Miss Hargreaves (38 page)

‘It’s–it’s like this, Mr Dean. She–I–that is–well’

I could not go on. What was the good of
trying
to tell him the truth? I suddenly wished to God Father Toule had been the Dean.

He left the window, sat at a bureau and slowly polished his spectacles with his silk handkerchief.

‘I will be quite frank with you,’ he said. ‘Lady Hargreaves is not a poor woman. You, it is well known, are in debt. Oh, yes–Huntley! I have to keep my eye on such matters, you know.’

‘I’ve never asked her for a penny!’ I cried. ‘If she says things like that I’ll–I’ll have her up for slander.’

‘Come, sir–come! Surely the boot is on the other foot? What do these foolish pranks mean? I will not believe they are merely prompted by malice. I have always had an interest in your future, Huntley. It is still my desire to help you.’

‘If I were to tell you the truth about Miss Hargreaves–’

Instantly his hand shot up.

‘Why do you insist upon addressing her as Miss Hargreaves? That alone is unnecessarily offensive.’

‘But, Mr Dean,’ I pleaded, ‘you don’t
know
. It’s all something I can’t understand. My whole life’s gone to pieces over this Miss Hargreaves affair–’

‘
Lady
Hargreaves!’

‘Lady Hargreaves, that is.’ I swallowed. ‘She’s not real, that’s all I can say.’ I felt myself working up to the truth, whether he liked it or not. ‘You ask my friend, Henry Beddow. We made her up we made everything up even the Duke of Grosvenor–’

‘Stop! Stop!’

‘I’m not myself,’ I muttered. ‘She’s quite right. I expect I’m going potty. If I could go away for a bit–things have got on top of me–if you’d give me leave, Mr Dean–I can’t help feeling once I got away from Cornford I don’t know–’

He sighed as my idiotic babblings ceased. ‘You completely bewilder me. Go away, by all means, if it is going to drive any sense into your head. You may
have
to go away if you persist in this extraordinary behaviour. I must confess I am deeply disappointed that you can’t be frank with me. I am your friend, not your enemy.’

The two bells started to chime for Evensong.

‘I
can’t
be frank,’ I said. ‘It’s no good, Mr Dean. You wouldn’t understand. Nobody can, except Father Toule.’

‘
Father Toule?
’ The Dean stared at me. I wished to God I hadn’t mentioned the name.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘He–well, he knows all about it.’

‘I see,’ said the Dean coldly. ‘You prefer to place your confidences in Roman Catholic hands. The Cathedral clergy are not–imaginative enough for you. I quite understand.’

There was a pause. I wondered whether I might edge to the door. I was longing above everything for a cigarette.

‘What
you
must understand,’ snapped the Dean suddenly, bringing out his handkerchief again, ‘is this. If there are any more complaints of you from Lady Hargreaves–or anyone else–you lose your position here. I am not a hard man. But I will not tolerate this pantomime behaviour. You may go. It is time for Evensong.’

As I walked slowly and heavily of heart down the great staircase, past portraits of older Deans sulking in oils and elaborate gilt frames, I heard him savagely blowing his nose up in the library.

That evening, in an agony of misery and fear, I went to see Father Toule again. I told him everything the anonymous letter, my last meeting with Connie, my interview with the Dean. He didn’t seem at all surprised. He had a wonderfully simple way, that man, of taking everything for granted. I suppose hearing all those confessions makes them used to anything.

‘Of course, Mr Huntley,’ he said, ‘it was very unwise of you to do what you did. But it doesn’t help you to hear me say that. Still, I do wish now you would make a firm resolution to leave the matter entirely alone–’

‘I can’t, Father Toule. I’ve got one idea into my head–and one only. It was your idea. I’m going to Lusk.’

‘Indeed? H’m. Yes. I am not sure about that–except that I feel you might be easier if you told this sexton the truth–’

‘It isn’t only that. It’s my last chance. I feel I–can do something there. Besides, I must find out whether there’s a gravestone with her name–’

‘Really, Mr Huntley, I wouldn’t worry about that.’

‘I’m not. She’s not a ghost. She doesn’t frighten me in the same way as a ghost would. She does frighten me–but– not in that way. I can’t explain. But I must make sure. For all I know, I
may
have seen her name there.’

‘Could you not write to the sexton and leave your researches alone? I do feel’–Father Toule seemed quite agitated ‘I cannot help feeling although I certainly suggested it–that something might happen which you would–regret. It hasn’t proved a very lucky place for you so far. I am inclined to think you should avoid it.’

‘No. I must go. I must go.’

I left the presbytery. I was certain, now, that for better or worse, the last card had to be played in Lusk church and nowhere else. But I hadn’t the slightest idea how I was going to play it.

Alone up in my room, I stared miserably over the street to the warm chimneys of Lessways. How dreary it would be–the house empty, the strains of the harp for ever silenced!

