The Beautiful Visit (27 page)

‘Hullo,’ he said. ‘She’s still kept this old thing.’ He had picked up the knife and was staring at it distastefully. ‘Never liked it.’

‘It’s Indian isn’t it?’ I faltered.

‘Did she tell you it was Indian?’

I nodded.

‘No more Indian than you are. No, I bought that at the same time as the parrot. Said I’d brought ’em back with me all the way from India, don’t you know, to keep the
peace. Clean forgot when I was out there. Memory like a sieve, always have had. Our Colonel had nine sisters and he never forgot one of ’em. Nine!’ said the Major with increasing
animation. ‘He used to bring ’em shawls. Awful business. Good-looking gals, couldn’t tell t’other from which. Never remembered Madgie, never.’ He slit open a
letter.

‘Mind you,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t put it past Madgie to have known all the time it wasn’t really Indian. She’d just tell that little story to impress, you
know. Remember when I was wounded. She made a fine thing out of that. Got it in battle saving people’s lives. No such thing. A damned native, I beg your pardon, a damned native drove a knife
into me when I was walking back one night. Nothing very gallant about that. Been a nuisance ever since. This climate if you take me.’

This burst of confidence ceased as suddenly as it had begun; he fetched out his spectacles and proceeded to read the mauve letter.

I was no longer hungry. The nightmare had begun again, or rather it had never left me. As soon as possible I excused myself and returned to my room. I had only one idea in my head now. All
attempts to understand the situation were at an end; I cared not at all for any of them and was obsessed by one problem alone.

I was interrupted by Spalding telling me that Mrs Border was waiting for me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

That frightful day dragged slowly on; and not for one minute was I alone or free, until, by late afternoon, I began to feel, in an hysterical despair, that I was being watched,
being kept. I do not think I was alone in feeling on edge. It was true that I had not slept for the best part of two nights, but Mrs Border and her brother seemed to me almost equally and as much
wrought up. They had a number of minor arguments in the morning, during which I was not allowed to leave the room; and at lunch, when the Major in a frenzy of boredom suggested that I go for a walk
with him, Mrs Border, quivering with suppressed anger, reminded him that the Vicar was coming to tea and that she was forgoing her rest on his behalf. Then we waited tea for the Vicar, and he did
not come. So the day dragged, with the feeling of an imminent crisis drawing nearer and nearer (Mrs Border refusing to allow either the Major or me out of her sight), until I was almost beside
myself with fear and frustration.

After tea the Major announced that he would take a turn in the garden. This remark was received in dead silence. He waited a moment, as though screwing himself up to leave the room, then went;
and was shortly to be seen pacing slowly round the gravel path in an Ulster and an old tweed hat.

Mrs Border had been playing patience. I was pretending to read a book, but I was so nervous at the immediate prospect of being alone with her, that I read with no idea of what I was reading.
When a few minutes later I glanced up from my book, I found her exceedingly bright grey eyes fixed on me, with an unaccountable expression. I looked at my book again, then almost immediately at
her. She was still watching me.

‘Well, what is it? What is the matter with you?’ she snapped.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You look ill. Why?’

‘I – I haven’t been sleeping very well.’

‘Nonsense. What has he been saying to you about me? What did he say this morning? Or was it last night?’

‘He didn’t say anything this morning and we talked about the parrot last night,’ I answered desperately. I was in no condition for this cross examination, and I think I was
more afraid of her than I had ever been.

‘I’ve dealt with plots and conspiracies all my life,’ she said almost cunningly, after a pause. ‘That is why I’ll never have anything happening behind my back.
Never. Catch ’em all out at the end. Come now, what is it all about?’ She tried to smile at me, but her mouth was trembling so much with suppressed eagerness, and her eyes were so sharp
with spite (or something worse), that she hardly ingratiated herself.

‘I really do not know what you mean.’

‘Has my brother . . .? I was always very delicate you know, hardly able to bear the difficult times. I was frequently very ill.’

‘He said something about your being ill,’ I said involuntarily.

‘What? What did he say? A pack of lies the whole story! None of you speak the truth as I see it!’ She became very much excited.

‘He only mentioned something about your illnesses when he said you were fond of the parrot. That was all,’ I said, racking my brains for some means of escape. ‘That was all.
Perhaps I had better get ready for dinner,’ I added hopelessly.

