Stranger by the Lake (11 page)

It was lovely, really. The water was black, a vast expanse of inky wetness undulating with tiny waves, the mist hanging over it in gently waving white veils. There was enough moonlight to guide my way, wavering beams pointing out the smooth, narrow curve of land between trees and water, an occasional log blocking the way. A frog croaked nearby, startling me, and there was a loud splash as it hopped off a log and plunged into the water. I wasn't exactly sure where the mausoleum stood, but I was sure to find it if I followed the shoreline. The mists were spreading, obscuring part of the land now, visible white vapors waving in front of me. Perhaps I should go back, I thought calmly. It really wasn't so important that I see the place tonight. Perhaps.…

I saw it ahead of me, sitting at the edge of the water, shrouded by mist. It was a vast black marble tent, but it looked like black silk, and the sides seemed to billow in the breeze. I stopped, staring at it from the distance. Sir Robert and Arabella were resting there, as they had rested so many nights in so many distant lands, and it was almost as though they were merely sleeping and in the morning would fold up the tent and move on to another place. I listened to the whispers, and there was a faint tinkling sound. The tinkling of a camel's bell, I thought, my flesh suddenly cold. I actually hear it, but it's a legend, a ghost story.… I closed my eyes, listening, straining to hear the sound again, but it was gone. Romantic nonsense, I told myself, still a bit shaky. For a moment I had actually believed I had heard the sound. I hadn't, of course. It had been the product of an over-active imagination.

I moved toward the black marble tent, amazed at the way it seemed to billow. The marble gleamed darkly in the moonlight, like the purest silk, and the sculpture was so realistic. There were even black marble ropes and stakes to hold the poles in place. I stood before it, peering at the words engraved on the plaque:
HERE LIES SIR ROBERT GORDON
, with the dates of his birth and death, and, below that,
AND HIS WIFE
, no further legend given, not even her name. She had been submissive, even in death. The front flaps of the tent were slightly parted, permitting entry into the mausoleum, but no force on earth could have induced me to step inside. The mists rose up, wrapping the tent in trailing white vapors even as I stood there. I turned to go back, musing on the couple resting in that bizarre tomb.

I had taken several steps before I heard the wood cracking. It made a loud popping noise, as though someone had stepped on a fallen branch, snapping it with his foot. I stopped, standing very still, my body seemingly frozen in place. There was a shuffling sound at the edge of the woods, the sound of someone pushing aside a branch of shrubbery. My heart pounded violently, and I caught my breath, every nerve jangling. I wasn't imagining anything this time. Someone was there, at the edge of the woods, watching me. I was standing in a pool of moonlight, clearly visible, my shoulders trembling. Eyes peered at me from out of the darkness, and I heard a cough. I closed my eyes, wondering if I were going to pass out, and my body swayed a little.

“Miss Marlow?” The voice was a whisper, blending with the whispers from the lake. At first I wasn't sure that someone had actually spoken my name.

“Is—is someone there?” I stammered.

“Over here——”

I peered in the direction of the sound. I could see the man standing just in front of the trees, his form clearly outlined against their darker shapes. The features weren't visible, but I could see the gleam of blond hair and a pale, oval face. He stepped toward me, and I clenched my hands tightly at my sides, preparing to scream.

“Don't be afraid,” he said, moving closer. “I won't hurt you.”

He stepped into the shaft of moonlight, and I saw him clearly for the first time. He was wearing tennis shoes, tight beige denim trousers, and a soft brown turtleneck sweater. He looked young and vulnerable, as he had looked last night at the inn, but I no longer felt maternal. I remembered what Aunt Agatha had said: “Poor Charlie is tetched.” Tetched was merely a quaint word for mad. This handsome boy might be a maniac, I thought, my pulses leaping, and I recalled my aunt saying that some villagers believed he had strangled the mysterious woman and buried her in the basement of the inn.

“It's me,” he said, “Charlie Grayson.”

“I—I know,” I said, striving to control myself. “Don't—come any closer. I'll scream.”

