Dorothy Eden (42 page)

“Oh, Mrs. Lacey, was it her?”

“It was a man,” Harriet said carefully. “At least, I think so. It seemed to be too deep a voice for a woman. It was difficult to tell, because it was a sort of thick whisper.

Millie nodded in a mesmerized way.

“Harriet, I couldn’t hear everything that was said,” Flynn interrupted. “Something about a parcel, and not calling the police.”

“The gist of it was that I mustn’t call the police until I see what is in this parcel.”

“He’s bluffing!” Flynn said sharply.

“He or she? It’s all the same. Whoever it was has my children, and I’m to get a parcel containing—heaven knows what.”

“Dial the police at once,” Flynn ordered. “I’ll speak.”

“No!” cried Millie. “Don’t, don’t!”

“You stay out of this!” Flynn said angrily. “You’ve done enough harm already.”

Millie’s fist went to her mouth, like a hurt and terrified child. But she had enough spirit to plead. “Don’t get the police till you see what’s in the parcel. Please, Mrs. Lacey! She won’t stop at nothing if you don’t do as she says!”

“Millie is utterly convinced this person is the blonde woman she saw hanging about here the other day,” Harriet explained to Flynn. “But I still think that voice was a man’s.”

“If it should be a woman,” Flynn said consideringly, “things may well be rather more hopeful.”

“Because a woman would hesitate to harm a child?”

“Partly. And I don’t think she would be quite so ruthless.”

“You won’t get the police, Mrs. Lacey?” Millie begged.

The sight of the girl in her crumpled cotton nightgown irritated Harriet unreasonably.

“Millie, go back to bed.”

“I can’t sleep. I’m too scared.”

But the girl wandered off, nevertheless, and Harriet turned to Flynn.

“Millie’s right though, isn’t she? I can’t get the police until I see what’s in that parcel.”

“What on earth has a mysterious parcel got to do with it?”

“How can I know? How can I know anything except that I’ve got to believe what he said. I don’t dare believe anything else.”

“What’s the time?” Flynn asked heavily.

“It’s nearly midnight.”

“We said we’d wait until then.”

“But that means it isn’t so long till morning. The postman comes early.”

“Get the police, Harriet. Dial that number.”

“But he’ll know, just as he knew—”

“That Jones and I were there?” His face was taut with pain. “A fine protector I have been.”

“Flynn dear, don’t worry. If he hadn’t been able to blame you, he may have made another excuse to get more money.”

“Can’t you curse me, at least!” he demanded savagely.

She tried to smile. “I’m too tired. I’m not very good at it, anyway. I think we ought to try to get some sleep.”

“You really mean to go on waiting?”

“It’s only a few hours till morning. Yes, I have to.”

“You’ll let this scoundrel walk away with your five hundred pounds and tomorrow demand another five hundred?”

“It’s what may be in that parcel,” Harriet said hypnotically.

“You’re behaving with lunatic carelessness! If the police had been there tonight they’d probably have got him.”

“They’d more probably have scared him off even more successfully than you and Jones did.”

She saw him wince, and instantly cried, “Flynn dear! Children sleep well at night. The time will go more quickly for them than for us.”

“And wake to—” He bit off his words. “Oh, God, if only I could
see!”

Harriet took his arm.

“Do you think you could possibly endure a night on my couch? I’d feel much safer with you here.”

“Safer!” His voice was full of caustic irony.

“Very much safer,” she said firmly.

And then suddenly he had his arms around her and was holding her with savage tightness.

“Harriet! My poor child! Am I your evil genius, or what?”

She tried to stop trembling, but now she couldn’t. She was so utterly exhausted, and it had been so long since she had been held like this. She wanted, in that moment, nothing more than to close her eyes and sleep on his breast.

Suddenly, however, the telephone rang again. After a moment of panic, Harriet snatched at it eagerly. Had her tormentor relented? But, no. It was only Fred, apologetic at disturbing her at such a late hour, but he and his mother were still waiting to see if anything had happened. Neither of them could sleep.

“We’re not doing much of that ourselves,” Harriet said wryly. “No, Fred, there’s nothing you can do. Just be around.”

“I’ve been that all day, madam. I’ve watched everyone who’s come in and gone out. Especially tonight. But there’s been nothing you might report as queer.”

