Betrayal at Blackcrest (22 page)

I seemed to be paralyzed. I had to force myself to move.

My heart was pounding rapidly as I edged along the wall to the door of the drawing room. If someone came and saw me, I would have quite an explanation to make. That I had come after my purse sounded reasonable enough; that I had slipped stealthily around the back way and gotten myself drenched in the process looked highly suspicious. I slipped into the drawing room. There was just enough light coming through the open door for me to see the outlines of the furniture. I moved quickly to the table where I had left my purse. It was still there. It did not seem to have been touched. I picked it up and gave a deep sigh of relief. Now I could go on up to Honora's room.

I was leaving the drawing room and had almost stepped out into the hall when I heard the noise. For a moment it seemed my heart had stopped beating. I stepped back into the shadows of the room. My throat was dry, and my knees seemed suddenly unable to support the weight of my body. I clutched the arm of a chair, listening.

The noise was repeated. A board creaked. It came from the staircase. The noises of the storm were muted, and this new sound rang out sharply in the stillness of the hall. Someone was on the stairs. I could not tell if they were going up or coming down, but they were moving as slowly and stealthily as I had a few moments before. Time seemed to hang suspended. I waited, holding my breath, knowing that any moment now I might let out a scream that would be heard on the outskirts of London. The noise was not repeated. I decided that it had all been my imagination. I stepped boldly into the hall and looked at the staircase. Velvety black shadows poured down the steps, but there was no one there.

I bent down to put my shoes on. I felt slightly ashamed of myself. I needed to be resolute and firm of purpose, and here I was acting like a young idiot. I should have marched brazenly downstairs, leaving a trail of lights blazing behind me, and if I had run into anyone, I should have boldly told them I had forgotten my purse. Now, wet, bedraggled, trembling, I couldn't face anyone.

I had no intentions of going back the way I had come. Once through that indoor shower system was enough. I remembered that I had left the light burning in the basement. Let it burn, I thought. The waste of electricity wouldn't wreck the economic foundations and leave the family bankrupt. When Andrea discovered it burning in the morning, she'd think one of the servants had turned it on. The ornate clock ticked loudly. It was three minutes till one. I had been down here for almost twenty minutes. I must delay no longer.

I started up the staircase. The best way to conquer fear is to meet it head on, I told myself, and although my whole body seemed to quiver, my step did not falter as I moved slowly up through that cascade of shadows. When I reached the top, something touched my shoulder. I closed my eyes and waited for the end, only to feel the smooth texture of a leaf stroking my cheek.

I stood at the head of the stairs for a moment, trying to think of some sort of plan. I knew what Honora was going to tell me. In my heart I knew. Once those words were spoken, I couldn't stay at Black-crest, nor could she. We would leave, storm or no storm. We would go to Alex, and we would wait there until Martin Craig came. Then Honora could tell the detective what she knew, and it would all be over. Honora's word was all we needed. With the things I had uncovered this afternoon, it would be enough. If only she would tell me. If only she hadn't lost her nerve and decided to keep her secret.… I hurried down the hall. The girl must be terrified now, knowing what she knew, waiting to unmask the man who had sent her lover away.

The draperies were parted on the windows at the end of the hall, and flashes of lightning illuminated that area, silver-blue explosions that shattered the darkness and tossed darting black shadows over the walls. I moved toward that light, confident now, not at all afraid, or so I told myself. I was directly in front of the windows now. I could glimpse storm-tossed limbs outside. The rain did not seem to be falling so furiously now. There had been no thunder for some time. The storm was abating, the wind and lightning throwing their last furious volleys before dying down completely.

I made a turn and walked down a short, narrow hallway that connected with the one in back that would eventually lead me to the top of the servants' stairs and the passageway to the tower-room door. I had decided to dry off and change before going to Honora. It would take only a few minutes more, and I would be much better prepared to face her if I looked at least halfway human.

