Quest for Alexis (22 page)

I went to her, leading her gently to one of the leather
armchairs.

“Darling, it wasn’t Alexis you heard arriving. It was me. I’m sorry, but Alexis isn’t here—as you can see.”

Her look of happy expectancy was wiped away. Her face crumpled, and she sank weakly into the chair.

“But I was so sure it was Alexis. Where is he? It’s
been such a long time now, and not a word from him.”

From the doorway, Freda Aiken said, “Mrs. Karel
ought to go straight back upstairs. In her state of health
it’s not right to jump out of a warm bed in the middle
of the night. I can’t be held responsible.”

I knew the woman was right. But did she have to be
quite so brutally direct and unsympathetic? I shook
my head at her, warning her not to say any more.

“Madeleine, you really had better go back to bed.
I’ll come up with you.”

In such an excited mood as this my aunt could
behave exactly like a child—one moment easy to handle, the next obstinate and self-willed. Tonight, fortu
nately, she allowed herself to be persuaded.

She stood up again as I took her arm, and we
walked slowly out of the room and across the hall. At
the foot of the staircase, she paused, as if gathering her
strength. Mounting one stair at a time, she held her
free hand against her heart.

“I was so happy, Gail. I thought
...
I thought...”

“Don’t try to talk now, darling. Get back to bed
first.”

Her acute disappointment, added to the labor of
climbing the stairs, was making her very breathless. I
made her stop for a few moments before we continued
on up.

On the landing, Freda Aiken bustled past us, going
ahead to straighten the bed. Madeleine turned to me,
saying in a breathy whisper, “That woman isn’t a bit
like Belle. Dear Belle, I miss her, too—so much. I hope her friend will soon be better so that my Belle
can come back to me.”

I squeezed my aunt’s thin arm in silent sympathy.
What could I say to comfort her? Only empty lies that would have to be unsaid tomorrow. Tomorrow, I re
minded myself firmly, Madeleine would have to be
told. I had just a few hours left for reflection, before
coming to a decision about what I was going to tell
her.

In the bedroom, I waved Freda Aiken aside. Mad
eleine needed the most loving care just now—not effi
cient, impersonal nursing. I helped her into bed,
smoothing the pillow and gently tucking her in.

In an undertone, I said to Freda, “Could she have
another sleeping pill, do you think? Otherwise, I’m
afraid she’ll lie awake fretting.”

“I suppose so,” she said ungraciously. “I’d better go
down and warm a drop of milk for her to have with
it.”

Madeleine smiled at me wanly. In the soft light of the bedside lamp, her golden eyes were huge and
luminous. I saw in their depths the indelible mark of
suffering, of sadness, of tragedy. My heart twisted in
pity for her, thinking of what she yet had to face.

“I suppose it was silly of me, being so sure it was Alexis come home,” she said. “But I was so hoping.
Why has he been away so long, Gail, and not a letter
—not even a telephone call? It isn’t like Alexis, is it, to be thoughtless? I can’t help being worried that
something may have happened to him.”

I ought to have told her then. I ought to have been
honest with her. But I was too cowardly.

“There are all sorts of possible explanations, dar
ling,” I murmured weakly. My aunt was so innocently trusting that I felt stabbed through with guilt.

“I expect you’re right, Gail dear. I’m just a silly
woman with not enough to occupy my mind.”

When Freda brought in the glass of warm milk, Madeleine sat up to drink it, accepting without ques
tion the extra sleeping pill. She awarded the nurse a
faint smile.

“You do your best for me, don’t you, Freda? And I
expect I can be a trial sometimes.”

Freda Aiken set her lips, making no reply.

I kissed my aunt’s pale forehead and left her with a
promise to come and see her first thing in the morning.

“Then we’ll have a lovely long talk, won’t we?” she
said eagerly. “It’s so good to have you home, dear.”

Rudi was waiting for me outside the door.

“You didn’t say anything to her, Gail?”

I shook my head. “I couldn’t, not tonight.”

“No, of course not. Look, you go straight to bed
now, and I’ll bring something to your room. A sand
wich.”

“No, Rudi—I couldn’t eat.”

“Well, just a cup of Ovaltine, then. You must have
something.”

“I suppose so. Thanks.”

Ten minutes later, when he knocked at my door, I was already in bed and almost asleep. Rudi put the beaker on the bedside table and sat down on the edge
of the bed.

I found I couldn’t focus properly on his face. I felt
dizzy, and the bed seemed to be swaying and dipping
under me. It was as if I was drunk, or drugged, as if I
had taken the sleeping pill, not Madeleine. But I knew
it was the effect of exhaustion. Too much had hap
pened to me in this one day.

Twenty-four hours ago I had been sleeping on a
couch in a primitive Provencal
mas,
with Brett beside
me on the hearthrug, rolled up in blankets. I had wak
ened in a gloriously happy mood, trusting him com
pletely.

My trust had been so short-lived.

I could feel my brain working turgidly, like a ma
chine that was filled with too thick oil.

Alexis dead. Brett a murderer. An almost perfect
double of my uncle, acting out an evil charade to
destroy the value of his life’s work.

Or was I wrong? Was Rudi right? I hated myself for feeling even the faintest stirring of doubt. Alexis and
Belle, here at Deer’s Leap—I could not dismiss that.
Rudi had stood by and watched unhappily as the
situation developed between them. But Alexis, I was
still unalterably convinced, would never have deserted
Madeleine so callously.