‘Or join him in the garden? More talking behind my back?’ she suggested.

‘Naturally I would not consider discussing you with anyone,’ I said, but the words died on my lips. I was no practised deceiver and of late I had considered very little else,
‘I do not in the least want to walk round the garden with your brother,’ I finished lamely.

‘Why not? What is the harm? What has he been saying to you?’

Desperately I seized the only remaining chance of deflecting her. ‘He . . . I’m afraid of him. He winked at me,’ I faltered, feeling dreadfully disloyal to the poor Major.

She drew a deep breath. ‘Ah – I knew it. I suppose you fancy you have made a great impression. I know what you will be thinking next. Sentimental old fool! He shan’t ruin your
life, I’ll see to that.’

‘Please do not say anything. I am sure he had no intention . . .’

‘Are you?’ she said sharply. ‘Perhaps he is not entirely to blame? I know all about young girls and their ridiculous notions. Encouraging him, waiting your chance and
encouraging him, that’s what you’ve been up to. So sharp you’ll prick yourself. Don’t try to deceive me. I see it all.’

This was the last straw. Utterly unable to control myself at this incredible idea, I burst into fits of laughter which I could not stop. My face streamed with tears, so that I could not see Mrs
Border. I ached and gasped and laughed, until we were interrupted by the Major returning from his stroll.

‘Having a joke? Hope you’re not laughing at me,’ he remarked affably.

Cramming a handkerchief to my face I fled.

‘Too late, too late,’ I sobbed in my room. It was dark: I did not feel in the least like laughing any more. the day was almost over and I was faced with another dreadful night. I was
by now so seriously driven by the whole situation which seemed to ramify hourly, so utterly out of my depth, and withal so despairing at my recent failure and the uncertainty attendant upon any
future success, that for some time I could only weep helplessly. Eventually, at the end of my tears, I summoned the dregs of my courage or desperation, and considered the matter carefully. It would
certainly be better, or safer, to appear at dinner as though nothing, or very little was wrong. For one second I visualized the scene which might be taking place downstairs, then, shivering at its
possibilities, dismissed it. Whatever had happened I must remain calm, behave naturally, in fact, keep my head. In this spirit I washed my face, tidied my hair, and, wishing for the hundredth time
that there was a lock on my bedroom door, planned my descent to coincide with the dinner gong.

I encountered them moving into the dining-room, and was thus spared immediate close scrutiny. We seated ourselves in silence; then Mrs Border remarked; ‘Come to your senses, have
you?’

She did not seem, however, to expect a reply. Murmuring something inaudible I bent over my soup.

It was impossible to tell what had taken place after I had left the drawing-room before dinner. That something had happened there was no doubt; and the general atmosphere resulting was
unexpected. The tension was no less, but I had a strong impression that the Major was in the ascendancy. Mrs Border appeared defensive, almost conciliating; she talked ceaselessly in an
uncharacteristically general manner, never mentioning herself; and several times she actually sought her brother’s opinion. He was even more silent than before, but watchful; I felt very
strongly that he was watching her, and possibly me also. He was studiously polite to me, but underneath this I was aware of a bitter resentment. I endeavoured in my new role of deception to enter
into the conversation with a few indisputably harmless remarks; invariably he met them with a soft reproachful glare, coupled with a courteous agreement. It was not a happy meal.

Afterwards, Mrs Border requested me to play backgammon with her ‘as we usually do’. The evening wore on. The Major buried himself in his newspaper and we played; all of us, I think,
painfully aware of the ticking clock, I quite unable to keep my mind on the game so that Mrs Border continuously won. All of us were waiting for the evening to end, and with it, perhaps, the
conscious suspension of our private feelings; none of us was able to order the finish of the day before its socially appointed time.

The hot milk arrived. I swallowed it, thereby achieving heights of self-control of which I had not known I was capable. The clock struck ten; chimed half past; after which a few heavy minutes
elapsed and Mrs Border released us. I put away the game, gave her her stick, and helped her out of her chair. She made great play of being in pain, drawing from her brother some inaudible
exclamation of condolence. She stood clutching the high back of her chair and biting her lips.

‘Are you coming, Hilary?’ she asked, less peremptory than before.