“Why should you do that?” he inquired. “I wouldn't want you to scream, Miss Marlow. Someone might hear.”

He moved very quickly, darting toward me, seizing my wrist, whirling me around and clamping his hand over my mouth. Holding my wrist in an iron vise, the other hand gripping my chin and covering my mouth, he pulled me out of the moonlight, toward the trees. He was quite strong, despite his slender build, and my feeble efforts to escape were futile. This is it, I thought, my mind racing. He intends to rape me, and then … we were at the edge of the woods now, in darkness, and Charlie stopped, holding me against him.

“I don't intend to hurt you,” he whispered softly.

He released my wrist and slowly removed some of the pressure of the hand clamped over my mouth.

“Promise not to scream?” he said. “If you promise, I'll let you go, Miss Marlow.”

He moved his hand away, holding it cupped inches from my lips, ready to clamp back in place should I cry out.

“Promise?” he whispered.

“I—yes,” I mumbled. “You—you won't get away with this. There are dogs loose, and——”

“The dogs are in the house,” he said quietly. “They roam the halls at night.”

“How do you know?” I asked, still fighting to control myself. He was far too strong for me to hope to break away. My only hope was to outwit him.

“Everyone in the village knows about the dogs,” Charlie replied. “Dr. Matthews made sure everyone knew, to discourage intruders.”

“What—what do you want of me?” I said, and my voice was at last under control, no longer quavering.

“I've got to talk to you,” he said. “I came here—I didn't know how I was going to reach you. I thought maybe I could slip into the house. The dogs know me—I kept them in a kennel in back of the inn one time when Dr. Matthews went to London. They wouldn't hurt me. I was on my way up to the house when I saw you moving through the woods. I followed you——”

“You were in the woods?”

“I was waiting till later, when everyone was asleep. It was a great stroke of luck, your coming down here like this. It saved me ever so much trouble——”

“You want to—talk?”

“I wouldn't hurt you, Miss Marlow. I wouldn't hurt anyone. I'm sorry I had to grab you like that, but if you'd screamed——” He stepped from behind me, moving around until he was a few feet in front of me.

I could have fled then, but in my high heels I hadn't a prayer of outrunning him. He would have caught me in no time, and I would have incurred his wrath. Angry, he might resort to violence, those strong hands flying to my throat. His voice was gentle, almost caressing, but I knew from extensive reading that some of the maddest madmen had been gentle, apparently lovable creatures, kind and affectionate one moment, raging lunatics the next. Reason and superior intellect were my only weapons, and I had to employ them carefully.

“Did you slip the note under my door last night, Charlie?” I asked.

He nodded. Although we were in darkness, my eyes were accustomed to the night by now and I could see him clearly. His face was sculptured in shadow, the planes of his cheekbones light, eyes and jaw dark. His blond hair was silken, curling about his temples and spilling forward in shaggy locks over his forehead. The corners of his mouth quivered, and I suddenly realized that Charlie was as frightened as I was, if not more so. His shoulders were hunched forward, his arms folded tightly across his chest. He was shivering visibly, and in the brown sweater he couldn't possibly have been cold.

“It was a warning,” he said. “They——”

He cut himself short, staring at the ground. My own fear had vanished now. I knew Charlie didn't intend to do me harm. He was like a frightened child. All around us the night noises rustled, leaves stirring as birds flitted from branch to branch, frogs croaking hoarsely, waves lapping, and there was the constant crooning as wind skimmed over water with the sound of whispers. The mausoleum was almost completely shrouded in mist now, only the base of the tent visible, and the mist was reaching long white fingers towards where we stood.

Charlie was alert to every sound. He seemed poised for flight. I wondered why he was so frightened.

“The note,” I prompted. “Why did you write it?”

“I told you. It was a warning.”

“A warning? What are you trying to tell me, Charlie?”

“It's a plot. You overheard. They—I didn't want you to get hurt. I slipped the note under your door to warn you. I hoped you'd go away. They know——”

“You're not making sense,” I said. “Who are ‘they'? What are they planning to do?”

