The Shivering Sands (9 page)

Upstairs and through corridors we went. She looked over her shoulder at me and said: “Now, Mrs. Verlaine, you are lost, are you not?” in the manner of a teasing child.

I admitted I was but added that I supposed I should be able to find my way about in time.

“In time…” she whispered. “Perhaps. But time does not teach everything, does it? Time heals they say, but everything they say is not true, is it?”

I did not want to enter into a discussion at this point so I did not attempt to disagree with her; and smiling she walked on.

Eventually we came to what she called her suite. We were in one of the turrets and gleefully she showed me the apartment. There were three rooms in the great tower. “It’s a circle,” she pointed out—“you can go all round—one room leading to another and you come back to where you started from. Isn’t that unusual, Mrs. Verlaine? But I want to show you my studio. It faces north, you know. The light is so important to an artist. Come along in and I’ll show you some of my work.”

I went in. The windows were bigger in this room than in the others and the north light was strong. Her look of youth was harshly denied in this room; the little bows, the blue gown with its satin sash, the little black slippers, were not enough to combat the wrinkles, the brown smudges on the thin claw-like hands; but she had lost none of her animation. The room was simply furnished; there was a door at each end which I knew opened onto the next room; on the walls were several pictures and canvases were stacked up in a corner. On a table lay a pallet and an easel was set up; on this was a half-finished picture of three girls; and I knew at once that they were Edith, Allegra, and Alice. She followed my gaze.

“Ah,” she said conspiratorially. “Come and look.”

I went closer beside her. She was watching me eagerly for my reactions. I studied the picture; Edith with her golden hair; Allegra with her thick black curls and Alice neat with a white band holding back her long straight light-brown hair.

“You recognize them?”

“Of course. It’s a good likeness.”

“They’re young,” she said. “Their faces tell nothing, do they?”

“Youth…innocence…inexperience…”

“They tell nothing,” she said. “But if you know them you can see beneath the face they show the world. That is the artist’s gift, don’t you think? To see what they are trying to hide.”

“It makes the artist rather alarming.”

“A person to be avoided.” Her laughter was pitched and girlish. She was looking at me with those childlike eyes and I felt uneasy. Was she trying to probe my secrets? Was she seeing my stormy life with Pietro? Would she attempt to probe also into my motives? What if she discovered that I was Roma’s sister?

“It would all depend,” I said, “whether one had something to hide.”

“All people have something to hide don’t they, Mrs. Verlaine? It could be only one little thing…but it’s something so very much one’s own. Older people are more interesting than the young. Nature is an artist. Nature draws all sorts of things on people’s faces which they would prefer to hide.”

“Nature also draws the pleasanter things.”

“You’re an optimist, Mrs. Verlaine. I can see that. You’re like the young woman who came here…digging.”

My uneasiness increased. “Like…” I began.

She went on: “William didn’t want the place disturbed, but she was so persistent. She wouldn’t let him rest so he said yes. And they came down looking for Roman remains. It hasn’t been the same since.”

“You met this young woman?”

“Oh yes. I like to know what’s going on.”

“She would be the one who disappeared?”

She nodded delightedly, her eyes almost lost among the wrinkles.

“You know why?” she said.

“No.”

“Meddling. They didn’t like it.”

“Who didn’t?”

“Those who are dead and gone. They don’t go…altogether, you know. They come back.”

“You mean the…Romans?”

“The dead,” she said. “You can sense them all round you.” She came closer to me and whispered: “I don’t think Beau will like Napier’s coming back. In fact I know he doesn’t. He’s told me.”

“Beau…has told you!”

“In dreams. We were close…He was my little boy. The one I might have had. I’d pictured him…just like Beau. It was all right when Napier wasn’t here. It was right and proper that he should be sent away. Why should Beau be gone and Napier stay? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. But now he’s back and that’s bad, I tell you. Just a moment.” She went to the stack of canvases and brought out a picture. She set it against the wall and I gasped with horror. It was a full length picture of a man. The face was wicked…the hawknose was accentuated; the eyes were narrowed, the mouth was curved into a repulsive snarl. I recognized it as Napier.

“You recognize it?” she asked.

“It’s not really like him,” I said.

“I painted it after he’d murdered his brother.”

I felt indignant. For the boy, I told myself fiercely once more. She was watching my face and she laughed.

“I see you are going to take his side. You don’t know him. He’s wicked. He was jealous of his brother, of beautiful Beau. He wanted what Beau had…so he killed him. He’s like that. I know it. Others know it.”

“I am sure there are some who…”

She interrupted me. “How can you be sure, Mrs. Verlaine? What do you know? You think because William brought him back and married him to Edith…William is a hard man too, Mrs. Verlaine. The men of this house are all hard…except Beau. Beau was beautiful. Beau was good. And he had to die.” She turned away. “Forgive me. I feel it still. I shall never forget.”

“I understand.” I turned my back on that portrait of the young Napier. “It is very kind of you to show me your pictures. I was trying to find my way to my room. I think I may be wanted.”

She nodded. “I hope that one day you will see more of my pictures.”

“I should like to,” I said.

“Soon?” she pleaded like a child.

“If you will be so good as to invite me.”

She nodded happily and pulled a bell rope. A servant came and she asked the girl to conduct me to my apartments.