‘Murder!’ I moaned. ‘Murder! That’s what it is.’ I shuddered. I shivered. I pulled down the blind and turned on the light. I smoked three cigarettes straight off. I shivered. I shuddered.

Mother came in.

‘Henry wants you on the phone,’ she said.

It was days since I had seen anything of Henry. There’d been a good deal of coolness between us ever since Pat Howard had insulted my father.

‘Tell him I’m out,’ I said.

‘Norman, what
is
the matter with you? You’ve never quarrelled with Henry before. I don’t say much, but I’m very worried. You ate no tea; you hardly ever talk to us; you sit up here alone. I shall really have to get a doctor if you go on like this–’

‘Doctor–doctor–!’ I screamed suddenly. ‘Yes–you all want to lock me up in a lunatic asylum, don’t you? Oh, God! Why has this happened to me?’

Mother came up to me. ‘Norman — Norman — darling boy — don’t go on like this. It’s terrible. You’re simply breaking our hearts.’

I pushed my way past her. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll speak to him.’ I ran downstairs to the telephone.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘what do
you
want?’

‘Norman, old boy, I haven’t seen much of you lately. Are we on speaking terms, or not?’

‘I’m sorry, Henry. I’m about dead. The Dean’s just threatened to sack me for insolence to you-know-who.’

‘Norman–what a damn shame! Don’t take it too much to heart. I’ll tell you what I rang up about. That fellow whose house you and Connie spent a night in–did you say he was called Major Wynne?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Well, there’s a lot about it in the paper to-day. The place has been robbed. All the silver, jewels–everything. Major Wynne was away in the South of France and has only just returned. It strikes me the fellow who caught you in the orchard must have been the crook. It says the police are following up a valuable clue. Do you think that’d be the bag you said she left behind? If so, I can’t help thinking it looks rather black for both of you.’

‘Yes,’ I echoed, hardly taking it all in, ‘it looks–rather black for–both of us.’

‘Once they start asking her questions–she’ll probably refer them to you, and of course they’ll come to you. Well, I don’t want to see you doing ten years, old boy. In fact, Uncle Henry’s rather worried. We’d better do something about it somehow. Are you there?’

I woke up suddenly.

‘Henry, you’re quite right.
We’ve
got to do something about it. This is the very last straw.’

‘I’m damned if I know
what
we can do.’

‘I do. And I can’t do it alone–that’s the point. You’ve got to help me–as you did before.’

‘I don’t reckon I’ve helped you very much, old boy. To tell you the truth, I was feeling I’d rather let you down.’

‘You helped–in the beginning. Without you I couldn’t have created her. Without you I can’t–’ I paused. ‘Henry–come round to the Happy Union now, will you? I
must
see you.’

‘Right-o! Be there in ten minutes. Glad to hear your voice again, Norman. All drinks on me to-night.’

I rang off and went out. Across the road from an open window I heard the strains of ‘Dear Little Shamrock’ slowly plucked from a harp. My heart ached. A policeman passed. Already I could feel his eyes upon me. I turned quickly up Candole Street, and swung into the private bar.

For over an hour we sat in the Happy Union talking.

‘You gave me the solution,’ I said, ‘when you said “
we’ve
” got to do something about it. My God, Henry, what a fool I’ve been.
I can’t do anything powerful alone
. That’s the point. I couldn’t have created her without you. How can I expect to the whole thing’s gone hopelessly wrong because I’ve been working without your co-operation.’

‘Look here, Norman. This business has worried Uncle Henry as much as it’s worried you. I’ve tried to pretend all along that there must be some perfectly natural explanation–’

‘There isn’t. You must,
must
believe that Miss Hargreaves is utterly and solely
our
creation.’

‘I hardly had anything to do with it, you know.’

‘Finishing touches. Without you, she’d have been nothing but a shadow. If I’d have gone into the church alone that day, do you suppose Connie could ever have really come to life? No.’

‘I suppose you never found out anything about that bath?’ ‘Never.’

‘I wish to God I could get an explanation of that.’

‘Oh, damn you and your bath! God alive, Henry we’re on to something–tremendous–something elemental–and you go on harping on baths–’

‘Go easy, old boy. I can’t bear the idea of Connie harping in her bath.’

He ordered another round of drinks.

‘Are you going to help me?’ I challenged. ‘Or are you afraid?’

‘Afraid? What do you mean?’

‘Destructive thought destroys. That’s what I mean.’

‘Enlarge on that, old son.’

I did so for a long time.

‘You see,’ I ended up, ‘this isn’t just a joke now. You and I have got to find some formula whereby we can convince ourselves and that fool sexton that Connie Hargreaves does
not
exist–just as we convinced him and us that she
did
exist. We’ve somehow got to get back to the state of mind we were in before we created her. You and I together, as before.’