Death in the Castle Page 14

  “What I see,” she said distinctly, “whatever it is, all of it, has got to stop—this instant!”

  He squinted an eye along a ruler he held up to a window. “Now why,” he said pleasantly, “why do you shout at me when you know that I hear the slightest sound, the creeping footsteps of a mouse, the rustle of a bird’s wing, the whisper of a girl’s voice, the whimper of a ghost—”

  She stopped his nonsense by stamping her foot. “Tell your men to clear out of the castle!”

  “When I’m paying them handsome dollars to work here? Come now—” He scribbled some figures on a sheet of paper on the table.

  “If you don’t, I will,” she declared.

  He smiled and went on writing and she clapped her hands. The men stopped what they were doing to look at her.

  “Men!” Her clear flutelike voice rang through the spaces. “Will you kindly leave at once?”

  “Do we go?” One of them turned to John Blayne.

  He did not look up. He was adding the figures down a long column and waited until he had the total. “Certainly not,” he said then. “I have given orders, haven’t I?”

  The men went on with their work.

  Out of the corner of his eye John Blayne saw Kate approach him. She came to his side and spoke into his right ear. “I shall go to Sir Richard this instant.”

  He replied in pretended absence of mind, his mind on figures, it appeared, and his every sense aware of her, the fragrance, the beauty. “Why didn’t you go to him in the first place?” he said calmly. “Always go to the top, is what I advise. No use jumping on me—I don’t own the castle, you know.”

  She tapped his shoulder with her forefinger. “You’ll come with me, please!”

  He straightened and looked at her, innocence in his eyes. “Why should I? I’m not stealing the castle, either. I’m not even behaving as though I meant to—I’m just keeping my men busy. Whatever I’m doing, it’s all cleared with Webster. I’m within my rights.”

  His look, so gay, so impudent, was unbearable. She opened her mouth and closed it, unable for the instant to say a word and then began to stammer, “You—you—I’ll—I’ll have you know—I’ll show you—I’ll—”

  “Take it easy, little Kate,” he said.

  She gave up, stifled by fury, and while he laughed at her, she ran like a child across the room and into a great hall in the direction of Sir Richard’s library and knocked on the door. There was no answer. She laid her ear against the oak panel and listened, then opened the door. He was not there.

  She ran down the passageway to his bedroom. He might still be asleep—it had been such an odd night, with everyone awake at some time or other. She threw open the door of his bedroom. He was not there. Where was Wells? He would know—and now she ran to the kitchens and the pantry to find him. The two of them must be gone somewhere. Sometimes they did go wandering about like two old hounds—No one knew where. But Wells was not to be found, either. There was nothing then to do but to go to Lady Mary.

  She tiptoed to the door and opened it. Lady Mary was still resting in her bed. Under the canopy of faded rose silk she lay upon her piled pillows, her delicate profile clear, the white hair flowing back from her pale face, a film of lace upon her head and her hands folded on her breast. At the sound of the door opening on its heavy hinges she opened her eyes and sat up.

  Kate ran to the bedside. “Lady Mary, dear! Whatever is it? You’re pale as a ghost. What have you seen now?”

  “Why did you wake me?”

  Her voice was strangely sad, and Kate was put to confusion. “I was looking for Sir Richard, my lady. These Americans are taking over the castle. They’re everywhere at once. I told him—”

  “He?”

  Kate took her listless hand. “Your hand’s like ice, my lady. The American, John Blayne … I said, ‘You must all leave at once.’ He paid not the slightest heed, my lady, and so I told the men myself to leave but of course they didn’t obey me and I was trying to find Sir Richard, but he’s not to be found, and I ran here to tell you. You must speak to them, my lady—really you should—the way they’re behaving as though—did you hear me, my lady?”

  A strange gray glaze had come over Lady Mary’s eyes. She sank back on her pillows and stared into the tattered canopy above her head.

  “It would be best, perhaps,” she muttered. “I’m not sure, after what I—It’s not possible except that I did hear—quite clearly, you know, Kate, while you were so long gone, last night—I’m not imagining—or—or—dreaming or any of those things—two voices—no voice I’d ever heard—mumbling like an old old man, ‘They will kill Richard the Fourth … well hidden here’—and the other voice—oh, such an old trembling voice trying to be brave—‘never betray you, Sire.’ Sire! That’s only for a king. What king, Kate?”

