Gaudy Night (55 page)

“Have you said anything to Miss de Vine, Warden?”

“Miss de Vine is in Town, and will not return till tomorrow evening. I propose to speak to her then.”

So there was nothing to do but to wait. And in the meantime, Harriet became aware of a curious change in the atmosphere of the Senior Common Room. It was as though they had lost sight of their mutual distrust and their general apprehensions and had drawn together like spectators at the ringside to watch another kind of conflict, in which she was one of the principals. The curious tension thus produced was scarcely relieved by the Dean’s announcement to a few select spirits that in
her
opinion, Flaxman’s young man had given her the chuck and serve her right; to which Miss Flaxman’s tutor sourly replied that she wished people wouldn’t have these upheavals in the Summer Term, but that, fortunately, Miss Flaxman didn’t take her final Schools till next year. This prompted Harriet to ask Miss Shaw how Miss Newland was getting on. It appeared that Miss Newland was doing well, having completely got over the shock of her immersion in the Cherwell, so that her chances for a First looked pretty good.

“Splendid!” said Harriet. “I’ve ear-marked my winnings already. By the way, Miss Hillyard, how is our young friend Cattermole?”

It seemed to her that the room waited breathlessly for the answer. Miss Hillyard replied, rather shortly, that Miss Cattermole seemed to have recovered such form as she had ever possessed, thanks, as she understood, from the young woman herself, to Miss Vane’s good advice. She added that it was very kind of Harriet, amid her many preoccupations, to interest herself in the History students. Harriet made some vague reply and the room, as it seemed to her, breathed again.

Later in the day, Harriet took an outrigger on the river with the Dean, and, rather to her surprise, observed Miss Cattermole and Mr. Pomfret sharing a punt. She had received the “penitent letter” from Mr. Pomfret, and waved a cheerful hand as the boats passed, in token of peace restored. If she had known that Mr. Pomfret and Miss Cattermole had found a bond of sympathy in devotion to herself, she might have speculated on what may happen to rejected lovers who confide their troubles to willing ears; but this aid not occur to her, because she was wondering what, exactly, had happened that morning at the Mitre; and her thoughts had strayed away into the Botanical Gardens before the Dean pointed out, rather sharply, that she was setting a very irregular and leisurely stroke.

It was Miss Shaw who innocently precipitated a flare-up.

“That’s a very handsome scarf,” she said to Miss Hillyard. The dons were assembling, as usual, for Hall, outside the S.C.R.; but the evening was dull and chilly and a thick silk scarf was a grateful addition to evening dress.

“Yes,” said Miss Hillyard. “Unfortunately it isn’t mine. Some careless person left it in the Fellows’ Garden last night and I rescued it. I brought it along to be identified—but I’m ready to admit that I can do with it this evening.”

“I don’t know whose it can be,” said Miss Lydgate. She fingered it admiringly. “It looks more like a man’s scarf,” she added. Harriet, who had not been paying much attention, turned round, conscience-stricken.

“Good lord!” she said, “that’s mine. At least, it’s Peter’s. I couldn’t think where I’d left it.” It was, in fact, the very scarf that had been used for a strangling demonstration on the Friday, and been brought back to Shrewsbury by accident together with the chessmen and the dog-collar. Miss Hillyard turned brick red and snatched it off as though it were choking her.

“I
beg
your pardon, Miss Vane,” she said, holding it out.

“It’s all right. I don’t want it now. But I’m glad to know where it is. I’d have got into trouble if I’d lost it.”

“Will you kindly take your property,” said Miss Hillyard.

Harriet, who was already wearing a scarf of her own, said:

“Thank you. But are you sure you won’t—”

“I will
not,
” said Miss Hillyard, dropping the scarf angrily on the steps.

“Dear me!” said the Dean, picking it up. “Nobody seems to want this nice scarf. I shall borrow it. I call it a nasty, chilly evening, and I don’t know why we can’t all go inside.”

She twisted the scarf comfortably round her neck and, the Warden mercifully arriving at that moment, they went in to dinner.

At a quarter to ten, Harriet, after an hour or so spent with Miss Lydgate on her proofs—now actually nearing the stage when they might really be sent to the printer—crossed the Old Quad to Tudor Building. On the steps, just coming out, she met Miss Hillyard.

