to me when we turned out of the village. "My dear," she began, "I'm so dreadfully sorry. I don't know what to say."
"Don't be absurd, Beatrice," I said hurriedly, "it doesn't matter a bit. It's absolutely all right."
"I had no idea she would do that," said Beatrice. "I would never have dreamed of taking you to see her. I'm so frightfully sorry."
"There's nothing to be sorry about. Please don't say any more."
"I can't make it out. She knew all about you. I wrote and told her, and so did Maxim. She was so interested in the wedding abroad."
"You forget how old she is," I said. "Why should she remember that? She doesn't connect me with Maxim. She only connects him with Rebecca." We went on driving in silence. It was a relief to be in the car again. I did not mind the jerky motion and the swaying corners.
"I'd forgotten she was so fond of Rebecca," said Beatrice slowly, "I was a fool not to expect something like this. I don't believe she ever took it in properly about the accident. Oh, Lord, what a ghastly afternoon. What on earth will you think of me?"
"Please, Beatrice, don't. I tell you I don't mind."
"Rebecca made a great fuss of her always. And she used to have the old lady over to Manderley. Poor darling Gran was much more alert then. She used to rock with laughter at whatever Rebecca said. Of course she was always very amusing, and the old lady loved that. She had an amazing gift, Rebecca I mean, of being attractive to people; men, women, children, dogs. I suppose the old lady has never forgotten her. My dear, you won't thank me for this afternoon."
"I don't mind, I don't mind," I repeated mechanically. If only Beatrice could leave the subject alone. It did not interest me. What did it matter after all? What did anything matter?
"Giles will be very upset," said Beatrice. "He will blame me for taking you over. 'What an idiotic thing to do, Bee.' I can hear him saying it. I shall get into a fine row."
"Don't say anything about it," I said. "I would much rather it was forgotten. The story will only get repeated and exaggerated."
"Giles will know something is wrong from my face. I never have been able to hide anything from him."
I was silent. I knew how the story would be tossed about in their immediate circle of friends. I could imagine the little crowd at Sunday lunch. The round eyes, the eager ears, and the gasps and exclamations--
"My Lord, how awful, what on earth did you do?" and then, "How did she take it? How terribly embarrassing for everyone!"
The only thing that mattered to me was that Maxim should never come to hear of it. One day I might tell Frank Crawley, but not yet, not for quite a while.
It was not long before we came to the high road at the top of the hill. In the distance I could see the first gray roofs of Kerrith, while to the right, in a hollow, lay the deep woods of Manderley and the sea beyond.
"Are you in a frightful hurry to get home?" said Beatrice.
"No," I said. "I don't think so. Why?"
"Would you think me a perfect pig if I dropped you at the lodge gates? If I drive like hell now I shall just be in time to meet Giles by the London train, and it will save him taking the station taxi."
"Of course," I said. "I can walk down the drive."
"Thanks awfully," she said gratefully.
I felt the afternoon had been too much for her. She wanted to be alone again, and did not want to face another belated tea at Manderley.
I got out of the car at the lodge gates and we kissed goodbye.
"Put on some weight next time I see you," she said; "it doesn't suit you to be so thin. Give Maxim my love, and forgive me for today." She vanished in a cloud of dust and I turned in down the drive.
I wondered if it had altered much since Maxim's grandmother had driven down it in her carriage. She had ridden here as a young woman, she had smiled at the woman at the lodge as I did now. And in her day the lodge keeper's wife had curtseyed, sweeping the path with her full wide skirt. This woman nodded to me briefly, and then called to her little boy, who was grubbing with some kittens at the back. Maxim's grandmother had bowed her head to avoid the sweeping branches of the trees, and the horse had trotted down the twisting drive where I now walked. The drive had been wider then, and smoother too, better kept. The woods did not encroach upon it.
I did not think of her as she was now, lying against those pillows, with that shawl around her. I saw her when she was young, and when Manderley was her home. I saw her wandering in the gardens with a small boy, Maxim's father, clattering behind her on his hobby horse. He would wear a stiff Norfolk jacket and a round white collar. Picnics to the cove would be an expedition, a treat that was not indulged in very often. There would be a photograph somewhere, in an old album--all the family sitting very straight and rigid ro
und a tablecloth set upon the beach, the servants in the background beside a huge lunch-basket. And I saw Maxim's grandmother when she was older too, a few years ago. Walking on the terrace at Manderley, leaning on a stick. And someone walked beside her, laughing, holding her arm. Someone tall and slim and very beautiful, who had a gift, Beatrice said, of being attractive to people. Easy to like, I supposed, easy to love.