  “I don’t know, my lady,” Kate faltered.

  “You don’t know,” Lady Mary repeated slowly. “Nobody knows. But I heard those voices—sad, sad old voices—coming from far off somewhere in the walls, Kate. … They can hide in the walls, you know. They don’t have bodies, poor things—Oh, do let’s go away from this castle, Kate—or let the castle go away from us!”

  She gazed at Kate in pleading, and Kate saw tears welling into the kind and piteous eyes. “Ah now, my lady,” she said, coaxing. “You’ve been nightmaring, dear—it’s all because of the old silly tales you’ve heard for so long. You don’t feel well, that’s what. I shall call the doctor—your head’s hot and your hands are cold.”

  She took Lady Mary’s thin wrist between her thumb and finger. “And your pulse, it’s racing, my lady. Have you a chill?”

  Lady Mary turned her face away on the pillow. “They can’t help us, Kate, they’re thinking only of themselves—remembering—that’s all—remembering—remembering—Perhaps it’s the only way they live now. There’s only the past for them—no future. Of course there’s no future—”

  She’s raving, Kate thought, or she’s really seen something—Ah no, and nonsense! The room was oppressive and it seemed dark for such a fine day. She put down the slender hand she was still holding and went to the windows to draw the curtains farther back. The morning sun streamed through the ancient glass in broken prisms of color.

  “It’s such a day, my lady,” she said cheerfully. “See the lovely sunshine! I do think the way it comes in colors through the glass is so pretty, don’t you? I shall fetch some tea for you, and buttered toast. You’ll feel better when you’ve had a little more to eat. It was a night, wasn’t it! And today not much better—those Americans!”

  She busied herself about the room as she talked, straightening the silver brushes on the toilet table, folding the silk dressing gown Lady Mary had dropped on the chaise longue, picking a leaf from the worn Aubusson carpet—the wind, doubtless, in the night—

  “If you could see them, my lady,” she went on, “climbing about the castle like—like mountain goats! I’ve never seen mountain goats, of course, but you’d laugh—really you would. Two of them are walking the battlements, measuring. I’d like to see them fall in the moat! They do take over, don’t they? Americans are so beastly healthy—full of eggs and bacon, I daresay, and beefsteak, and those alphabetic vitamins they’re always talking about! You shall have an egg for your breakfast this morning, my lamb. I left an order in the hen house yesterday. There’s such a wise old hen there. An egg, if you please, I said, and she looked at me with one eye and then the other—and went to the nest at once, the darling.”

  She glanced at the bed as she talked. There was no sign that she was heard. Lady Mary lay staring into the canopy, motionless, her hand lying where it had dropped. Suddenly she gave a convulsive start. She sat up and looked at the east wall. Her hands flew to her cheeks and she moaned.

  Kate ran to her side and poured water from the silver decanter into a tumbler. “Here, my lady—drink this! Yes, indeed, you must. Stop looking at the wall, my lady. … What do you see there? Tell me—tell me—”

 
She tried to pull her hands away, but Lady Mary was rigid. Kate put down the glass.

  “I’ll have to—I’ll find Sir Richard, I’ll be back in a minute, my lady, I promise.”

  Lady Mary neither spoke nor moved and Kate ran out of the room into the passage that led to Sir Richard’s room. No use looking for him there—but she glanced into the open door nevertheless, and to her astonishment she saw him sitting now at the table by the open window. He was dressed in his usual tweeds, his hair neatly brushed, his face calm.

  “Sir Richard!” she gasped. “Where did you come from? It was only a few minutes ago I was here.”

  He did not reply.

  She came toward him. “Did you hear me call? You didn’t answer—”

  “You forget yourself, woman,” he said sternly. “How dare you come into my room without permission?”

  These were his words, spoken in cold, even hostile tones, and Kate could not believe what she heard. He looked so usual, so much himself, and yet this was certainly not he.

