Betrayal at Blackcrest (5 page)

“Not just yet,” he replied.

“It's very late.”

“Far too late for you to be out alone.” Derek Hawke said. “It's a long drive back to Hawkestown, and you'd never find a room at this time of night. You'd better stay here till morning.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

I started as a clap of thunder crashed outside. A flash of lightning followed, and the lights of the chandelier flickered a moment before maintaining their dim glow. Rain began to fall again. I could hear it pattering loudly on the terrace outside.

“That settles it,” he remarked. “You'll stay.”

“I'm afraid not,” I replied firmly. I started toward the door, but Derek Hawke reached it before I did. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame and barring the way.

“Please move,” I said.

“I can't let you leave,” he replied. “Suppose something happened? The roads are terrible. It's raining. If you had an accident, it would be on my conscience. It's better that you stay.”

“Mr. Hawke—”

“Be reasonable, Miss Lane.”

He did not intend to let me leave. He intended for me to stay here so that there would be no immediate danger of my going to the police. He would have time during the night to work things out, to see that there were no loose ends he had failed to cover up. Perhaps he even thought he could still convince me I was mistaken about him. At any rate, he had no intentions of letting me leave Blackcrest with things in their present state.

“Several people know I've come here,” I lied.

“Do they, indeed?”

“And I stopped at a café in Hawkestown. I asked directions to get to Blackcrest.”

“Did you?”

“I think you'd better let me pass.”

Derek Hawke smiled at me. The wide lips curled at the corners, and his eyes sparkled momentarily with amusement. He gave a short, harsh little laugh.

“Do you think I intend to murder you during the night? Really, Miss Lane, isn't that a bit melodramatic? Surely even you can see the absurdity of it.”

“I didn't say I thought that.”

“Nevertheless, you thought you'd take precautions.”

I glared at him. My cheeks were flushed.

“I don't think I should stay,” I said, as calmly as possible.

“I insist,” he said smoothly. “I wouldn't send anyone out on a night like this. You'll stay the night, Miss Lane. One thing Blackcrest has is plenty of room. Perhaps in the morning we can discuss this further and reach some amiable conclusions.”

He spoke the words with the firm, friendly insistence of the determined host. I did not protest any further. It suited my purposes to remain here. I was in no danger, and I would have an opportunity to find out more about the man. I stepped back, resigned.

“I'll ring for Morris,” he said. “He will show you upstairs to one of the guest rooms. It isn't often I have an opportunity to display hospitality at Blackcrest. Don't deny me that chance now.”

I made no reply. I watched him as he stepped over to the wall and tugged a silken cord. I could hear a bell ringing somewhere in the back regions of the house. Derek Hawke turned to me and smiled. It was going to be cat and mouse, I reflected, but it would behoove anyone to know which was the cat, which the mouse.

4

The sound of the rain pounding on the roof was steady and monotonous. It finally lulled me to sleep. I had lain awake for what seemed like hours, my brain whirling with questions. Delia's bright, pert face seemed to float before me, and then the dark eyes of Derek Hawke stared from out of the darkness, his wide lips twisting into a smile. The bed was warm, the feather pillow soft, and layers of unconsciousness superimposed one another until I floated in a dark void where nebulous gray shapes moved slowly against a darker gray field. Once I thought I heard angry voices outside the room, but I thought it must have been part of a dream.

The room was filled with misty gray light when I opened my eyelids. Through the window I could see streaks of pinkish orange. I was drowsy, and for a moment I could not remember where I was. Some sound had awakened me. The sound was repeated. Someone was opening the door, and the hinges creaked slightly. I lowered my lashes, peering through them as a shadowy form moved slowly into the room.

It was the girl I had seen last night when I stopped for petrol. I thought I must still be dreaming. She slipped across the room and stood over the bed, peering down at me with those enormous blue eyes. She wore a pale blue nightgown, and her silvery hair was fastened loosely with a blue ribbon. She was there only a moment, her pink lips slightly parted as though she wanted to whisper something, and then she was gone. There was no sound as the door closed behind her.