When I reached my room Alice was there.

She said: “I came to tell you that you will be having dinner with Mother and me tonight, and that I will come and take you to her rooms at seven o’clock.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

“You look startled. Was Sir William kind to you?”

“Yes. I played for him. I think he liked my playing. But I lost my way and met Miss Stacy.”

Alice smiled understandingly. “She is a little…strange. I trust she did not embarrass you.”

“She took me to her studio.”

Alice was surprised. “You must have aroused her interest. Did she show you her pictures?”

I nodded. “I saw one of you with Mrs. Stacy and Allegra.”

“Did you? She didn’t tell us she was painting us. Is it good?”

“It seems a perfect likeness.”

“I should like to see it.”

“She will surely show it to you.”

“She’s a little odd at times. It’s because she was crossed in love. By the way did you notice anything strange about our names, Mrs. Verlaine?”

“Your names?”

“The three of us…your pupils?”

“Alice, Edith, Allegra. Allegra is unusual.”

“Oh yes, but the three of us together. They come into a poem. I like poetry. Do you?”

“I like some,” I answered. “To which poem are you referring?”

“It’s by Mr. Longfellow. Shall I say the bit I like? I know it by heart.”

“Please do.”

She stood beside me, her arms folded behind her back, her eyes lowered as she quoted:

“From my study, I see in the lamplight.

Descending the broad hall stair

Grave Alice and laughing Allegra

And Edith with golden hair.

 

A whisper and then a silence;

Yet I know by their merry eyes

They are plotting and planning together

To take me by surprise.”

She lifted her eyes to my face and they were shining. She said: “You see,
laughing
Allegra, Edith with
golden hair
, and I am
grave
, am I not? You see it
is
us.”

“And you are planning to take someone by surprise?”

She smiled her quiet little smile.

Then she said with undoubted gravity: “I expect all of us surprise each other at some time, Mrs. Verlaine.”

I
dined that night with Mrs. Lincroft and Alice—Mrs. Lincroft herself doing the cooking for she had a small kitchen attached to her little suite of sitting room and bedroom. “I found it made it easier,” she explained, “when the family was entertaining, and now I often do it. It saves the servants trouble and I rather enjoy it. I think now that you have come, Mrs. Verlaine, you might take your meals here with me. Alice will join us when she does not dine with the family. Sir William very kindly invites her now and then. He may suggest you join them occasionally.” It was a pleasant meal and very well cooked. Alice sat quietly with us. I should always think of her as Grave Alice in future.

Mrs. Lincroft spoke of Sir William’s illness and how he had changed since he had had his stroke a little less than a year ago.

“His wife used to play the piano to him. When Mr. Napier came home I suppose he was reminded of the old days and that is why he thought of bringing music into the house again.”

I was silent thinking how much Sir William must have loved his wife since he had banished music from the house after her death.

“There are changes now,” went on Mrs. Lincroft. “And of course now that Mr. Napier and Edith are married there will be more.” She smiled. The one maid who was waiting on us had gone to the kitchen. She added: “It will be more like a normal household. And it is a relief to know that Mr. Napier has taken over the management of the estate since his return. He is very active; a first class horseman; in fact he rides everywhere. He is taking care of everything…magnificently. Even Sir William must agree to that.”

I waited, but she seemed to realize that she had said too much. “Would you care for some more of this pie?”

I thanked her and declined while complimenting her on its excellence.

“Do you ride, Mrs. Verlaine?” she asked then.

“My sister and I went to a riding school, and we rode occasionally in the Row. Living in London didn’t give us the opportunities for riding that the country would have offered and we both had other great interests which absorbed us.”

“Is your sister a musician too?”

“Oh no…no…” There was an expectant pause and I saw how easily I could betray my identity and I wondered how they would react if they knew that I was the sister of the woman who had disappeared so mysteriously.

I added lamely: “My father was a professor. My sister helped him in his work.”

“You must be a very clever family,” she said.

“My parents had advanced ideas on education and although we were girls we were educated as though we were boys. You see there were no boys in the family. Perhaps if there had been it would have been different.”

Alice spoke then. She said: “I should like to be educated in that way, Mrs. Verlaine…like you and your sister. I expect you wish you were with her instead of with us.”

“She’s dead,” I replied shortly.

I thought Alice was about to ask more questions but Mrs. Lincroft silenced her with a look. She herself said: “Oh, I am sorry. That is sad.” And there was a short sympathetic pause which I broke by asking if the girls were good horsewomen.

“Mr. Napier is determined that Edith shall be. He takes her riding every morning. I expect she has improved a great deal.”

“She hasn’t,” put in Alice. “She’s worse. Because now she’s frightened.”

“Frightened!” I echoed.

“Edith is timid and Mr. Napier is trying to make her bold,” explained Alice. “I really believe Edith would rather jog along on poor old Silver than ride the fine horse Mr. Napier arranges for her.”

Mrs. Lincroft again glanced at her daughter and I wondered whether Alice’s demure manner meant that she was suppressed.

When the meal was over I stayed for an hour or so talking to Mrs. Lincroft and then, since as she suggested I was very tired, I went to bed, but I slept only fitfully. My confused thoughts of the day’s experiences kept me awake but I told myself that once I had worked out a routine for the days I should settle down.