  “I wanted to tell you—I thought you should know—they’re taking the castle and Lady Mary is ill—very ill—and—and—”

  He got to his feet. “Where is Lord Dunsten?”

  “Lord Dunsten?”

  He pushed her aside. “Get out of my way, stupid woman!”

  He strode to the door and shouted. “Dunsten, come here!”

  As if he had risen from the floor, Wells was suddenly there. And an instant later Lady Mary had slipped from her bed and Kate saw her standing in the door as Wells entered from the door opposite. She stared from one to the other, these three people, the ones she knew so well and scarcely recognized now.

  “Here, Sir Richard,” Wells called.

  “Richard!” Lady Mary cried at the door. “You promised me you wouldn’t go there again and you have—I can see you have! Ah, that’s where you were in the night!”

  Sir Richard looked at them blankly.

  He put his hands to his forehead muttering, “I’ve had a strange dream—very strange!”

  “You have been there again,” Lady Mary insisted. She came in and clung to his arm. “What are you hiding in that place? Tell me—you must tell me. I heard something—someone talking—saying such strange things.”

  “You know what’s there,” he said. He tried to shake her off but she would not yield. “You’ve been there.”

  “I haven’t been there for years.”

  “Books,” he said. “Nothing but old books—and—and—a man’s privacy.”

  “You’re hiding something!”

  “I have nothing,” he cried with sudden anger. “Not even—a—a—a child. I don’t have a child, I tell you!”

  Her hands dropped from his arm. She said slowly, “You never forgive me, do you, Richard?”

  “No one to—to—take my place … the throne,” he muttered dully.

  Wells stepped forward, shaking as if in a palsy, “Sir Richard, please, you’re not yourself.”

  He led Sir Richard to a chair and helped him to be seated. “Lady Mary, if I may suggest—Kate, telephone Dr. Briggs, and fetch Mr. Webster. There’s more here than you and I can manage—Don’t stand there like stone!”

  She felt like stone. The quarrel between these two whom she had never heard quarrel—what was this quarrel? What throne?

  “Kate!” Wells shouted.

  She looked into his angry eyes and, terrified, ran out of the room to the telephone and dialed frantically.

  “Dr. Briggs? If you please—this is Kate at the castle. We’re in great trouble, sir. … Both of them—like they were dreaming something. … No, sir, I never did see them like this. … Thank you, sir.”

  She put up the receiver and knocked on Philip Webster’s door. He opened it immediately and came out dressed in his wrinkled tweeds but smelling of Pear’s Soap. “Ah, good morning, Kate.”

  “Please, Mr. Webster,” she said breathlessly, “the Americans are acting as if they’re taking the castle tomorrow.”

  “What!” he exclaimed.

  “Yes, sir, and Sir Richard and Lady Mary are being very odd, too.”

  “Where are they?”

  “In Sir Richard’s room.”

  He strode off and she followed. When they reached the room, Kate could not believe what she saw. Wells was gone, and Sir Richard and Lady Mary were sitting at the small table by the window drinking tea together out of the same cup, as though there had been no quarrel. Webster paused at the door, unseen, and Kate waited behind him. The two at the table were talking together amicably.

  “I tell you, my dear,” Sir Richard was saying, “everything is quite all right. Blayne has my permission to take the measurements and so on. After all, he’s not tearing down the castle. Nothing is settled yet and it’s common sense that his men can’t idle about. He’s paying them, you know, and they may as well be doing something, even if it’s no use in case we do not proceed. But if it troubles you, I’ll have it all stopped, of course.”

  Lady Mary handed him the cup. “Do you want to get rid of the castle, Richard?”

  Sir Richard waved the cup away. “You finish it, my dear.” He felt for his pipe in his pocket. “It’s you I think of—you couldn’t live without the castle, could you now, my dear? Really, I mean.”

  Lady Mary considered. “One never knows,” she said thoughtfully. “One never knows what one can do until one knows one must. In case one doesn’t find the treasure—”

  “You’re not giving up, I hope,” Sir Richard said. He lit his pipe and drew on it with enormous puffs of smoke. “It doesn’t do to give up, you know. Certainly I never knew you to give up.”

