L ISLE had the feeling that the day would never end. All this bright sun and blue sky, this inward strain and terror, this numbness dulling something which without it would be agony, seemed to her shocked sense to have neither beginning nor ending. It was like a dreadful travesty of eternity. She felt unable either to look forward or back.
There was a moment when Rafe asked her if she would like to go for a drive — “up over the downs to get some air. You look all in.” Dale said, “No — she’s too tired,” and the numbness was pierced by a jagged stab of pain. Just why that should have hurt so much, she could not have told. Rafe wanting her to go with him, his voice sounding kind. And Dale not giving her time to answer because he was afraid to let her go with Rafe as they had gone so innocently often before their natural world had changed into a nightmare. Afraid to let her go with Rafe… But she herself was not afraid. Perhaps that was just because she was too numb to feel afraid — too numb really to take in what Dale had told her. Only she couldn’t struggle any more. She let Dale speak for her, and sat there without a word to say.
The endless evening wore on, the four of them together. She thought that it would never end.
When she went up to dress Dale followed her into her room and put his arms round her.
“My poor darling — it’s been a horrible day for you, but it’s nearly over. And look here — I’ve got a plan. We’ll get away from the others and have a nice peaceful time just by ourselves. I never seem to see you now except in a crowd. I’m very fond of the family, but I do sometimes want my wife to myself. Funny — isn’t it?” There was the smile in his eyes which she used to think was for her alone. It had always charmed her, but now she was too tired. Her eyelids fell. She moved a little, but he held her.
“Wait a minute and I’ll tell you what I thought we’d do. I’m flying again tonight. I’ll say so, and at the same time I’ll tell you to get off to bed. That’ll be about half past nine, but I needn’t really get up to the aerodrome till nearly eleven. It’s not dark enough for proper night flying till well after that. And what I thought was this — we could slip down to the beach and get right away from everyone.”
Her lashes lay upon her cheek. She said very low,
“I’m so tired, Dale.”
“I know, darling, but that’s why. It will be cool down there, and right away from everyone — just you and me. Oh, Lisle, I want you to so much! You’ll really sleep afterwards.”
It wasn’t in her to struggle. She said, “Very well,” and moved away from him. This time he let her go.
When he spoke again he sounded as pleased and excited as a schoolboy.
“Look here, we won’t go off together — that won’t do at all. Lal—” he laughed a little — “well, I’m very fond of her, as you know, but she does butt in. I’ll get the car and drive out by the back gate. Then I can leave it a bit down the lane and cut through across the park — it’s no distance that way — and you can wait for me down by the sea wall.” He laughed again. “Rather fun having to make an assignation before you can have half an hour alone with your own wife! Better change into a short dress and put on beach shoes. I thought we’d go down by the rocks and see the tide come in. And you’ll have to slip away without being seen, or we’ll find we’ve got the family circle round us again. Will you do it?”
She said “Yes,” and was glad not to have to say any more than that.
He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and went off to his own room. She could hear him whistling as he moved about there.
Later, when she was in her room again taking off the dress she had worn at dinner, slipping back into her cotton frock, stripping off the thin silk stockings and fastening the beach shoes he had suggested, she could hear him there again, slamming a cupboard door, pulling out a drawer. But this time he didn’t whistle.
She sat down on the edge of the bed to wait. Because it was part of the plan that he should get away first, and of course he had to change. He took some time over it, but at last she heard him open the door to the corridor. And then, all in a hurry, he came running back to look in on her with a laughing, mischievous expression and a finger on his lips.
When he had really gone, she stayed where she was for about ten minutes and then made her way down to the sea wall. She saw no one as she went, and as far as she knew, no one saw her go.
IT was the first thing that Dale asked her. “Did anyone see you?”
“No.”
“Nor me either.” He was laughing and breathing a little quickly from his run. “What conspirators we are! Come along quick down by the steps! It’s a marvellous evening!”