Which did I believe? Which did I
want
to believe?

“Oh, Rudi, what am I to do?”

He leaned forward and touched my forehead with his lips. “You poor darling, you’re worn out. Here,
drink this up and get to sleep.”

Rudi held the beaker for me while I drank from it,
as if I were a sick child. Then, as I lay back upon the
pillows, he stood gazing down at me.

“If only things could have been different, Gail,” he murmured. “I wish to God that____”

I don’t remember whether he finished the sentence. I
couldn’t keep my eyes open a moment longer. I slept
deeply, and my dreams were a twisted, tangled night
mare of fear.

* * * *

In the morning the sun was shining, filtering through
the yellow curtains, filling my bedroom with a warm
golden light.

But I lay cold under the covers, desolate, dreading
the day before me. My head throbbed with dull pain. I slid out of bed and went to the basin to splash my
face with cold water. Then I crossed to the window and drew back the curtains.

The sky was cloudless, rain-washed, the delicate
pale blue of summer harebells. The grounds of Deer’s
Leap seemed to shimmer, every blade of grass, every
tuft of heather, every feathery spray of the conifer
trees reflecting sunlight from the clinging raindrops. I
had seen countless such mornings, mornings when I’d
felt thrilled to be alive, when I’d been impatient to
have breakfast over and get out into the soft, tangy air
that blew in over the ridge of downs straight off the sea.

Today, without interest, I pulled on slacks and a
sweater and hastily brushed my hair. I put on make-up
only because Madeleine might notice if I didn’t. On
this dreadful day, for her sake, I had to cling to nor
mality in every little way I could.

The house was silent, except for the sounds that
came from the kitchen. When I entered, Freda Aiken
and Mrs. Cramp at once broke off their conversation
and stared at me. I said good morning, and Mrs. Cramp
sniffed.

“What’s good about it, I’d like to know! It’s not very
nice for me, all this going on, and everyone knowing
that I work here. I’ve been wondering if I ought to
give my notice.”

I was in no mood to placate Mrs. Cramp this morn
ing. She was a gossipmonger, and I knew she must be
loving every minute, storing up tales to tell when she
went back home to the village each afternoon.

I said curtly, “I’m sure Mrs. Karel would be very
sorry to lose you. But if you feel you must leave ...”

She shot me a killing look. “I might at that.” Her
eyes swiveled to Freda Aiken, as if sharing a private joke, then she glanced back at me. “You made a prop
er fool of yourself, didn’t you, going chasing around all
over the Continent after your uncle? That Belle
Forsyth put you in your place by all accounts.”

“What do you mean?” I asked feebly.

“Don’t make out as if you didn’t know. It’s all in
the paper this morning for everyone to read.”

She pointed to a newspaper that lay open on the
kitchen table. I was confronted with a picture of my
self, hands coming up to shield my face—one of those
snapped in the lobby of the Hotel des Alpes-Maritimes
in Nice. Beside me stood Brett.

Somehow, in all the turmoil of the past twenty-four
hours, I’d forgotten about the newspapers. There was a
full, maliciously slanted report of my encounter with
Belle in Geneva. I felt sickened as I saw they had even
included a veiled reference to her spiteful remarks
about Madeleine.

I was aware of the two women watching me, getting
pleasure out of my distress. But if they knew the real
truth, perhaps they wouldn’t be so unfeeling.

“It’s horrible,” I said faintly. “The papers have no
right to print things like that.”

“Isn’t it true, then?” asked Freda with pretended
innocence.

I didn’t bother to answer her. I’d come to the kitch
en intending to make myself a cup of coffee. But I had lost interest now.

“Is my aunt awake yet?” I asked.

Freda shook her head. “And she won’t be for some
time. She’s got to sleep off that extra pill.”

“Yes, I’d forgotten.”

I left the kitchen and went in search of Rudi, but
he was nowhere around. I guessed that he must have
gone through to see the Warrenders. Caterina was cer
tain to have told Sir Ralph what the morning papers
were saying, and I shuddered to think how they’d be reacting to the sordid blaze of publicity. No doubt they
would blame me for keeping it stirred up.

Would Rudi pass on to them all that I had said?
Would he tell them I believed my uncle was dead and
that the man I had seen in Geneva was an impostor?
But how could he tell them all that without mentioning
Brett’s part in the plot?

Anyway, Rudi himself thought I was mistaken. He
had made that clear.

I lacked the courage to face Sir Ralph, to see the
condemnation in his blind eyes. I didn’t really feel up
to facing Rudi, either. Never in my whole life had I felt more alone than at this moment. I
was
alone.

Paradoxically, the realization brought with it a curi
ous sense of peace, of calm determination. Upon my
shoulders, now, rested the sole responsibility for Mad
eleine—a trust I had inherited from Alexis. It was a sacred trust that I would carry out to the best of my
ability. Madeleine would have to be told the truth as I
saw it myself, and I must protect her and help her
through her grief. I must help her to understand that
whatever cruel things might be said and written about
Alexis, she had a right to be proud of him—in death
just as she had always been during his lifetime.

And I had another sacred trust - to vindicate the
name of Alexis Karel in the eyes of the world, however
long it took me. I owed my uncle that.