“Were you looking for me?” asked Harriet, a little aggressively.

“No,” said Miss Hillyard, “I wasn’t. Certainly not.” She spoke hurriedly, and Harriet fancied that there was something in her eyes both furtive and malicious; but the evening was dark for the middle of May, and she could not be sure.

“Oh!” said Harriet. “I thought you might be.”

“Well, I wasn’t,” said Miss Hillyard again. And as Harriet passed her she turned back and said, almost as though the words were forced out of her: “Going to work—under the inspiration of your beautiful chessmen?”

“More or less,” said Harriet, laughing.

“I hope you will have a pleasant evening,” said Miss Hillyard.

Harriet went on upstairs and opened the door of her room.

The glass case had been shattered, and the floor was strewn with broken glass and with smashed and trampled fragments of red and white ivory.

For about five minutes, Harriet was the prey of that kind of speechless rage which is beyond expression or control. If she had thought of it, she was at that moment in a mood to sympathise with the Poltergeist and all her works. If she could have beaten or strangled anybody, she would have done it and felt the better for it. Happily, after the first devastating fury, she found the relief of bad language. When she found she could keep her voice steady, she locked her bedroom door behind her and went down to the telephone.

Even so, she was at first so incoherent that Peter could hardly understand what she said. When he did understand, he was maddeningly cool about it, merely asking whether she had touched anything or told anybody. When assured that she had not, he replied cheerfully that he would be along in a few minutes.

Harriet went out and raged distractedly about the New Quad till she heard him ring—for the gates were just shut—and only a last lingering vestige of self-restraint prevented her from rushing at him and pouring out her indignation in the presence of Padgett. But she waited for him in the middle of the quad.

“Peter—oh Peter!”

“Well,” said he, “this is rather encouraging. I was afraid we might have choked off these demonstrations for good and all.”

“But my chessmen! I could kill her for that.”

“My dear, it’s sickening that it should be your chessmen. But don’t let’s lose all sense of proportion. It might have been you.”

“I wish it had been. I could have hit back.”

“Termagant. Let’s go and look at the damage.”

“It’s horrible, Peter. It’s like a massacre. It’s-it’s rather frightening, somehow—they’ve been hit so hard.”

When he saw the room, Wimsey looked grave enough.

“Yes,” he said, kneeling amid the wreckage. “Blind, bestial malignity. Not only broken but ground to powder. There’s been a heel at work here, as well as the poker; you can see the marks on the carpet. She hates you, Harriet. I didn’t realise that. I thought she was only afraid of you.... Is there yet any that is left of the house of Saul?... Look, one poor warrior hiding behind the coal-scuttle—remnant of a mighty army.”

He held up the solitary red pawn, smiling; and then scrambled hurriedly to his feet.

“My dear girl, don’t cry about it. What the hell does it matter?”

“I loved them,” said Harriet, “and you gave them to me.”

He shook his head. “It’s a pity it’s that way round. ‘You gave them to me, and I loved them’ is all right, but ‘I loved them and you gave them to me’ is irreparable. Fifty thousand rocs’ eggs won’t supply their place. ‘The Virgin’s gone and I am gone; she’s gone, she’s gone and what shall I do?’ But you needn’t weep over the chest of drawers while I have a shoulder at your disposal, need you?”

“I’m sorry. I’m being a perfect idiot.”

“I told you love was the devil and all. Two-and-thirty chessmen, baked in a pie. ‘And all the powerful kings and all the beautiful queens of this world were but as a bed of flowers’...”

“I might have had the decency to take care of them.”

“That’s foolish,” said he, with his mouth muffled in her hair. “Don’t talk so soft, or I shall get foolish too. Listen. When did all this happen?”

“Between Hall and a quarter to ten.”

“Was anybody absent from Hall? Because this must have made a bit of a noise. After Hall, there’d be students about, who might hear the glass smash or notice if anybody unusual was wandering about.”

“There might be students here all through Hall—they often have eggs in their rooms. And—good God!—there was somebody unusual—She said something about the chessmen, too. And she was queer about them last night.”

“Who was that?”

“Miss Hillyard.”

“Again!”