When I came to the end of the long drive at last I saw that Maxim's car was standing in front of the house. My heart lifted, I ran quickly into the hall. His hat and gloves were lying on the table. I went towards the library, and as I came near I heard the sound of voices, one raised louder than the other, Maxim's voice. The door was shut. I hesitated a moment before going in.
"You can write and tell him from me to keep away from Manderley in future, do you hear? Never mind who told me, that's of no importance. I happen to know his car was seen here yesterday afternoon. If you want to meet him you can meet him outside Manderley. I won't have him inside the gates, do you understand? Remember, I'm warning you for the last time."
I slipped away from the door to the stairs. I heard the door of the library open. I ran swiftly up the stairs and hid in the gallery. Mrs. Danvers came out of the library, shutting the door behind her. I crouched against the wall of the gallery so that I should not be seen. I had caught one glimpse of her face. It was gray with anger, distorted, horrible.
She passed up the stairs swiftly and silently and disappeared through the door leading to the west wing.
I waited a moment. Then I went slowly downstairs to the library. I opened the door and went in. Maxim was standing by the window, some letters in his hand. His back was turned to me. For a moment I thought of creeping out again, and going upstairs to my room and sitting there. He must have heard me though, for he swung round impatiently.
"Who is it now?" he said.
I smiled, holding out my hands. "Hullo!" I said.
"Oh, it's you..."
I could tell in a glance that something had made him very angry. His mouth was hard, his nostrils white and pinched. "What have you been doing with yourself?" he said. He kissed the top of my head and put his arm round my shoulder. I felt as if a very long time had passed since he had left me yesterday.
"I've been to see your grandmother," I said. "Beatrice drove me over this afternoon."
"How was the old lady?"
"All right."
"What's happened to Bee?"
"She had to get back to meet Giles."
We sat down together on the window seat. I took his hand in mine. "I hated you being away, I've missed you terribly," I said.
"Have you?" he said.
We did not say anything for a bit. I just held his hand.
"Was it hot up in London?" I said.
"Yes, pretty awful. I always hate the place."
I wondered if he would tell me what had happened just now in the library with Mrs. Danvers. I wondered who had told him about Favell.
"Are you worried about something?" I said.
"I've had a long day," he said, "that drive twice in twenty-four hours is too much for anyone."
He got up and wandered away, lighting a cigarette. I knew then that he was not going to tell me about Mrs. Danvers.
"I'm tired too," I said slowly, "it's been a funny sort of day."
16
It was one Sunday, I remember, when we had an invasion of visitors during the afternoon, that the subject of the fancy dress ball was first brought up. Frank Crawley had come over to lunch, and we were all three of us looking forward to a peaceful afternoon under the chestnut tree when we heard the fatal sound of a car rounding the sweep in the drive. It was too late to warn Frith, the car itself came upon us standing on the terrace with cushions and papers under our arms.
We had to come forward and welcome the unexpected guests. As often happens in such cases, these were not to be the only visitors. Another car arrived about half an hour afterwards, followed by three local people who had walked from Kerrith, and we found ourselves, with the peace stripped from our day, entertaining group after group of dreary acquaintances, doing the regulation walk in the grounds, the tour of the rose garden, the stroll across the lawns, and the formal inspection of the Happy Valley.
They stayed for tea of course, and instead of a lazy nibbling of cucumber sandwiches under the chestnut tree, we had the paraphernalia of a stiff tea in the drawing room, which I always loathed. Frith in his element of course, directing Robert with a lift of his eyebrows, and myself rather hot and flustered with a monstrous silver teapot and kettle that I never knew how to manage. I found it very difficult to gauge the exact moment when it became imperative to dilute the tea with the boiling water, and more difficult still to concentrate on the small talk that was going on at my side.
Frank Crawley was invaluable at a moment like this. He took the cups from me and handed them to people, and when my answers seemed more than usually vague owing to my concentration on the silver teapot he quietly and unobtrusively put in his small wedge to the conversation, relieving me of responsibility. Maxim was always at the other end of the room, showing a book to a bore, or pointing out a picture, playing the perfect host in his own inimitable way, and the business of tea was a side-issue that did not matter to him. His own cup of tea grew cold, left on a side table behind some flowers, and I, steaming behind my kettle, and Frank gallantly juggling with scones and angel cake, were left to minister to the common wants of the herd. It was Lady Crowan, a tiresome gushing woman who lived in Kerrith, who introduced the matter. There was one of those pauses in conversation that happen in every teaparty, and I saw Frank's lips about to form the inevitable and idiotic remark about an angel passing overhead, when Lady Crowan, balancing a piece of cake on the edge of her saucer, looked up at Maxim, who happened to be beside her.
