Snare of Serpents (39 page)

“So the doctor has been to see you?”

“He came to dinner … he and his wife. Roger told him that I wasn’t as well as he would like me to be. I was listless and homesick. It was all natural, of course, but he wondered if the doctor could give me something to ‘buck me up.’ Well, the result was he sent round this stuff. It’s something mixed with wine … and something else, I suppose. It’s not very pleasant to take.”

“Is it doing you any good?”

“I haven’t felt much different. Your visits do me more good than the doctor’s tonic, I think.”

“Then we must continue with that medicine.”

“I’m so pleased Roger asked you to come.”

“Yes, he was really concerned about you.”

“He’s always so good to me.” She hesitated and I waited for her to go on. She bit her lips slightly and said: “He wants me to settle down, I know. I try to. You like it here, don’t you?”

“Yes. Lilias is delighted with it. It’s such a change from the village. She always wanted to teach.”

“We wondered why she gave it up.”

I thought then how difficult it was to throw off a part of your life which you wanted to forget. It kept coming back to hurt you.

“Perhaps she needed a rest,” she went on. “She had just come to the end of one post and maybe did not like the prospect of facing another—though I should have thought Lilias would always be ready to face what she had to. Oh well, I’m glad it is turning out so well for her.” She paused and went on: “What were we saying about the house? Do you know I avoid going to the part where it happened?”

“You mean … ?”

“The staircase. I always feel there is something … haunted … about it.”

“That’s your imagination.”

“Maybe, but I want you to come there with me. I want to make you understand what I feel.”

“Now, you mean?”

“Why not?”

She rose and led the way, looking over her shoulder, as though to reassure herself that I was with her.

We reached that part of the house and stood at the top of the staircase. I could see what she meant. In the first place it was dark and shadowy. There was only one small window which gave little light, even in the afternoon. It might have been due to that that one felt it was gloomy, plus the knowledge that someone, not so very long ago, had plunged to her death down that staircase.

“There,” said Myra. “I see you can feel it.”

“I was just thinking that there was so little light here.”

“It’s more than that.”

“It’s because you are thinking of what happened here.”

She moved away and said: “Come and look at the Model House. I always do when I’m in this part of the house. I find it fascinating to see the house … just as it is … though on this small scale.”

As we came up to the house she stopped short and gave a gasp of dismay. “Oh … look!” she said.

I looked. A small carved figure, which was clearly meant to represent a woman, was lying at the foot of the staircase. I thought she was going to faint … and I caught her.

“It’s only a piece of wood,” I said.

“Who put it there?”

I said: “Would you like to go to your room? You really look shaken.”

She allowed me to take her there. She was trembling visibly. I suggested she lie down and when she did so I sat beside her. She held my hand and I was sure there was something she wanted to say to me but could not bring herself to do so.

“Stay with me,” she said. “Don’t go back to the schoolhouse tonight. There’s plenty of room here. Stay.”

I was astonished. “But …” I began.

“Please …
please.
I want you to. It’s important to me.”

“Myra … why?”

“I just feel …” She looked so earnest, her eyes pleading more than her words. I thought: she is afraid of something. I have to help her. If I did not and something happened …

I was romancing again. What was it about this house … the staircase … the Model House? She was making me feel, as she probably did, that there were evil forces at work.

I could not leave her.

I said: “I’ll send a note to Lilias. I’ll tell her I’m staying the night.”

“Oh, thank you. Will you really? Ring the bell … please ring the bell.”

I did so and a woman arrived.

“Luban,” she said. “Will you prepare a room? On this floor please. Miss Grey is staying the night.”

Luban was a lithe youngish woman; her skin was black as ebony and her large dark eyes seemed to hold some tragedy. I remembered that she was the mother of the deaf-mute I had seen on my previous visit, and I guessed that her air of sadness might have something to do with that poor boy.

“I must send a note to Lilias at once,” I said.

Myra found a pen and paper and I sat down and wrote:

Dear Lilias,

Myra wants me to stay the night. She is not very well and I think it is rather important to her. I hope that will be all right.

D
IANA

Luban took the note and said it would be sent at once.

I was still in a state of amazement that I had fallen into this situation. It was only when I received Lilias’ note that I realised that it was not so extraordinary, after all.

Of course, it is all right, [she had written]. I’m sorry Myra is not well. Give her my best wishes.

L
ILIAS

As usual she brought calm common sense into the matter.

Nevertheless that night I spent at Riebeeck House was an uneasy one. I had dinner in Myra’s room as she said she did not feel well enough to leave it. Roger joined us. He seemed very pleased to see me there.

“This is delightful,” he said. “It was so good of you to stay with Myra. I am sure you are very grateful to … er … Diana, Myra.”

Why did he stumble over my name? I wondered. It was almost as though he knew it was not my true one.

Myra said that she was grateful and it was delightful to have me there.

“And this faintness?” he went on in deep concern.

“It was nothing. Just the heat, I suppose. I’m not accustomed to it yet.”

“Do you think we ought to consult the doctor?”

“Oh no … no.”

“Have you been taking your tonic?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we shall see. If you have any more attacks like this I am going to insist on your seeing the doctor.” He smiled at me. “You and I will take care of her, won’t we, Diana?”

