Red Shadow (10 page)

A horror of the door opening suddenly to admit Catherine sent Laura groping towards the bed. When her hands touched it, she fell forward half fainting, and it was not until some minutes later that she moved, pulled the bed-clothes about her, and lay cold and spent, yet with a faint triumph at her heart.

CHAPTER XII

Vassili Stefanoff came into the house and banged the door behind him. There was nothing of the controlled, rather formal Basil Stevens in his look or manner. He tore off his coat, flung down hat and gloves, and precipitated himself in the direction of the study, demanding, “Sasha!” in loud insistent tones.

The study door opened before he reached it. Alec Stevens appeared in a cloud of cigarette smoke, and from behind him Catherine's voice inquired,

“What is it then—another war?”

Vassili Stefanoff rushed into the room and flung the door to behind him.

Catherine was sunk in a deep chair with her legs crossed. She still wore her nurse's uniform. She waved a cigarette in half mocking greeting and said lazily,

“What! It is only Vassili? I thought at least that a bomb had gone off.”

“Am I in time?” said Vassili in a choked voice. “That cursed fog! The instant I received the telegram I started—and we are delayed hours, hours,
hours!
I say, am I in time—am I in time—
am I in time?
A thousand million curses! Will no one tell me whether I am in time or not?”

Alec Stevens had seated himself carelessly on the edge of the writing-table.

“My good Vassili,” he said, “pull up your socks! When you are excited, you give yourself away very completely. Do you imagine that at this moment even a half-witted person would take you for an Englishman?” He threw back his head and laughed, showing very even white teeth. “
A thousand million curses!
” He laughed again. “
Learn to swear in English—Basil.
”

Vassili rushed forward and took him by the shoulder.

“Dog!” he said.

“Englishmen don't call each other dogs.”

Vassili's grasp tightened. Then suddenly he stepped back, his hands fell.

“Will no one tell me if I am too late?” he said in a voice of suppressed fury.

Catherine shrugged her shoulders.

“Too late for what, my dear?”

“The lawyer,” said Vassili—“Hallingdon's damned lawyer—that cursed Rimington! Has he been here? Will no one tell me whether he has been here?”

“It's the first time you've asked us,” said Catherine.

Vassili rapped out a Russian oath.

“
Has
he been?” he asked.

“He has,” said Alec Stevens.

Vassili swore again.

“When?”

“This afternoon.”

“When did he go?”

“An hour ago—no, an hour and a half.”

Vassili controlled himself. His passion changed to a sort of savage impatience. He kept his voice low.

“Did he see Laura?”

“Of course.”

“Alone?”

“He insisted,” said Alec Stevens.

“And you let him have his way?” His passion strained at its bonds again.

Alec Stevens shrugged his shoulders.

“You think it would have been wise to give him the impression that Laura was not at liberty to see her solicitor?”

Vassili made an abrupt gesture.

“No—no—of course not! I am distracted! I don't know what I'm saying, Sasha! No—no—you were right. But you've seen her since. What passed between them? Did she tell you?”

“Trina saw her.”

All this time Catherine had been lying back in her chair smoking with every appearance of idle ease. Her long dark lashes hid her wary eyes.

Vassili turned on her.

“Well? Why don't you speak? You saw her after Rimington had gone. What did she say? What did you say? How did she look?”

Catherine blew out a cloud of smoke and watched it rise and blur the light of the electric pendant.

“What do you want to know?” she said.

“What she said—whether there were any papers. Did the lawyer bring her any papers?”

“How should I know?” said Catherine Werner.

Alec Stevens watched them both.

“You can answer what I ask! Were there any papers? Did you see any papers?”

“Do you think some one is writing her love-letters? She is pretty enough.”

He put a hand on either arm of her chair and, bending down until his face was close to hers, he said in a slow, deadly voice,

“Did you see any papers—any letters?”

“No,” said Catherine.

He remained bending over her.

“You saw no papers of any kind?”