Harriet felt impelled to ask whether he had seen anyone resembling the blonde woman who so haunted Millie. But at that Fred gave a slight snort and said he didn’t think Millie was very reliable. Look how she’d behaved with Jamie, letting him follow her down the street like that. And the other night she had blamed him for losing a pair of earrings, but never a word to him the next day as to whether she had got into trouble or not.

“That kind,” Fred’s voice came informatively, “likes to dramatize themselves.”

Harriet cut off Fred’s talkativeness by saying briefly, “Nothing’s going to happen until the morning.”

“You know that for certain?”

“Yes, I know that for certain.” She couldn’t explain and justify herself to Fred as well as to Flynn. In spite of the sharp curiosity in his voice, he would have to wait to hear what had happened. “So tell your mother to stop worrying and go to bed.”

Fred, however, could not bear to be left in the dark.

“Did something go wrong tonight, madam?”

“Slightly wrong.”

“But you’re not calling the police?”

“Not—just yet.”

“You’re sure there’s nothing I can do?”

“No, Fred, thank you. Good night.”

“Don’t you think, Harriet,” said Flynn in his ironic voice, “that your allies are poor broken reeds. A scared nursemaid, a porter who, if I’m not mistaken, wouldn’t be averse to a bribe, a potty old woman who should have been sitting in the Place de la Bastille watching the aristocrats lose their heads, a valet who is besotted with a sick wife and isn’t aware of anything much else, and myself, blind. Scotland Yard could really do better than that.”

“Oh, Flynn, be quiet!”

“Very well. For another eight hours precisely. Now where’s this couch where I endure physical discomfort as well?”

“It’s really very comfortable.”

He smiled at last. “Of course, Harriet. I know it is. Try to sleep, my dear.”

Sheer exhaustion made Harriet sleep. In the morning she came slowly out of the fog of tiredness to a strange sound. At first, in sleep-drugged confusion, she thought it was the telephone, and only half awake shot up in bed, tense with apprehension. Then she realized that it was the spaniel puppy crying. Poor little thing, he had not yet had much care, but Jamie would make amends for that when he came home.

She put on a housecoat and went into the kitchen to comfort the puppy and give it milk. It was seven o’clock.

Daylight had not yet lightened the gray sky. There was still a thin scattering of snow on the windowsills and roofs. It was very cold, and no day for children to be outdoors.

Harriet shivered and put on water to heat for coffee. Then she went quietly into the living room and looked down at Flynn on the couch. The light did not waken him. But of course it wouldn’t for he couldn’t see.

His dark glasses were lying on the floor, and with his eyes closed he looked young and peaceful, the tautness and strain smoothed out of his face. Harriet suddenly wanted to touch his forehead. As if she had actually done so, he woke.

“You’re with me, Flynn, on my couch,” she said swiftly, anticipating his dark bewilderment “It’s just after seven and I’m making coffee.”

He reached for her hand.

“Wonderful. Did you sleep?”

“Until the puppy woke me.”

“The post comes about eight.”

“Yes.”

He sat up energetically.

“Coffee. Post. Then I go home to shave and avoid scandalizing Jones.”

“Because you slept on my couch?”

“Because I slept in my clothes. Jones has the standards of a good valet.”

Harriet smiled.

“It’s my Mrs. Blunt who’ll be scandalized for the other reason. Excuse me, there’s the kettle boiling.”

“Wonderful girl. Harriet, have I told you you’re wonderful?”

“I expect you have. I hardly think many of your female friends escape that little attention.”

“I wasn’t admiring you for your looks. I haven’t seen them. But for your self-discipline.”

“Oh!” she went away slowly. “I guess that’s a thing one has to learn.”

“Yes, one has. Some earlier than others. Some more successfully.”

“You’re being very successful, Flynn.”

“Am I? Am I really?” The eagerness in his voice was deeply touching. Suddenly her eyes filled with tears. Was she falling a little in love? The thought startled her. Joe, darling! she whispered soundlessly.

“Are you standing there staring at me, Harriet? I thought you were going to make coffee.”

“So I am.”

“What a luxury, after my fumbling efforts. Jones always arrives expecting to find me scalded or the kitchen on fire. Actually, I hardly ever break any crockery now.”

“You shall make it for me one day,” Harriet said lightly.

“Splendid. That’s a promise. What’s the time now?”

“Twenty minutes past seven.”