“She will soon be well, I am sure.”

When I was alone in my room that night I found myself
going over what had been said that evening. Roger Lestrange did seem to be a devoted husband, but, as always, I could not be sure of him. I wondered why he hesitated over my name. It really did seem as though he knew it were not mine.

I must talk to Lilias. She would soon drive away my misgivings. But Lilias was not here, and I was in a strange bed in a house which Myra thought was haunted.

There were times during that restless night when I had an idea that I was being caught up in something mysterious, perhaps sinister, which I could not understand.

W
HEN
I
AWOKE
next morning I could not for the moment recall where I was. I sat up in bed startled: and then when I looked at the unfamiliar Dutch-style furniture I realised I was in Riebeeck House and I recalled the events of last night.

After a while Luban came in with hot water.

“Mrs. Lestrange was ill in the night,” she told me, in her melancholy sounding singsongy voice. “She very sick. Mr. Lestrange … he very worried.”

“Oh dear! She is better now?”

“Yes. Yes … better now.”

After she had gone I washed and dressed. Poor Myra! She was rather delicate, I supposed. It was not easy to uproot oneself and live in another country; and she had been terribly upset by that little figure in the Model House. I wondered who had put it there and why. Was it meant to represent Margarete? I supposed so, as it was lying at the foot of the staircase. It was a mischievous thing to do. I wondered if Paul had had a hand in it.

I went downstairs. The breakfast things were set out on the table, but there was no one there. I stepped out onto the stoop and walked down the steps to the garden. I was struck afresh by the lush beauty of the place. It seemed particularly delightful in the early morning. The sun was not yet too hot; everything seemed fresh; the scent of the flowers was almost overpowering and there was a murmur of insects in the air.

As I stood there Roger Lestrange came out.

“Good morning,” he said. “It was good of you to stay last night.”

“I felt a little guilty about leaving Lilias.”

“Lilias is quite capable of looking after herself.”

“I know. How is Myra? I heard from one of the servants that she was not well during the night.”

“She is better this morning, thanks. Who told you she had been ill?”

“It was the one who brought my hot water. Luban, I think.”

“She must have heard from Mrs. Prost. Luban doesn’t live in the house. She is with her husband and family in one of the rondavels.”

“Yes, I know. I did go out there and saw them once.”

“Yes, I had to call Mrs. Prost in the night. I was worried about Myra.”

“So it was as bad as that?”

“I wasn’t sure. I don’t know much about illness. I’m worried about her … Myra, I mean. What do you think?”

“I think she’s taking a little time to adjust to this new life. After all, she lived so long in that village and this is all very different. In time she will settle down.”

“Do you think so?” He sounded relieved. “She has never been ill like that before. She’s had her headaches, but she was sick … really ill. I was really alarmed. I thought of sending for a doctor … but she begged me not to. And then she began to recover a little. She probably ate something which did not agree with her.”

“Oh, maybe that was it. I know the heat can be very trying to people who are not used to it. I daresay she will soon be all right.”

“I was just wondering if I should get the doctor to have a look at her.”

“I should see how she feels.”

“You are a comfort, D-Diana.”

“I’m glad. I think she was rather upset by that figure in the Model House.”

“Figure? What figure?”

“A carved figure. It was supposed to be a woman, I think.”

“In the Model House?”

“Yes. I was with her. She was showing me one or two things about the house and there it was …”

“What was it like?”

“Oh, rather crudely carved.”

“Native work?”

“I suppose it could be. It was there at the foot of the staircase … not the spiral one, the other.”

His face had darkened. He muttered: “Who, in God’s name, could have put it there?”

“Myra had no idea. It was … just there.”

“Show me,” he said rather fiercely. “Show me exactly where it is.”

He went hurriedly into the house and I followed him. Swiftly we passed through to the other end of the house.

The figure was no longer in the Model House.

“Where is it?” he cried. “Show me.”

“It’s gone. It was lying there … just there, at the bottom of the staircase.”

For a few moments he did not speak. I had never before seen him at a loss for words. Then he said slowly: “It was that spot where we found her. Someone … is playing some silly joke. We must find out who.”

“Well,” I said, “it upset her. I thought she was going to faint. That was when I took her back to her room.”

He had recovered, but the colour had faded from his face and he looked rather pale.

“Thank you, Diana,” he said; and I noticed he used my name without the usual hesitation. “Thank you for looking after her.”

We walked to the other side of the house and descended the spiral staircase. “Don’t mention the figure to anyone. It might upset people.”

I said I wouldn’t.

Myra joined us for breakfast. She told us she was feeling considerably better.

“I thought I was going to die in the night,” she said.

“Oh come, my dear,” replied Roger. “You know I wouldn’t allow that.”

She laughed. She seemed quite happy.

“Thank you so much for staying, Diana. I did feel comforted to have you there. You will come and … and . .’ . stay again, won’t you?”

“/ am going to insist that she does,” added Roger.

W
HEN
I
RETURNED
to the schoolhouse it was to find that two letters had arrived. One of them was from Ninian, the other from Zillah.

Ninian began by saying that we should come home without delay.