I moved down the back hall. It made curious twists and turns, but I knew my way around well enough to be sure that I was going in the right direction. I was halfway down the hall when a tremendous clap of thunder exploded. The walls around me seemed to tremble. There was a moment of sheer pandemonium followed by something like a gigantic shudder, and then the storm was over, abruptly. The sudden stillness following that great upheaval was completely unnerving. Blackcrest seemed to pause, suspended in space, and then the walls around me became familiar, sinister. No longer tormented by the storm, they watched me, waiting for an opportunity to close in, smother.

I could hear my own breathing. It sounded frightfully loud, and the echoes of the soft sound reverberated about me as though the walls, too, were breathing with short, gasping breaths. I shivered. The air was icy cold, and it stirred in a chilly current, as though a door or window had been left open somewhere nearby. The normal noises of the house resumed: a window rattled against its frame, a floorboard creaked, the house settled back into its mold like a body stretched tight and suddenly relaxing the tension. I started to walk on down the hall, determined to banish all this fanciful thought and concentrate on the job that waited for me.

I could see the opening in the wall ahead where the servants' staircase came up. There was a window over the landing, and just enough misty gray light came through to sharpen the black outlines of the banister post and railing. I moved toward it, knowing that I would soon be in my room. I was heedless of noise now. My heels tapped on the floor, and I walked quickly. I was perhaps twenty yards from the staircase when that darker shadow moved, wavered, disappeared into the opening, and merged with the others. It happened so quickly I couldn't be sure I had seen anything at all.

The window over the landing rattled violently as a sudden gust of wind struck it. The noise was not alarming, but it was loud enough to cover any other noise—footsteps moving hastily down the stairs. I hesitated for only a second. I rushed toward the staircase. I leaned over the railing and peered down into that vault of blackness. There was no disturbance there. The curtain over the window flapped out, causing a dark shadow to flicker across the gray wall. No doubt that was what I had seen.

I went toward the tower room. I passed Honora's door. A thin line of light showed under the bottom of her door. She was still up, still waiting for me. I had an impulse to knock on the door and go right in, but since I had taken this long, a few minutes more wouldn't matter. As I walked down the hall, I smelled a sharp, curious odor. It was strong and pungent, like turpentine or ammonia. I wondered if one of the servants had knocked over a can of cleaning fluid recently.

My room seemed beautifully familiar after the dark halls, a bright nest that had my own personal touch. Various clothes were strewn about, vivid splotches of color against the subdued glow of the lamp. Now that I was warm and safe, the other seemed a nightmare. I tossed the bag on the bed. It landed with a thump, and the catch snapped open. The gun slid out, a hideous black thing that made me shudder. It gleamed in the soft light. I stuck it hastily back in the bag, jerked open the top drawer of the nightstand, and dumped the bag inside.

I did not want to go to Honora's room. I knew I must, but I knew what I must hear, and I didn't want to hear it. I took off the wet dress and draped it over the open door of the wardrobe. I slowly peeled off the soaked stockings and put them aside. I didn't want to go. I wanted to delay it as long as possible, and I knew in my heart that going down after the purse had been merely another delaying tactic, however subconscious it might have been at the time. I could easily have gone for the purse first thing in the morning, before the others were up. Honora was going to tell me something, and I didn't know if I had the ability to hear it without complete collapse.

For a few moments more I wanted to cling to hope, to that foolish certainty that Delia was alive and well. Missing—but alive and well. I knew Honora would shatter that illusion.

I took out a fresh dress, dark topaz cotton, and put it on. I took up the brush again and brushed some life back into the damp russet waves. My face was still pale, the skin stretched tightly over the high cheekbones, and my eyes looked more green than blue. They stared back at me, afraid. Going to hear Honora's secret would take far more courage than it had taken to go downstairs in the dark. Now that the moment had come when I must go, I felt weak. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide. I did not want to hear the full details of what she had merely hinted at this evening at the foot of the stairs.

I braced myself.

“This is it, duckie,” I said, imitating Tottie. I wondered why I should think of her at a moment like this.