I sighed, turning my head into the soft folds of the pillow. When I finally woke up, the room was flooded with sunlight, and a bird warbled lustily outside my window. I sat up, shaking away the last vestiges of sleep. I tried to remember the dream, not at all sure the girl had not really been here. I heard voices in the hallway outside my door.

“Are you going to wake her up?”

“It's late, Miss Honora. The master wants her to join him in the breakfast room.”

“She was sleeping so soundly when I saw her.”

“He'd be furious if he knew you'd slipped in to see her. He's already in a rage after what you done last night. Has a right to be, too, if you ask me. Sneakin' off like that an' then comin' in all wet in the middle of the night—”

“It's none of your business, Betty.”

“That it ain't, to be sure. But I'd be careful, just the same. When he finds out who it is you're sneakin' off to see—”

“How do you know who it is?”

“I'm sure it ain't no secret among the help, missy.”

“Do you intend to tell him?”

“I believe in mindin' my own business, and that's a fact. Run along now, Miss Honora. Stay out of the way and behave yourself.”

“I must speak to the woman—”

“You'll have your chance later on, missy. Now scoot. The master is waitin' for her now, and he's gettin' impatient. I'm sure I don't know what things are comin' to—strangers comin' in and stayin' the night, an' people yellin' at each other in the small hours so's a person can't get a wink of sleep—”

The door flew open and a plump woman in her late thirties came into the room, marching briskly over to the window and jerking the draperies all the way open. The sunlight, brilliant before, was blinding now, and I groaned, throwing one arm out in protest. This seemed to delight the maid. A pert little smile played at the corners of her pink lips. There was a merry twinkle in her bright blue eyes. Short, rotund, with fiery red curls now frosted with gray, she had the cozy yet determined manner of the maid who has been with the family for years and regards the house and everything in it as her own private property. She wore a neat blue uniform and a starched white apron. A whimsical white cap perched atop the short red curls.

“Did you have to do that?” I asked irritably.

“A person needs sunlight,” she replied primly.

“Not that much,” I protested, “and not this early.”

She told me in no uncertain terms that it was after ten o'clock and regarded me with a look that plainly expressed her opinion of anyone who could still be in bed at such an hour. I felt completely immoral under the surveillance of those eyes. Betty was a brisk, efficient person who would clearly stand for no nonsense, I reflected, and yet I liked her immensely on sight. She reminded me of a maid we had had in Dorset years ago.

“I'm Betty, ma'am,” she said. “I've come to tell you that the master wishes to see you. He's waitin' in the breakfast room. When you're ready to come down, I'll show you the way.”

“Thank you, Betty,” I said in a very friendly voice. “How is Mrs. Hawke this morning?”

“I'm sure I wouldn't know. She's still with her cats. You wouldn't catch me anywhere
near
those wretched beasts.”

“Cats?”

“Cats. The old lady collects 'em. A cat hasn't been drowned in the county for fifteen years. People just bring 'em to the gates and turn 'em loose. They know the old lady'll take 'em in and coddle 'em and give 'em perfectly good food any poor orphan would be thankful to get.”

“Odd,” I remarked.

“She's an odd one, all right.”

I was disappointed. I had asked about Mrs. Hawke in hopes that the maid would indicate that Delia was really here, after all. Delia would have had an eyetooth pulled before intentionally stroking a cat. Derek Hawke had not been lying when he said the Mrs. Hawke Morris had referred to was an old woman.

“I meant the young Mrs. Hawke,” I said hopefully. “Derek's wife.”

“He ain't married,” Betty retorted. “Though it ain't surprisin'. No woman in her right mind would have 'im.”

I got out of bed and pulled a white linen robe over my nightgown. I smiled at Betty, hiding my disappointment. I intended to cultivate the woman. She would be a marvelous source of information, for clearly very little went on at Blackcrest that she didn't know about. For all her sanctimonious pretension, she had alert eyes and a lively tongue and she certainly had no scruples about discussing her employers. Betty plainly had a penchant for gossip, and later on she might prove an important ally in my quest.