“No.”

“Why did you not listen?”

“Because he came to the door and shut it. I had left it ajar. You would have been pleased if I had been caught—
hein
?”

He took no notice of the question.

“How long was he there?”

“A few minutes—oh, not more than five.”

He straightened up with a jerk.

“That is long enough.”

“For what?”

“To give her a letter—papers.” He turned and began to pace the room. “I had a man in his office who was to cable. I could have come by air if necessary. Then Sasha was to cable if Rimington made an appointment. I got both cables within an hour, and I had plenty of time—
plenty
. How could I tell that there would be a fog?” He made a wild gesture and flung round upon Catherine. “When you went in afterwards—you did go in—how did she seem?”

“As usual.”

“As usual! What is that? Have I been here, that I should know what is her usual?”

Catherine shrugged.

“I left her propped up in bed, and when I went back—there she is, still propped up—she has tilted back her head and shut her eyes—she has the air of being tired. When I ask what Sasha tells me to ask, she says ‘No.' ‘Has he brought you any papers to sign?'—‘No, there are no papers. The will is not proved. There will be no papers till the will is proved.' She has the air of being exhausted. I arrange her pillows, and I leave her to rest.”

“You should have searched the bed.”

“For what?”

“She has had the letter.”

Alec Stevens broke in with an air of cool mockery.

“And still you do not tell us what this letter is, or why it excites you so much. Now if you had given us a little more of your confidence, my dear Basil—you know, really, you should be blaming yourself and not Trina—” He broke off, and then resumed with a complete change of tone. “So Rimington came down to bring her a letter?”

“Yes—yes—yes!”

“One yes would do. Well? What letter is it? And why does it matter? What is in it?”

“There is a piece of paper in it.”

Alec Stevens burst out laughing.

“You don't say so! How original!”

“A torn piece of paper—and it must be found. She has been alone an hour—two hours. She would not destroy it, but she might try to hide it. Can she walk? Can she get out of bed?”

Catherine shook her head.

“She is as weak as a baby. When I lift her up her head swims and she is ready to faint.”

Vassili Stefanoff made a gesture of relief.

“Then it cannot be far away. I will go up and see her.”

Upstairs Laura lay motionless. The dusk had turned into darkness; she could just see the shape of the window and distinguish the sky from the black wall of her room. The room was very still and very cold. She herself was very cold. She had straightened her night-gown and the bed-clothes. She still wore the embroidered shawl wrapped close about her. She was so tired that she felt as if she were falling down and down and down. Everything that had been happening seemed remote.

When the door opened and the light flashed on, she was shocked back to consciousness. With startled eyes she saw Catherine come round the screen and stand looking at her.

“Well, I have neglected you—but I thought that you would sleep. Have you had a nice rest?”

She did not wait for an answer, but went to the window to draw the curtains across it. Then, turning, she exclaimed,

“Your fire is out! No wonder the room is like ice. Are you cold?”

Laura said “Yes” in a faint voice.

At once her hands were felt and exclaimed over.

“They are like stones! I will get you a hot-water bottle and some tea. Now wait whilst I pull your pillows up a little. And I had better comb your hair. I wish mine would curl of itself like yours. Has anyone ever told you that you have hair like a black mist? It is not fair really, because you would be quite good looking enough without it. There! Now I will tell you that you have another visitor. What will you do, I wonder? Blush, or turn faint? It is Vassili, so you should do one or the other.”

Laura did neither. She leaned her head against the freshly piled pillows and set her face in a pale composure.

Catherine laughed, patted her shoulder, and went out swinging the hot-water bottle; and at once Basil Stevens came round the screen.

He was Basil again, not Vassili—a quiet, rather formal person, more like a doctor or a solicitor in his manner than an engineer. He stood at the foot of the bed and said,

“Good afternoon, Laura. I hope you are better.”

