Betrayal at Blackcrest (19 page)

“What do you mean?”

“I found Delia's scarf in the cellars this morning.”

“You went down into the cellars!”

“One of the kittens ran away. I followed it. It went down there; I went after it. It … it was early in the morning. No one else was up. I was afraid the kitten would get lost.”

“So you risked breaking your neck, or worse. That was a foolhardy thing to do! It only goes to show how right I am, how necessary it is that you leave Black-crest.”

“But I found Delia's scarf! Don't you see, I found proof that she was actually there.”

“The only thing I can see right now is how obstinate you're being,” he replied irritably.

“Alex,” I said, “please understand—”

“I'm trying to. You're acting exactly like one of my heroines. If I'd created you on paper, I'd let you do all sorts of heroic things. I'd let you prowl along dark corridors and peer into empty rooms in the middle of the night. I'd let you set a trap for the villain and then confront him boldly with the evidence you'd gathered—but, damnit, this isn't one of my books. This is real life. You can't do things like that. What if you'd fallen down the cellar stairs? What if you'd gotten lost? What if Derek
were
guilty and had seen you go down there.”

“None of those things happened,” I said testily. “And I did find evidence. Delia's scarf was there on the cellar floor. It still had some of her perfume clinging to it. Don't you see what that means?”

“Deborah—”

“And that's not all. This afternoon—”

“I suppose I may as well listen to you,” he said, frowning. “You seem determined to carry on with this thing. What other daring deeds do you have to relate? After you went down to the cellars, did you hide in a closet and listen to mysterious conversations? Did you—”

“Don't,” I said. “Don't make fun of me, Alex.”

“I'm sorry. It's just that I'm concerned. I'll listen to you. Go ahead.”

I told him everything I'd learned this afternoon. He listened with patience, his head tilted a little to one side, the frown still creasing his brow. He seemed about to interrupt me several times, but he restrained himself. When I finished, he tugged at his red tie and gave a heave of his shoulders.

“Incredible,” he said.

“There can't be much doubt now,” I replied. “The scarf, the entry in Jiggs's ledger, the vicar's diary—they all point to one thing. Your cousin lured Delia here with the promise of marriage, and then—”

“Enough,” he said. “Let's don't jump to conclusions, Deborah. It seems that way. I'll admit that. You've done quite a job of detecting—Scotland Yard could probably use you—but you've gathered what is known as circumstantial evidence. You've verified that Delia came to Hawkestown, sent the telegram, and talked to the vicar about a wedding ceremony, but that's all. You've found no one who actually saw Derek with your cousin.”

“I intend to work on that.”

“No, we'll let Martin work on it. He's coming to Hawkestown tomorrow. You can talk with him yourself. You can tell him all this, and he will know what to do. He can do much more than you can. You've done all you can do.”

“No, I haven't.”

“What do you think you can do that Martin can't do better?” he said angrily. “He has professional skill, ways and means—”

“I have my own ways and means,” I snapped. “I think I'm on to something.”

“And what would that be?”

“Honora. I … I think the girl knows something. I think she's seen something that upset her, something she'd like to forget. Last night she almost told me about it, but … she was frightened. She was afraid to tell me about it.”

“Afraid?”

“Terrified.”

Alex seemed to be very interested. I told him about talking to the girl last night. I described the way she had acted before she left the room. He ran his thumb along his lower lip, his eyes watching me intently as I spoke.

“There might be something to it,” he said, “though I doubt it. My aunt's ward is a strange girl—neurotic, high-strung, fanciful. She may have seen something, and then again she may have merely wanted attention and used those veiled hints in order to get it.”

“She wasn't acting, Alex. I know that.”

“Just the same—”

“I think I can win her confidence,” I said. “I think I can get her to tell me what she saw. It … it might be what we need.”

“Let's be logical about this, Deborah. Supposing Derek
had
brought your cousin to Blackcrest; don't you know he would have been careful? He would have been cautious, secretive. He wouldn't have been so clumsy as to let himself be seen. He would have done it in the dead of night—”

“Exactly,” I interrupted. “That's probably when Honora saw them.”