“I heard you talking with a young girl outside my door,” I said.

“Miss Honora? Yes, she was about to burst into your room when I got upstairs. There's no controllin' that child—although she ain't one of them wild ones, mind you. An angel, she is, but with a mind of 'er own, and that's puttin' it mildly.”

“Is she Mr. Hawke's sister?” I inquired.

“Lord, no. She ain't nothin' like him, an' that's a blessing. She's the old lady's legal ward. Poor thing, her parents died when she was a baby, and the old lady took 'er in, much like she'd of taken in a kitten without a home. Miss Honora's parents were distant relatives, and there was no one else. She's a love, she is, a perfect love.”

Betty's tone of voice left no doubt as to her feelings toward the girl. She would have faced a firing squad for Miss Honora, refusing the blindfold as a further sign of loyalty. I found this quite touching.

“The master does get impatient,” Betty said now as I stood lingering in my robe and nightgown. “Per'aps you'd better snap it up, ma'am. He does hate to wait. He begins to boil, if you know what I mean.”

“I believe I do,” I replied glibly.

“We all like to keep 'im in a good temper whenever possible. Makes things more pleasant an' all.”

She made a wry face, indicating her personal opinion of the master. I smiled.

“I'll be downstairs dustin' the hall furniture,” Betty said. “When you finish dressin', you'll find me there, an' I'll show you to the breakfast room.”

“Thank you, Betty.”

I took my time getting ready. Derek Hawke could simply boil. I intended to look my best. I brushed my hair until it had the deep coppery highlights. I applied makeup with extra care. Morris had brought up my suitcase, and I took out my emerald-green linen. It was old and no longer in fashion, but the cut was simple and the lines had an enduring chic that always looked up-to-date. The color went perfectly with my hair. I surveyed myself in the mirror before leaving the room. It might be hellishly early in the morning for style, but I felt I passed inspection. I could face Derek Hawke with composure.

I closed the door of my room and walked down the hall. I wasn't at all sure I could find my way to the staircase that led downstairs. I had been exhausted and bewildered last night when I followed the butler up, and we had turned several corners, leaving the main hall and going down a series of smaller ones. My room was in one of the wings, away from the main part of the house.

I turned a corner and stopped in bewilderment. I had come to a dead end. I started to retrace my way, when a door opened behind me. The girl came out. She looked startled at seeing me, then relieved. She wore a dark blue sweater with a short pleated gray-and-blue tweed skirt. Honora did not seem to be in the least aware of her beauty, and that gave it an added quality of innocence and charm.

“Hello,” she said. “I'm Honora.”

“I'm Deborah. I seem to be lost.”

“That isn't surprising,” Honora replied. “Once we had a house guest who was lost for hours. We finally found her in one of the pantries. She thought it was a bathroom and the door slammed to and locked behind her. She was in an awful state when we found her. There were rats in the pantry—”

“How dreadful,” I said.

“I was rather glad. She was a prissy old thing, a friend of Andy's who was being considered as a governess for me. She had warts.”

“Warts?”

“One on her nose, two on her neck.”

“Most unsuitable on a governess,” I remarked.

“That's what I thought,” Honora replied.

“Did you have many governesses?” I asked.

“A few. Then I was sent away to school. It was dreadful. There was no hot water, and all the other girls were great lumpy things full of adenoids, but I learned to drink tea properly and curtsy and read Molière in the original. I never thought I'd miss Blackcrest, but I did. I was ever so glad to get back. Jessie baked a special cake, and Betty said her baby had grown up—”

She smiled for a moment, remembering the episode, the smile lingering at the corners of her soft pink lips. Then her eyes grew cloudy. The smile vanished. She glanced quickly up and down the hall before stepping closer to me. She lowered her voice, as though afraid someone else might hear what she had to say.

“I'm glad we've met like this,” she said, “before … before you go downstairs to talk to Derek. I don't know who you are, and I don't know why you're here, but I can tell you're—understanding.”