While Harriet told her story he fidgeted restlessly about the room, avoiding the broken glass and ivory on the floor with the automatic precision of a cat, and stood at length in the window with his back to her. She had drawn the curtains together when she had brought him up, and his gaze at them seemed purely preoccupied.

“Hell!” he said, presently. “That’s a devil of a complication.” He still had the red pawn in his hand, and he now came back, and set it with great precision in the centre of the mantelpiece. “Yes. Well, I suppose you’ll have to find out—”

Somebody knocked at the door, and Harriet went to open it.

“Excuse me, madam, but Padgett sent over to the Senior Common Room to see if Lord Peter Wimsey was there, and seeing he thought you might know—”

“He’s here, Annie. It’s for you, Peter.”

“Yes?” said Peter, coming to the door.

“If you please, sir, they’ve rung up from the Mitre to say there’s a message come from the Foreign Office and would you kindly ring up at once.”

“What? Oh, Lord, that
would
happen! Very well, thank you, Annie. Oh, one moment. Was it you who saw the—er—the person who was playing tricks in the Lecture-Room?”

“Yes, sir. Not to know her again, sir.”

“No; but you did see her, and she may not know you couldn’t recognise her. I think if I were you I’d be rather careful how you go about the College after dark. I don’t want to frighten you, but you see what’s happened to Miss Vane’s chessmen?”

“Yes, I see, sir. What a pity, isn’t it?”

“It would be more than a pity if anything unpleasant happened to you personally. Now, don’t get the wind up—but if I were you, I’d take somebody with me when I went out after sunset. And I should give the same advice to the scout who was with you.”

“To Carrie? Very well, I’ll tell her.”

“It’s only a precaution, you know. Good-night, Annie.”

“Good-night, sir. Thank you.”

“I shall have to make quite an issue of dog-collars,” said Peter. “You never know whether to warn people or not. Some of them get hysterics, but she looks fairly level-headed. Look here, my dear, this is all very tiresome. If it’s another summons to Rome, I shall have to go. (I should lock that door.) Needs must when duty calls, and all that. If it is Rome, I’ll tell Bunter to bring round all the notes I’ve got at the Mitre and instruct Miss Climpson’s sleuths to report direct to you. In any case, I’ll ring you up this evening as soon as I know what it’s all about. If it isn’t Rome, I’ll come round again in the morning. And in the meantime, don’t let anybody into your room. I think I’d lock it up and sleep elsewhere tonight.”

“I thought you didn’t expect any more night disturbances.”

“I don’t; but I don’t want people walking over that floor.” He stopped on the staircase to examine the soles of his shoes. “I haven’t carried away any bits. Do you think you have?”

Harriet stood first on one leg and then another.

“Not this time. And the first time I didn’t walk into the mess at all. I stood in the doorway and swore.”

“Good girl. The paths in the quad are a bit damp, you know, and something might have stuck. As a matter of fact, it’s raining a little now. You’ll get wet”

“It doesn’t matter. Oh, Peter! I’ve got that white scarf of yours.”

“Keep it till I come again—which will be tomorrow, with luck, and otherwise, God knows when. Damn it! I knew there was trouble coming.” He stood still under the beech-trees. “Harriet, don’t choose the moment my back’s turned to get yourself wiped out or anything—not if you can help it; I mean, you’re not very good at looking after valuables.”

“I might have the decency to take care? All right, Peter. I’ll do my best this time. Word of honour.”

She gave him her hand and he kissed it. Once again Harriet thought she saw somebody move in the darkness, as on the last occasion they had walked through the shadowy quads. But she dared not delay him and so again said nothing. Padgett let him out through the gate and Harriet, turning away, found herself face to face with Miss Hillyard.

“Miss Vane, I should like to speak to you.”

“Certainly,” said Harriet. “I should rather like to speak to you.” Miss Hillyard, without another word, led the way to her own rooms. Harriet followed her up the stairs and into the sitting-room. The tutor’s face was very white as she shut the door after them and said, without asking Harriet to sit down:

“Miss Vane. What are the relations between that man and you?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know perfectly well what I mean. If nobody else will speak to you about your behaviour, I must. You bring the man here, knowing perfectly well what his reputation is—”

“I know what his reputation as a detective is.”

“I mean his moral reputation. You know as well as I do that he is notorious all over Europe. He keeps women by the score—”

“All at once or in succession?”