‘Shortly, Madgie, shortly,’ he replied bristling his paper.

I said good night, and he lowered it to reply, still with the same mournful reproach. Slowly we left the room.

Climbing the stairs as usual, I stood waiting for her, wondering wearily what she would say when she reached me; but at the top she stood breathing heavily, stared at me a moment with steady,
almost venomous dislike, and left me without a word.

I sat in my room waiting for the Major to go to bed. There was a little cold sweat in the palms of my hands, which I kept rubbing with my handkerchief. More than an hour passed, during which I
sat mechanically listening, until I heard his heavy irregular tread, and bedroom door shut.

I selected the smaller of my two suitcases and began slowly and quietly to pack. When I had put into it everything it would hold, I strapped it and tested its weight. It was surprisingly,
impossibly, heavy; I opened it again and set about lightening it, all the while preserving the utmost possible silence. The lightening process took some time, as I was torn between the necessity of
a portable case, and my human desire to leave as little as possible behind me. Eventually an unsatisfactory compromise was reached; the case was heavy but not unbearably so. I pushed it out of
sight under my bed. After some thought, I changed my shoes, and then packed the other case with the remainder of my things, readdressing the label to my home. This accomplished I looked at the
time. It was a little after two. I was very tired and, curiously enough, at that point I could easily have lain on my bed and slept. I was very thirsty and drank nearly all the water in the glass
flagon. The cold water was reviving; my senses crept back; and I began with sharpened nerves to consider the long hours which lay ahead, hours during which, however improbable, there were chances
of my being discovered. This was so anxious a thought, that I peered cautiously through my curtains for light. But there was not enough for my purpose: I was afraid of losing my way, or, perhaps
worse, that I should stumble and make some sound, which would easily attract attention in the black silence. It was the dead of night; a time when it was easy to feel that sleep and death had been
contrived to kill these hours; that to endure them awake and alive was a private, dangerous ordeal. I lay on my bed a short while but I was afraid of sleep and rose reluctantly. I spent some time
disarranging the bed to look as though I had slept in it. I counted the pictures in the room and lit my remaining candle from the little guttering pool of its predecessor. I did not consciously
think of my situation at all. I was not even afraid of hearing the laughter, but simply concentrated on passing through those few dark hours as I had never concentrated on anything before.

A little after five, as the venture loomed in sight, I became more and more restless and began to be anxious lest the boards should creak, or I should be too clumsy with fatigue; lest it be
still too dark in the house for me silently to find my way. This anxiety increased to a positive terror; my bones melted like the candle, the blood thudded in my head; I began to imagine myself
fainting, falling down the stairs. And still there was nearly an hour before the dawn. Even if I succeeded in getting down the stairs, I reflected desperately, there remained the door, with a key
to be turned and two bolts to be drawn, and then the gravel drive. I took off my shoes and tied them together, trembling that I had not realized this necessity until now. Suppose I had never
realized it? I looked repeatedly through the curtains, but there did not seem to be more light. The candle was now very low. I prayed that it would last until six o’clock. I should need
matches, I suddenly realized, if I was to find the bolts on the door; but how could I contrive to carry matches, with the suitcase and my shoes? I tried hanging the shoes round my neck, but the
laces were too short; I was afraid that they would fall. I put the matches in the pocket of my coat, but the box was half full, and they rattled. Eventually I separated the matches from the box and
put them in different pockets. It was better, but hardly satisfactory, as I was by no means sure that they would not prove necessary on the stairs, and I was without a free hand to guide
myself.

The moment for which I had waited so long was nearly arrived, but now I dreaded it. At a quarter to six I dared wait no longer, as with every minute my courage crumbled away until I was on the
edge of panic. I moved the cases into the middle of the room and put on my coat. I blew out the candle and gently drew back the curtains. It was barely light. My room was near the staircase, and I
hoped the uncurtained window would help me down the stairs. I felt in my pockets for the box, the matches and my pocket book. I arranged the case and shoes in one hand and moved slowly towards the
door. It opened easily, and pushing it wide I listened. There was no sound. I waited a moment, until my eyes were accustomed to the gloom, and then started for the staircase. The shoes bumped
softly against each other; I was forced to transfer them to my free hand. The carpet in the passage was thick and rich; I made no sound. Elated by this, I proceeded to descend the stairs.