“Her room is near the tower, far away from all the others. She may be neurotic and high-strung, but she doesn't roam around the house in the middle of the night.”

“But she does,” I protested.

“What do you mean, she does?”

“You don't know about her romance with Neil?”

“The cook told me she had a crush on the boy. What does that have to do with this?”

“Everything. She slips out of the house to meet him when he comes home from work. I saw her running across the backyard last night. Neil was standing in the shadows, waiting for her. They stayed out there for over an hour. They've been meeting like that for a long time. She may have seen something one night as she returned to her room.”

Alex nodded his head, very grim. “That puts a new light on it,” he said. “This is far more serious than I thought.”

“Can't you see why it's imperative that I stay? Martin Craig may be able to discover all sorts of things, but he wouldn't be able to work on it from the inside. I'm there, at the very source, and I can't leave, not until this thing is solved.”

“It's dangerous, Deborah. Far too dangerous.”

“I'm not afraid.”

“You should be.”

“Perhaps I should be. Right now I can't think of anything but finding my cousin—or finding what happened to her.”

Alex came over to the sofa and looked down at me. The grim lines of his face relaxed a little, and his dark brown eyes were warm. He shook his head again and rested his hand on my shoulder. His wide mouth spread into a smile, faintly mocking.

“You're a strange creature, Deborah,” he said quietly. “I've never met anyone quite like you. You're stubborn and obstinate and unyielding and full of fight. I admire that. It seems you've won. There's no way I can keep you away from Blackcrest, short of tying you up, gagging you, and stuffing you in a closet. I'll not resort to that—yet.”

“I'm glad you see things my way.”

“I don't. I'll indulge you for a little while—with reservations. You wait here. I'll be back in a moment.”

He left the room. I was mystified, wondering what he was going to do. I stepped over to the open French windows and stared out at the shabby little garden with its untidy flowerbeds and ragged grass. Maple trees grew all around it, and above them the sky was lightening, taking on that misty quality of twilight. As the sun slipped from view, banners of apricot light spread on the horizon, soaking into the blue and staining it. A gentle breeze rustled through the dark green leaves of the maples, making a soothing sound, and I could smell all the pungent odors of the garden.

I knew that Alex was genuinely concerned with my safety, and it was pleasant to know. His concern was flattering. I wished that I were able to respond in the typically feminine fashion to his concern, become soft and yielding and leave everything to him. But he had said I was stubborn and unyielding, and it was true. This was something I had to do myself, and I had a hard, cold determination to see it through, a determination that would allow no softness, no fear. There might be danger, but I was prepared to face it.

I was lost in thought and did not hear Alex return. When I turned around, he was standing in the doorway, watching me with intense brown eyes. He came toward me, and I was so caught up by the look in those eyes that I did not notice the gun until he held it toward me.

“Since you're determined to act like one of my heroines,” he said, “you may as well have the proper equipment. Take this. Keep it with you at all times.”

“Is that—a gun,” I said foolishly.

“The genuine article,” he replied grimly.

“But—”

“Take it,” he said.

I looked down at the gun with startled eyes. It was an ugly thing, short, black, and deadly. He thrust it into my hands, and I felt a chill as the cold metal touched my flesh. It was surprisingly heavy. I held it awkwardly, as though it might explode at any moment.

“Do you know how to use it?” he asked.

“I … I suppose so.”

“Ever used one before?”

“Not a real one. I once did
The Letter
by Somerset Maugham in repertory. In the opening scene I shot my lover. I just held the thing up and fired away, over and over again. Blanks. It made quite a noise. I kept my eyes closed—not a very convincing murderess.”

“This works exactly like your stage gun, but it fires real bullets. This is the safety catch. It's locked. You just snap it back and pull the trigger, just like in the movies.”

“Do you really think this is necessary?” I asked, rather nervous to be holding the vile thing.