“Has that puppy made a mess?”

“I’m afraid so. It’s my fault I didn’t handle him very well.”

“I must start taking him for walks. I depend on Jamie for that. And we have to name him.”

“You’re very good to Jamie.”

“Harriet, why are we being so polite to one another?”

“We’re making conversation,” she said bleakly.

“I suppose we are. To pass time. Let’s do this another day when time doesn’t have to be passed so urgently.”

“Of course. Black or white coffee?”

“Black this morning.”

“Same for me. I’m not going to wake Millie yet. Actually, in her present state I prefer her when she’s asleep. Flynn, you’ll have to go before Mrs. Blunt arrives. She thinks the children are in the country.”

“And you may be meeting their train this morning?”

“Oh, I
hope
so!” she breathed.

At that moment, as if it were obeying a cue, the telephone rang.

Flynn sprang up. The cup in Harriet’s hand clattered against its saucer.

“Shall I answer it?” Flynn asked.

“No, I’d better. Who—what—It’s ridiculous being so scared of the telephone!”

But she was. Her hand was shaking so that she could scarcely pick up the receiver.

“Hello,” she said tentatively.

And then the unbelievable, the miracle happened. It was Jamie’s voice.

“Is that you, Mummy? When are you coming to get us?”

“Jamie! Darling! Where are you? Tell me quickly.”

“In a house by the river. I sleep on the floor. I don’t like it. Arabella—”

And that was all. His voice was cut off. There was a click as the receiver was put down.

“Jamie! Jamie!” Harriet cried uselessly. She was crying as she left the telephone. “They wouldn’t let him speak. They stopped him.”

“But he’s alive!” Flynn said excitedly. “God, Harriet, if the police were here they could have traced that call.”

“They stopped him,” Harriet repeated desolately. “I didn’t even have time to tell him about the puppy.” But a little color had come into her cheeks. Suddenly she laughed through her tears. “He’s apparently being a handful, as usual.”

“He has always phoned you from my flat. Jones taught him. He knows the number by heart. He’ll ring again.”

“They’ll take good care not to let him.”

“He’s difficult to stop, when he wants to do a thing.”

Harriet nodded, smiling again. The little episode, though it had ended abortively, had heartened them both. The children were alive and well. The unknown voice in the night had told the truth. So perhaps one could trust it today, also.

“Here’s your coffee, Flynn. Oh, here’s Millie, too. Millie, Jamie has just rung us.”

“Oh!” gasped Millie. “What did he say? Where is he?”

“He couldn’t tell us. He wouldn’t know, anyway. And they stopped him telling, of course.”

“And the baby?” Millie asked, wide-eyed.

“Jamie was just going to say when he was stopped. Oh! There’s the doorbell. The postman.”

“He’s early,” Millie said nervously. “Shall I go, ma’am?”

“No, I will.” Harriet was already halfway to the front door. But now her mouth was dry, her knees weak. In a few moments the suspense would be over. They would know what was in the mysterious parcel.

“Good morning, madam,” the postman said cheerfully. “Parcel for you.”

“No letters?” said Harriet automatically, taking the medium-sized but curiously light parcel.

“No letters. Good day, madam.”

He was gone on his cheerful way, and she was slowly closing the door, holding the parcel gingerly and looking at the scrawled printing of her name.

“Oh, what is it, Mrs. Lacey?” Millie asked shakily.

“I—don’t know.”

“Take it easy, Harriet,” said Flynn. “There can’t be anything very serious in a small parcel.”

Suddenly, feverishly, Harriet was tearing the paper off. Inside was a shabby cardboard box. With the same feverish haste she lifted off the lid, then gave a faint stricken cry and dropped everything to the floor.

“What is it? Harriet, what is it?” Flynn was shouting, his face taut with anxiety and frustration. “Don’t you know I can’t see! What made you cry out?”

Harriet knelt, her hands gently on the spilled sun-shine. The spilled London sunshine that once Joe had loved.

“It’s Arabella’s hair,” she whispered. “Her curls. They have been cut off.”

Flynn’s fingers clenched around his stick.

“Is there nothing else? No letter?”

“It’s so diabolical! Poor little Arabella.”

“Harriet! Pull yourself together. Is there any kind of a message?”

“Yes. Yes, at the bottom. I didn’t notice it before.”

“Well, read it, for heaven’s sake.”