Laura had thought that she could control herself. She had not known that his presence would instantly bring back all that her illness had blotted out. At the first sound of his voice an agony of loss and longing swept over her. She clenched her hands under the folds of the shawl, and was silent from a sheer inability to speak.

“You are better?” said Basil Stevens.

This time Laura managed a weak “Yes.” Looking at her, he wondered if it was true.

He left the foot of the bed and took the chair beside her.

“I understand that you were well enough to see Mr Rimington this afternoon.”

Again Laura said, “Yes,”

He went on speaking in a cold business-like manner.

“I am sorry that I was not here. Alec tells me that you are far from fit to attend to business—indeed I can see that for myself. I should be glad to save you as much as possible.”

Laura said nothing. Her hidden hands clung together. Her black hair was like a cloud against the pillow. Her black lashes hid her eyes and made her cheeks look even whiter than they were. He had a sudden fear lest she might die and rob him.

He said “
Laura
—” with the impatience of alarm, and the lashes rose a little. “I don't want to trouble you, but I think I ought to know why Mr Rimington came down.”

“To—see—me.”

“Naturally. But I want to know what passed between you. If he left any papers, I must ask you to show them to me.” He smiled slightly. “I can save you a lot of trouble.”

She made an effort and said,

“Mr Rimington said there would be no papers until the will was proved.”

“No? And yet he brought some papers with him—did he not?”

The lashes sank again.

“I didn't sign—anything.”

“No? All papers do not have to be signed. Come, Laura—do not fence with me! He brought you a letter?”

She was silent.

“Did he not bring you a letter?” He leaned forward, dropping and hardening his voice. “Did he not?”

The door opened, and there came in Catherine with a shovelful of red embers. The acrid smell of smoke filled the room. The slammed door, her hurried footsteps, and the sound of the fire being violently stirred and lumps of coal split up came cheerfully into the silence and shattered it.

A black frown brought Basil Stevens's brows together.

Catherine gave the fire a final poke and came round to the far side of the bed.

“That will burn up in a minute,” she said—“and I've put on a kettle. Now don't let him tire you. Do you hear that, dear Basil? I do
not
nurse my patients in order that some clumsy man may come and give them a relapse. Yes, frown as much as you like. It does not make you very handsome—but perhaps you do not mind about that—perhaps she loves you for yourself alone. Does she?” She laughed, kissed her hand to Laura, and ran out of the room.

Basil Stevens waited until her footsteps had died away on the stairs. Then he leaned forward again and continued as if there had been no interruption.

“He brought you a letter. Where is it?”

Laura's eyes opened, dark and full.

“I—destroyed it.”

He started, and said harshly,

“That is not true!”

Laura closed her eyes again.

“How did you destroy it—how could you destroy it? It is not true! You will tell me what you have done with it—at once!” His hand shot out and fell upon her wrist.

With a violent shudder Laura pulled her hand away.

“Give me the letter!” said Basil Stevens. “Do you hear? Give me the letter with the torn paper in it! Give it to me, I say!” He had sprung from his chair and was bending over her. “You know very well that I must have that letter. Will it do you any good to make me angry? If you give me the letter, I will let you alone.” His voice suddenly shook with rage. “
What?
Must I search you for it?”

Laura shrank away from him. The room shook and darkened about her. Through her faintness and confusion she heard the door open again, and Catherine's voice coming from a long way off.

“Now here is your hot-water bottle, and here is your tea. Now you will be warm. And whether Basil has finished talking to you or not, out he goes.”

She put down the tray, slipped the bottle into the bed, and became aware that Laura was trembling.

Basil Stevens had resumed his seat. He frowned at her, and she met the frown with a snap of her fingers.

“Out of this room, my dear—and quick! If you do not want to know just what I think of you, be off! I tell you she is fainting. Blockhead! Will it suit you if she dies? Tell me that! Yes, I said
dies
. Yes, that makes you think, does it? Borrow some brains and go on thinking! And get out of this room before I lose my temper! Men are beasts—one knows that—but they needn't be idiots too!”