"Oh, Mr. de Winter," she said, "there is something I've been wanting to ask you for ages. Now tell me, is there any chance of you reviving the Manderley fancy dress ball?" She put her head on one side as she spoke, flashing her too prominent teeth in what she supposed was a smile. I lowered my head instantly, and became very busy with the emptying of my own teacup, screening myself behind the cozy.
It was a moment or two before Maxim replied, and when he did his voice was quite calm and matter-of-fact. "I haven't thought about it," he said, "and I don't think anyone else has."
"Oh, but I assure you we have all thought of it so much," continued Lady Crowan. "It used to make the summer for all of us in this part of the world. You have no idea of the pleasure it used to give. Can't I persuade you to think about it again?"
"Well, I don't know," said Maxim drily. "It was all rather a business to organize. You had better ask Frank Crawley, he'd have to do it."
"Oh, Mr. Crawley, do be on my side," she persisted, and one or two of the others joined in. "It would be a most popular move, you know, we all miss the Manderley gaiety."
I heard Frank's quiet voice beside me. "I don't mind organizing the ball if Maxim has no objection to giving it. It's up to him and Mrs. de Winter. It's nothing to do with me."
Of course I was bombarded at once. Lady Crowan moved her chair so that the cozy no longer hid me from view. "Now, Mrs. de Winter, you get round your husband. You are the person he will listen to. He should give the ball in your honor as the bride."
"Yes, of course," said somebody else, a man. "We missed the fun of the wedding, you know; it's a shame to deprive us of all excitement. Hands up for the Manderley fancy dress ball. There you see, de Winter? Carried unanimously." There was much laughter and clapping of hands.
Maxim lit a cigarette and his eyes met mine over the teapot.
"What do you think about it?" he said.
"I don't know," I said uncertainly. "I don't mind."
"Of course she longs to have a ball in her honor," gushed Lady Crowan. "What girl wouldn't? You'd look sweet, Mrs. de Winter, dressed as a little Dresden shepherdess, your hair tucked under a big three-cornered hat."
I thought of my clumsy hands and feet and the slope of my shoulders. A fine Dresden shepherdess I should make! What an idiot the woman was. I was not surprised when nobody agreed with her, and once more I was grateful to Frank for turning the conversation away from me.
"As a matter of fact, Maxim, someone was talking about it the other day. 'I suppose we shall be having some sort of celebration for the bride, shan't we, Mr. Crawley?' he said. 'I wish Mr. de Winter would give a ball again. It was rare fun for all of us.' It was Tucker at the Home farm," he added, to Lady Crowan. "Of course they do adore a show of any kind. I don't know, I told him. Mr. de Winter hasn't said anything to me."
"There you are," said Lady Crowan triumphantly to the drawing room in general. "What did I say? Your own people are asking for a ball. If you don't care for us, surely you care about them."
Maxim still watched me doubtfully over the teapot. It occurred to me that perhaps he thought I could not face it, that being shy, as he knew only too well, I should find myself unable to cope. I did not want him to think that. I did not want him to feel I should let him down.
"I think it would be rather fun," I said.
Maxim turned away, shrugging his shoulders. "That settles it of course," he said. "All right, Frank, you will have to go ahead with the arrangements. Better get Mrs. Danvers to help you. She will remember the form."
"That amazing Mrs. Danvers is still with you then?" said Lady Crowan.
"Yes," said Maxim shortly, "have some more cake, will you? Or have you finished? Then let's all go into the garden."
We wandered out onto the terrace, everyone discussing the prospect of the ball and suitable dates, and then, greatly to my relief, the car parties decided it was time to take their departure, and the walkers went too, on being offered a lift. I went back into the drawing room and had another cup of tea which I thoroughly enjoyed now that the burden of entertaining had been taken from me, and Frank came too, and we crumbled up the remains of the scones and ate them, feeling like conspirators.
Maxim was throwing sticks for Jasper on the lawn. I wondered if it was the same in every home, this feeling of exuberance when visitors had gone. We did not say anything about the ball for a little while, and then, when I had finished my cup of tea and wiped my sticky fingers on a handkerchief, I said to Frank: "What do you truthfully think about this fancy dress business?"