“If you'd listen to reason, it wouldn't be.”

I stepped over to the sofa, opened my purse, and dropped the gun into it. It made a plopping noise as it fell among the various feminine articles. I snapped the purse shut and wiped my hands. There was something flippant and incongruous about the gesture that made Alex grin. I stared at him with defiant eyes.

“That's that,” I said.

“Be careful you don't blow your own head off with that thing.”

“I think I can handle it,” I replied crisply, my moment of nervous apprehension gone. “After all, I did shoot my lover night after night, for seven weeks running.”

“With your eyes closed,” he retorted pleasantly.

“They'll be wide open from now on,” I promised.

“I certainly hope so. I mean that seriously, Deborah. Watch out. Promise me that you'll be careful and not do anything foolish. This is not a game, not a role you're playing.”

“I know that, Alex. I … I promise to be careful. I'd better leave now. It's getting late.”

“Martin is due in Hawkestown tomorrow. I'll get in touch with you. I'll call or come to Blackcrest. If you don't hear from me, don't worry about it. Martin may want to work on his own before he talks to you.”

“Very well. I'll expect to hear from you tomorrow or the day after that.”

“In the meantime—”

“In the meantime I'll be very, very good,” I said.

He led me to the front door and out to where the car was parked. I put the now heavy purse onto the seat and got behind the steering wheel. Alex leaned against the side of the car, his arms resting on the window frame, his eyes examining my face.

“I wish I could know for sure everything will be all right,” he remarked. “I wish I could know you wouldn't do anything headstrong.”

“I gave you my promise,” I said, taking out my keys.

“I know.” He sighed heavily. “I'll be glad when this is all cleared up,” he continued. “I'll be glad when we can meet as you and I and not as fellow detectives. Then we could talk about you and me and the moon and never mention Blackcrest. I look forward to that time.”

“And in the meantime, there's Tottie,” I replied, rather wickedly.

Alex grinned, not at all affronted. “She's a good kid,” he said, “but not exactly what I had in mind for a rainy day.”

“What
did
you have in mind?”

“We'll discuss that later.”

He stepped away from the car and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He stood there with his head tilted to one side, the breeze fluttering the locks of dark hair and whipping his red tie up over his shoulder. I put the car in gear and backed out of the driveway. Alex lifted his hand in salute as I turned onto the main road.

It was later than I had thought. The apricot stains on the horizon had turned to dark gold, and already the air was thickening. Soon darkness would fall. I intended to have dinner with the family tonight, and I did not want to be late. I drove fast, punishing the car as I sailed over the bumpy back roads toward Black-crest, heedless of worn tires and dubious springs. The last golden stains were fading as I turned through the large stone portals and headed down the private road that would lead me to the house. I slowed down, knowing that I had plenty of time now. Although evening shadows were fast falling, I had not turned on my headlights. Neither had the other car. I gave a violent blast on the horn as I saw it almost upon me.

Neither of us was going fast, but neither of us had seen the other. I jerked the wheel and shot the car off the road, slamming on my brakes in time to avoid crashing into a tree. The other car went on, oblivious of the near accident. I caught a quick glimpse of an aged, weathered face behind the windshield, and I knew at once that it was Neil's father. The car was piled high with luggage and boxes, and as I turned to watch it disappear down the road, I saw a gleaming black motorcycle strapped onto the back.

I pulled back onto the road, more shaken than I cared to admit. My hands were trembling as I jerked on the headlights. I drove the rest of the way to Blackcrest at a snail's pace, wondering what had happened to cause this sudden departure of the gardener with all his luggage and his son's motorcycle.

15

The house seemed to be brooding. I had noticed it when I first came in, and now as I dressed to go down to dinner I could not shake the curious sensation that something unpleasant had happened, that the very walls of the house had absorbed the ugliness and held it. There was a silence, a grim, hushed silence like that which follows a storm or some disaster. I had the feeling of suspended motion, of loud voices just hushed, of violent emotions banked down and smoldering.