“I begged her not to,” he said urgently. “I knew he was a bad 'un. I told her, but she wouldn't listen. He has her under a spell. She's fallen for him. She'll do anything he says——”

His incoherent urgency was maddening. He was trying to tell me something vastly important, I knew, but he was so frightened that the words came tumbling out in cryptic patterns, making no sense at all. I laid a hand on his arm, trying to calm him.

“Charlie,” I said, “what is it? Take your time. No one can hear us. There's no reason to be frightened.”

“You don't
know
——” he whispered.

“What don't I know?”

“The old lady trusts him,” he replied, attempting to speak in a level voice. “She doesn't suspect—and now you're in danger, too.”

“Please try to control yourself,” I said, thoroughly irritated now. “What are you
talking
about? Are you accusing someone of——”

“They plan——”

We both heard the noise at the same time. Charlie jumped, backing up against a tree trunk, his face stark white. I gave a little cry, as disturbed by his reactions as by the noise. Someone was coming towards us, walking along the shore. The footsteps were loud, shoes treading heavily on the earth. Whoever it was made no attempt at silence. Charlie seized my wrist, looking up at me with frantic eyes.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered, “at the inn.”

He let go of my wrist and hurried away, disappearing into the woods with remarkable agility. One moment he was there, the next he was gone, the noise of his movements no louder than the rustling leaves. He might truly have been swallowed up by the woods. I was incredibly frustrated, completely bewildered by his hysterical words, and at the same time I was furious that he had run away, leaving me to face the intruder alone. I was too numbed to be frightened now. I stood silently, listening to the footsteps draw nearer and nearer. I could see the figure approaching, his upper body shrouded in mist, only his feet and legs visible as he came towards me. I seemed to be in a trance, unable to move.

“Susan!” Craig Stanton cried.

“I'm over here,” I said. My voice was quite calm.

The mists parted and he stepped forward, stopping a few feet away from where I stood. The moonlight gleamed on his ruffled shirt and silk embroidered jacket. He tilted his head to one side, thrusting his hands in his pants pockets, the tail of his jacket bunching up. There was something quite unreal about all of this: the lake, the black marble tent, the mist, the panic-stricken boy, and now this handsome stranger standing in the moonlight in his absurd formal clothes. I took a deep breath. It was just too unbelievable, all of it.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Craig Stanton said.

“Quite a coincidence,” I replied.

“Not really. I was coming back from Dower House when I saw you plunging into the woods. At first I couldn't believe my eyes, but on second look I saw that it really was you and that you were, indeed, going straight into the woods.”

“So?”

“I figured I might better stroll down and make sure you didn't blunder into the water or something like that.”

“Thoughtful of you.”

“Wasn't it? I'm a very thoughtful fellow.”

I was almost certain that he hadn't seen Charlie, but there was something curious about his manner. He was casual, relaxed, amiable in a cocky sort of way, yet he seemed a bit tense, as though he really had been worried about my safety. That was one explanation. There could have been several others. He sighed, heaving his chest, and shook his head slowly, as though thoroughly disgusted.

“You said at dinner you've got nerves of steel. You weren't kidding at all, were you?”

“What has that got to do with it?”

“Heading out here all alone, after all that talk about intruders and people prowling about the property—I assume you really do have nerves of steel or else you're a damn fool. I'm rather partial to the latter assumption.”

“Why should I be afraid to come down to the lake?”

“Why, indeed,” he said, rather irritably. “Suppose there
had
been someone lurking about down here——”

“But there wasn't,” I said hastily.

Craig shook his head and stepped over to me, standing very close. He was frowning, his brows lowered, his mouth turned down at the corners. I could see the look of irritation in his eyes.

“You should be kept under lock and key,” he said. “First you get lost in the maze, now this—I'm beginning to think you're an absolute idiot.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Why
did
you come down here?”

“I wanted to see the mausoleum.”

“Perfectly logical explanation,” he said sarcastically. “It's almost midnight, you're wearing high heels and velvet and you suddenly feel an uncontrollable impulse to come traipsing down to the lake. Jesus! Come along, I'll take you back to the house.”