The sun had been gone for half an hour. The dusk was falling., but the sky still glowed, hyacinth blue at the zenith fading through turquoise-blue to turquoise-green. And from turquoise-green to primrose, daffodil, and one deep orange streak. Between the blue and the green the waning moon slipped down the sky, a slender crescent gaining brightness as the light withdrew.
At the foot of the steps Dale turned to the left. He put his arm about her and they walked in silence. Tane Head was behind them, and the Shepstone Rocks ahead. The flowing tide had almost reached and covered the sandy ridge which lay beyond. It was easier walking here than on the side towards Tane Head, because each high tide came up to cover the sand and beat it hard. Easier, that is, until they came among the rocks.
“Where are we going, Dale?”
“Down the ridge. We’ve just time.”
A spit of sand ran down between the rocks. Insensibly the dusk, the cool air, the calm beauty of sea and sky, were having their way with Lisle. The strain of the day relaxed a little. What had been numbness came a shade nearer to being peace. She no longer wished to go back. Dale’s arm guided her. It was strong, and he was kind. Her thoughts began to flow in the simplest channels — evening peace and calm — kindness — rest—
Neither of them spoke until they were standing on the ridge piled against the outworks of the Shepstone Rocks by the current which set from Tane Head.
“It’s nice here — isn’t it?” said Dale.
She said “Lovely—” in a dreaming voice.
“We’ll just have time to get round to the far side of the rocks.”
“Shall we? Can’t we stay here?”
“Just round the point, darling. There’s something I want to show you. But we must hurry.”
His arm was through hers now. They turned landwards and picked their way down off the sandy ridge to the rock and shingle which lay behind it.
At once the light seemed to have failed. The glow in the sky and its reflection from the sea lay behind them. They faced a flat strand strewn with dark seaweed-covered rocks running back to the steep rise of the cliff. They were in a hollow for the moment, but Dale made for a spit of shingle running up between the main Shepstone wall and another lesser ridge. They had hardly gone any distance before the wall on their left was so high that they could no longer see over it. The Tanfield side of the barrier was gone as if it had never been. Everything familiar was gone. There was only this gathering gloom, the lap of the tide behind them, and a stench of decaying seaweed.
Lisle stopped.
“Dale — I want to go back.”
“Why? It’s only a little farther.” His arm went round her waist again.
“It’s getting so dark.”
“That’s because we’ve got our backs to the sea. We’ll be turning in a minute, and then it will seem quite light again. Look — this is what I wanted to show you, just up here. Give me your hand and I’ll pull you up.”
He released her as he finished speaking, and scrambled up a long ridged slope, turning to catch her wrist and pull her after him. She came unwillingly but without the energy to resist. When he had shown her what he had brought her here to see he would let her go home again. It was never any good struggling with Dale — he had to have his way. And when he had had it they would go home and she would sleep.
She stood on the flat-topped rock to which he had brought her and looked down into blackness. High rocky walls shut in a roughly shaped triangle of which the base was the stone upon which they were standing. The blackness was a pit which went down and down to a faint gleam of water. The water seemed a long way off. A long way down — how far she did not know. She only knew that her head swam.
She would have stepped back but for the arm at her waist — Dale’s arm — very strong — and she had thought it kind—
It swung her forward with a sudden jerk. Her feet slipped and lost the rock. She caught at the empty dark and went down into it.
She went down into water, or there would have been nothing more to say about Lisle Jerningham. Down and under, with the scream choked on her lips, and then up again on her knees, seawater in her eyes, her ears, her mouth. And then with a convulsive effort to her feet again, head and shoulders clear of the water, hands catching at the rock sides of the pit.
Her foothold steadied. She pushed back dripping hair and looked up. Black walls all round her — very black — the sky a still, deep blue — light coming from it. And against the light and the blue of the sky, Dale standing there, black and tall and silent, looking down. She said his name in a gasping whisper.
“Dale—” And then, “I fell—”
It wasn’t true. He had thrown her down. She knew that, but she couldn’t believe it — not yet — not so soon — it was too dreadful. How do you believe a thing like that about your own husband?