I opened the door to the hall, grimly determined to face the truth now and be done with it. The odor of cleaning fluid assailed my nostrils immediately. It seemed even stronger now, and I coughed. Betty must have been in the hall, polishing the wainscoting. I wondered why I hadn't smelled it earlier when I was going down for dinner. I went to the door of Honora's room and knocked quietly. My eyes were smarting. Honora did not answer. I called her name and knocked again. The door swung open. I stepped into the room.

It was a beautiful room. The walls were papered with ivory embossed with tiny blue fleurs-de-lis. The carpet was dark blue, thick; the furniture white, the satiny surface of the wood gleaming. There was a blue-and-lilac canopy over the bed. The bed was made up, the lilac counterpane smooth and unrumpled. The odor of cleaning fluid was so strong that I almost fainted. My head whirled. My eyes were blinded by sharp, smarting tears.

I stumbled across the room to the window. I tried to force it open. It was locked. There was no time to fumble with the clasp. Already I could feel myself growing numb, black wings pressing my brain. I wadded the material of my skirt around my fist and smashed the window. It broke with a great crash. Sharp, jagged pieces of glass fell at my feet. Cold air rushed into the room. I gasped. I leaned on the windowsill and took great gulps of air.

There were two more windows in the room. I broke both of them. The cold air soared into the room, swirling away those deadly fumes that had hung like a pall from floor to ceiling, destroying me. I was steady now. My eyes still smarted, but the dizziness had gone. Honora was not in the room. I saw the door to the bathroom. It was closed.

I opened it.

She was on the floor. She wore a sky-blue nightgown with lace ruffles at the throat and wrists, the sort of nightgown a little girl might wear. Her lips were slightly parted, and her eyes were closed as though she were sleeping. The can of cleaning fluid was turned over beside her, the murderous liquid all evaporated into the air. Draped over the bathtub was the yellow dress she had worn to dinner. She had removed only a few of the red stains before the fumes had overcome her.

17

It was called carbon tetrachloride. The caution on the side of the can plainly stated that it should be used only outdoors, or if applied inside, with windows opened and fresh air circulating. Honora had not read the warning. She had taken the can into the small bathroom with its one window tightly closed, shut the door behind her, and accidentally knocked the can over. The doctor said that the fumes must have overcome her before she could get to the window. It was a sad, sad accident, he said as he signed the death certificate.

I was not sure it was an accident.

Last night, when they had come bursting into the room after hearing the windows crash, I had been in a state of shock. When Derek Hawke came toward me in his blue pajamas and black robe, I had been unable to say anything. I pointed to the bathroom floor, my eyes full of tears. Then I fainted. He carried me to my room. Later, much later, the doctor gave me a sedative, and now I had made my statement, the policeman and the doctor had gone, and a hearse had taken the body away. The house had that terrible silence that always follows death.

Andrea was in her room, under sedation, and the servants went about their tasks on tiptoes, speaking in whispers when it was necessary to speak at all. Derek Hawke had been on the phone all morning long, talking in a low voice to persons unknown. I knew that at least two of the calls had been long distance. Honora was gone, and already he was making legal arrangements to see that her considerable fortune was disposed of to his satisfaction. It would all go to Andrea, of course, and therefore to him.

It was almost three o'clock now. I was in the drawing room. Betty had brought me a luncheon tray, insisting that I eat something, but the tray rested on the coffee table, the food untouched. The draperies were open, and dazzling sunlight danced into the room in wavering rays. The day was beautiful, the sky a vivid blue, the air fresh and pure. Rain had washed the earth clean, and the trees displayed gorgeous greenery that shimmered in the gentle breeze. Everything should have been gray and bleak. Nature seemed to mock tragedy.

I had tried to call Alex around noon, but I could not reach him. I had tried a second time a short while ago, but he still had not answered his phone. I had to talk to him. I had to tell him what I had seen last night. I was certain now that the figure at the top of the back staircase had not been my imagination. Martin Craig was supposed to come to Hawkestown today. Alex was probably with the detective, and they were probably verifying the things I had told Alex yesterday. He had said he would call. I did not think I could sit still in this house and wait any longer. I had to do something.