  “I don’t see anything wrong here,” Webster said in a low voice and over his shoulder to Kate.

  Nevertheless he entered the room. “Are you all right. Sir Richard?” he inquired.

  Sir Richard looked up, surprised. “I? Oh quite! What makes you ask? Wonderful morning and all that! We’ve been having a little chat. Come in, Kate. I haven’t seen you this morning. You’re looking peaked—Isn’t she, my dear?”

  Kate had followed Webster into the room and stood there, puzzled, half awkward. Sir Richard reached for her hand.

  “You should see the doctor, Kate. Her hand’s hot, Webster.” He fondled it a moment. They were all looking at her and she snatched her hand away. Sir Richard had never before taken her hand.

  “Lady Mary,” she said with determination. “You did say that last night you heard a real voice.”

  Lady Mary laughed. There was a tinge of pink in her cheeks. “Did I?”

  Webster sat down quickly. “Ah yes—you were to find some sort of treasure, weren’t you?”

  Kate would not yield. “My lady, you said—”

  “Did you or did you not find any treasure, my love?” Sir Richard inquired. “It’s quite possible, you know, Webster. One does find the oddest things—the ruby, you remember—did I tell you I had it set in a heavy gold ring? I must show it to you. Kate, where did I put the ring?”

  “I’ve never seen it,” Kate said bluntly. “I never knew you had such a ring, Sir Richard.”

  “Oh come now,” Sir Richard said, “Everybody’s seen the ring. I’m immensely proud of it. I don’t wear it all the time—it’s much too conspicuous, unless one’s a king, of course. … There always that chance—”

  “What chance?” Kate asked.

  Sir Richard smiled. “The chance of—anything,” he said, “the chance of finding a treasure, for example—or of selling the castle—or not selling it—” He flung out his hand in an expansive gesture.

  Webster rose. “The next thing you know we’ll be drawing up papers and asking for signatures.”

  “Perhaps it’s the only way to break the hold of the past,” Sir Richard said.

  “But the treasure—”

  “Yes, my love.” He turned to Lady Mary indulgently. “It is said that every castle has a treasure.”

  “My lady! Sir Richard!” Kate gasped, but no one seemed
to hear her.

  “Such a nice young man,” Lady Mary said softly. “I rather think I’d like to call him John. Would it be all right for me to do so, Richard?”

  “It would indeed, my dear. After all, you have had some difficulty in remembering his proper name.”

  She smiled at him. “Not really, Richard. It’s such a nice name, Blade. It makes me think of that sword lying on the tomb in the church. But John is nicer, so simple, and much easier to say.”

  “What are you waiting for, Kate?” Sir Richard asked suddenly and sharply.

  Then they were all looking at Kate, smiling, kindly but remote and even cold. They had dismissed her, she knew, and she felt a wall rise between herself and them.

  “Maybe I am mistaken in all of you,” she said slowly. “Perhaps I don’t know any of you. … I … I’ve only made a fool of myself … trying to do too much … thinking I was helping. I’ve insulted the American—and he’s the only one who’s been kind, after all.” She heard someone give a sob and realized it was herself and she ran out of the room.

  Halfway to her own room in the east wing, tears blinding her as she went, she felt herself suddenly caught in two strong arms.

  “Whither so fast?” John Blayne demanded gaily.

  “Oh—” She stopped and pulled away. “Please! I was going to find you as soon as I—I must tell you—I was quite wrong this morning.” She was mopping at her eyes with the ruffled edge of her apron. “I overstepped myself. I had no right—being only the maid, to … to … to give orders as though I were …”

  “Come here.” He led her into an alcove where there was a stone seat under a high arched window. “Sit down.”

  He drew her down and handed her his large clean handkerchief. “Isn’t this what the hero is always supposed to do? Provide a nice clean linen handkerchief to wipe the heroine’s tears away? On second thought, I believe he’s supposed to do the wiping. Kindly allow me—Ah, Kate, you take yourself so seriously, my child!”

  What eyelashes she had, long and curling and black—no nonsense here about false ones and mascara and all that! He folded the handkerchief and put it in his pocket again.