She called his name again and stretched up her hands to him.
“Dale —get me out!”
He moved when she said that. She heard him laugh.
“What a silly woman you are, Lisle! Don’t you understand even now? Don’t you understand that all the things I told you this afternoon were true — only they weren’t true about Rafe, they were true about me? Lydia had to go because her going saved Tanfield. If it’s a choice between Tanfield and any woman on earth, Tanfield has it every time. That’s what you’ve been up against all along, my dear. You didn’t care about Tanfield, and why didn’t I sell it and go and live at the Manor? The very first time you said that to me I thought how much I should like to kill you. But you’ve had all the luck till now. I thought I’d done the trick the day you were nearly drowned. I heard you calling, but the others didn’t — I took good care of that. And if it hadn’t been for that damned meddlesome grocer or whatever he was, drowned you would have been, and a lot of trouble saved. You were lucky over the car too. I took a risk there and half tried to back out at the last minute, because somebody might have seen the file marks on the track-rod. Anyhow after my urging you in front of Alicia to have the steering seen to before you went home nobody could have pinned it on me. The disgruntled Pell came in handy there. I thought about that. And considering the way Lal had been chipping you, I didn’t really think you’d want to wait about at the garage with her.” He gave a sudden contemptuous laugh. “Oh well, you had the luck then, but it’s gone back on you now. Clever weren’t you, getting that detective woman down to watch me! Miss Silver — Private Investigations! You didn’t think I knew about that, did you? You shouldn’t have left her card in your bag. It was really very careless. But you needn’t think that either she or that damned policeman are going to have anything on me over this, because they’re not! You’ve provided me with a most convincing suicide letter — one of those pieces you wrote to Robson this morning. Do you remember it? I suggested it to you, and you thought it sounded a bit exaggerated. But you wrote it down, my dear, you wrote it down — and it would convince any coroner on this earth that you meant to do away with yourself.”
She said in a small, clear voice,
“Did you kill Cissie?”
His tone changed, became rough and unsteady.
“Why did you give her that damned coat?”
Her hair had fallen into her eyes again. She pushed it back. It was getting dark, but she could still see him.
“You took Rafe’s cigarette-case and it dropped there when you pushed her over, and Alicia found it. Even if Rafe saw you take it, you knew that he would never say—” Her voice broke suddenly. “Dale — let me out! I won’t say either — I promise I won’t — only let me out!”
She heard him laugh.
“What a hope!”
And with no more than that he turned and went away. She saw him go, the shortening of the black shadow standing up against the sky, and then the sky without any shadow there.
Dale was gone.
DALE was gone — all in a moment between one breath and the next whilst she tried desperately for words that would recall the Dale who had loved her and whom she had loved, or move this dreadful stranger to let her go. No words had come and none were needed now, because Dale was gone. Just for a moment his going brought relief. The frantic effort to reach him, the terror of him standing there like a visible presence of evil — these were gone. There was a slow recovery, as from some sudden stroke of pain, but as this passed she began to see what it had left behind — desolation, the breakdown of all she had loved and trusted. He had gone, and he had left her here to die — she was to drown in this rocky pit. How long would it take for the tide to reach her? Perhaps an hour — she didn’t know.
Her first relief merged into an agony of fear. She screamed, and heard her voice come back to her from the rocky wall. It was a very hoarse, faint cry from a throat parched with terror. No one would hear it. There was no one to hear — unless the sound reached Dale and brought him back, strong and angry, to finish what he had begun. The thought was so dreadful that she dared not scream again. Not for a long, long time.
She stood there with the water up to her armpits, listening. There was no sound to listen for. The sky was getting darker and she could see the stars. She thought of all the times when she had seen them with a quiet mind. She thought, “I shall never see them like that again,” and suddenly her mind was clear and quiet under the stars. Life — She thought, “It goes on wherever you are.” She thought, “Dale can’t kill me. I shall go on.”
She stopped being afraid.
Presently she called again with all her strength, and went on calling. Dale wouldn’t come back now. He would be hurrying to the aerodrome. It was all planned. He had taken the car and driven away, and presently he would be at the airfield, taking out his plane, taking off, sweeping up into the sky with a roar. Perhaps she would hear him. Perhaps he would fly overhead and look down to see if the tide was covering her yet.
He would be safe. No one would know that they had been together. She remembered his “Don’t tell anyone, darling. Let’s have this time to ourselves.” He had betrayed her with a kiss. She hadn’t told anyone. No one had seen her go—
She lifted up her voice and called again — and again — and again — desperately.
It was at this moment that Rafe Jerningham came down the steps from the sea wall. After one of the longest half hours of his life he was doing what he had made up his mind that he would never do. Lisle had not gone to her rendezvous as unseen as she had thought. A desperately unhappy young man had stood back among the trees and watched her go down towards the sea. A day or two ago he would have followed her, but now he could no longer trust himself. Something had happened between them, without any words, and it had happened with the horrifying suddenness of a thunder clap. He had driven her into Ledlington. Nothing had happened then, nor at lunch, nor as they came and went about the business of Cissie’s funeral. He had had to endure seeing her pale, strained, with that waiting patience in her eyes. He had played the part which he had played so long that no one guessed that it was a part at all. And then something had happened. What? He had no idea, but it was something which set an unendurable barrier between them.
He came down to dinner, and she wasn’t Lisle any longer — she was a stranger. She did not look at him. He felt her shrink when he approached her. All that he had ever had of her had been withdrawn, silently, irrevocably, without reason and without relenting.
“A god, a god our severance ruled,
And bade between our shores to be
The unplumbed, salt, estranging sea.”
The lines went through his head. They were most bitterly true. He accepted the severance, as he had always accepted it, but that it should become absolute at this of all moments was the final bitterness.
Days of suspicion darkening to a despairing certainty — moments, hours, when these suspicions seemed a foul miasma from his own corroding jealousy of Dale… There was a voice which talked with him in most unsparing accents — “You love Dale’s wife, and so — Dale is a murderer. You are eating your own heart, and because of that — Dale is a murderer. Lisle is the sun and the moon and the stars, and because they are out of your reach — Dale is a murderer.”
Against this a slow damning computation of pros and cons. Lydia. Lisle — drowning — all but drowned. A smashed car. A dead girl lying among rocks — a girl who was wearing Lisle’s coat. That poor devil Pell at the inquest. His face. Lisle’s coat. Lisle — Dale looking at her, putting his arm about her, smiling down at her as if she were the sun and the moon and the stars for him too. Dale — who had been the chief thing in his life — until Lisle came—
This severance — between himself and Dale — between himself and Lisle—
“The unplumbed, salt, estranging sea—”
He saw Lisle go by, bare-headed in the evening light. At the moment he could only think that he must let her go. If he went after her now, his own barriers would not hold.
He let her go, and turning, walked rapidly away in the opposite direction.
It was perhaps half an hour later that he remembered Lisle’s change of dress. She had worn black lace at dinner, but when she passed him, going down towards the sea wall, she had on a light washing frock and beach shoes. Beach shoes. Then she was not just going to sit on the wall as she often did in the cool of the evening — she wouldn’t have changed just for that. She must have been meaning to go down on to the beach. Why? In all the time he had known her, when had she ever gone to the beach by herself in the dusk? The trouble in his mind had dulled its natural acuteness. Suddenly the vague, conflicting fears and doubts, the passionate strivings and repressions which had made it their battleground, fused into certainty. If Lisle had gone beyond the sea wall, then she had not gone alone, and if she had not gone alone, then there was only one person with whom she would have gone, and that was Dale — Dale who had made a point of telling them all that he was off to the airfield.
When Rafe’s mind had reached this point it took charge of his body and sent it racing to the house. Not far to go — he had been on his way there.
He passed Alicia on the terrace.
“Where’s Lisle?”
She said, “Gone to bed.”
It took him five minutes to make sure that she was not in her room, to slip into flannels and beach shoes, to snatch up a torch and be clear of the house again.
When he came to the sea wall he stood there a moment, listening at first, and then calling her name.
“Lisle —Lisle —Lisle!”
No voice, no answer.
He ran down the steps and switched on his torch. There was still a little light in the sky. Sea, strand, and sky were still separate, but like a second and more invisible tide the dusk flowed out from the land to meet the rising tide of the sea.
He stood irresolute. There was nothing to tell him which way to go, but if the fear that had brought him here and was drenching him with its cold sweat sprang from something more than his own distorted fancy, then it was in the direction of the Shepstone Rocks that he must look for Lisle. The wildest, the most dangerous part of the coast, the least frequented — at this hour solitary as a murderer’s heart could wish. By no stretch of the imagination could he suppose that Lisle would turn that way alone. And if not alone, where had she been taken, and how would he find her?
With these thoughts he was questing to and fro, turning the torch in every direction. Not many people ever came this way. Once the immediate neighbourhood of the steps was left behind the sand was smooth and unmarked as the tide had left it. The water had not quite reached the wall. The dry sand at its foot would hold no print. But half a dozen yards along the torch found what he was looking for — Lisle’s footprints going towards the Rocks, and the larger, bolder prints which were Dale’s.
He had followed them for perhaps half a dozen yards, when the torch picked up a second set of tracks — Dale’s footprints coming back — alone. They came in at a slant past the out-going tracks and were lost in the dry sand. It was plain enough and dreadful enough to read. Two had gone out, and only one had come back. Within a few short hours the damning evidence would be smoothed out by the tide, and the sand innocently blank and bare again. Fate had not given Dale those hours.
Everything in Rafe went cold and still. There was nothing in all the world but to find Lisle, dead or alive, and it came to him that she must be dead, because Dale would not now have left her alive. He could think of this quite calmly, because at the moment when he saw that single returning track all his capacity for feeling died. He was not conscious of distress, and he was not at all conscious of his body. There remained only the capacity for thought — lucid, keen, undisturbed by any hampering emotion.
He followed the footprints to the spit of sand which ran down towards the sea and the ridge beyond the Shepstone Rocks. Half way there he lost them under the first ripple of the tide. The torch went into his pocket and he went on, ankle-deep, knee-deep, breast-deep, and then wading and pushing against the weight of the water, up the side of the long, sprawling ridge. The water was no more than ankle-deep here. He walked along the ridge past the rocky point, and as he turned shoreward he heard Lisle’s cry.
It was so faint a sound that at any other time it would have gone by with all the million sounds which are never heard, but at this moment when everything in him was strung to the utmost pitch of expectancy it reached him. His heart jerked against his side. He began to walk towards the sound, coming down off the ridge into the deeper water, and then feeling his way slowly and cautiously so as to avoid the rocks. When the water was at its deepest he heard the sound again. And then his feet were on shingle and he came up the shallow slope of the beach towards the cliff.
As soon as he was clear of the water he called out.
“Lisle — where are you?”
The words beat on the rock wall and came back in a broken echo. And on that, something that wasn’t an echo. His name — “Rafe!”
Lisle had gone on calling. There was something in her which wouldn’t give up, something which said, “If I drown, it shan’t be because I gave up.” Giving up didn’t just mean dying. It meant letting in the dark, and the loneliness, and Dale’s treachery. If she had to die, she wanted to keep those things out, right up to the end. As long as she went on calling it meant that she wasn’t letting them in. When she heard Rafe’s voice all her courage leapt. She looked up from where she stood and saw the flicker of his torch, high above her like the flash of summer lightning. Only it wasn’t lightning — it was light.
She called again, and she said, “I’m here — here — here,” and went on saying it till the light shone over the edge of the pit and she could see him kneeling there, peering down. The beam of the torch shone suddenly upon her upturned face. White, drenched and drowned, she looked at Rafe. But her eyes were alive. He saw the pupils contract and the lids come down against the glare.