The House Above the River (22 page)

“We will leave the stretcher if you will undertake to return it. But we must take the blankets, except of course the one folded under her.”

“Shall I bring blankets?” asked Francine, who had been standing all the time with folded hands waiting for orders.

“Can't we get her up to her room?” Giles burst out, sickened by all this discussion. “Let them take the top blankets, now. I know where there's a rug to use instead.”

He strode to the cupboard in the hall where he and his friends had hung their wet oilskins when they had come to stay in the house. He remembered clearly seeing a pile of rugs there on the floor at one side. He flung the door open.

There were the rugs, as he expected. But there also, hanging from the pegs, were Henry's duffle coat, his fisherman's jersey, the blue blouse he wore as an onion man, the jeans, and below, thrown in, it seemed, in a hurry, his fisherman's rubber boots, still wet, covered with fresh mud and weed, and stinking of it, too, in that confined space.

Giles snatched up two rugs and went back to the group round Miriam. They exchanged the rugs for the blankets, the men lifted the stretcher, and the sad little procession went up the stairs, Susan leading and Renaud bringing up the rear. He was determined to watch his “prisoner”, as he still regarded her, until the specialist arrived and he knew something definite of her condition and probable fate.

When Miriam was out of hearing, Giles turned to Henry.

“Your boots,” he said, with a biting emphasis on every word. “Don't you think you had better clean the mud—the river mud —off them, while it is still wet? It might be more difficult when it dries on.”

Henry stared at him. Francine stared at Henry, alarm in her dark eyes. The Englishman's voice held a menacing note. Neither of them spoke.

“I'm going now,” Giles said. “Tell Susan to come down to the hard as soon as she can get away. I'll be waiting for her. I shan't come back here—ever. I don't want to see this place again, or you, or Miriam. You needn't be afraid I'll tell anyone what I now know. You and Miriam appear to be quits, if that is the right word. And there couldn't be a worse punishment for either of you than what seems to be coming to you both. I only hope to God I haven't, unintentionally, speeded things up. But I don't see how I could have prevented it.”

He went through the silence to the door, and out into the sunlight, leaving it open behind him.

Francine sighed, smoothed her black skirt with both hands, and moving quietly to the staircase, began to mount.

But Henry darted to the hall cupboard and dragged open the door. He looked at the boots, turned them over with his foot, and then left them there, locking the cupboard door, and taking away the key. He stumbled into the library, and sinking down in the chair by his desk laid his head on his arms, sobbing his heart out in despair, for his weakness and hesitation, and the failure of all he had ever meant to achieve.

Giles strode off down the drive towards the main gates. But when he was out of sight of the house, he stopped. He remembered that his dinghy was still tied up to the landing-stage. It would be much quicker and better in every way to take it from there himself. It meant climbing down the first steep drop of the bank, from the top part of the stage, but by now the tide would be up to the next part of it. If he could not get down the bank at that spot, he might be able to scramble down further along and get into the water and swim back. He decided to do this.

The path through the woods was quite deserted. So was the landing-stage when he reached it. Evidently Inspector Renaud was not interested in the cause of Miriam's fall.

Giles stood on the top stage where the ladder had been. Two things were immediately obvious. First, the ladder had clearly not been mended after the original mishap. The broken iron had not been replaced, and the fractured end was rusty now from exposure to the salt air over the last few days. Secondly, the rope he had put on himself, and which he had looked for on the stage below, was not up here either. It had been taken away.

It was easy to see what had happened. In her haste and guilty terror Miriam had flung herself on to the ladder without looking to see if it had been mended. If she thought of it at all, the absence of the rope probably led her to imagine repairs had been made. In any case there was nothing to remind her of the former damage.

Giles knelt down and looked over the edge of the bank. The ladder was still lying on the stage. He saw how it must have bent outwards under her weight, held for a time by its feet, planted firmly in the mud at the foot of the bank. Looking down at the ladder, he saw that the long spikes were indeed slightly bent. But only slightly. They should have bent more. They might even have broken off short. But this had not happened.

He moved along the bank to a place where rocks grew out of the mud, and scrambled down. Moving slowly from one firm spot to another, he made his way to the landing-stage. At times he was nearly up to his knees in the mud, which bubbled and stank as he plunged through it. But he held on and presently was standing below the drop, with the second stage lying on the mud only a few feet away.

And now he saw, to his great annoyance, that his recent flounderings had been quite unnecessary. A distinct track, made of steps cut in the mud, sloped up at an angle with the bank, to the firm ground beyond tide level. He had not seen them from above, because the bank overhung the spot. He had not noticed them while he was waiting on the stage with Miriam; his attention then had been all for her.

He was certain of one thing. On none of the other occasions when he and his friends had used the landing-stage had any of them seen steps in the bank. These had been made recently, and made with a purpose. To dig out the base of the ladder, and make quite certain it would fall the next time it was used.

Giles had suspected something of the sort when he found Henry's boots in the cupboard. Now he knew, and he felt suddenly very tired. He had meant what he said to Henry. It was up to Inspector Renaud; and the latter, in his pursuit of Miriam, was going to miss the proof of her intended murder. The rising tide would carry away the temporary steps and fill in the dug-out holes at the foot of the bank. Let it rest. The guilt was shared; the punishment, too. Proof was too late; it had become irrelevant.

Giles went slowly along the two stages to his dinghy. Before getting into it he sat down to wash the mud off his legs and canvas shoes. Then, moving stiffly, feeling utterly worn out, he untied the little boat, climbed in, and pulled back, against the flood, to the haven and understanding of
Shuna
.

Tony and Phillipa did not ask many questions. They saw the state he was in. Tony got him a drink at once; told him briefly that they had gathered more or less what was happening.

“We were stuck,” said Phillipa, “because you had the dinghy.”

“I know.”

“Was she—very badly hurt?”

“I'm afraid so.”

They waited for him to go on, if he would. Instead, he said presently, “Susan. I asked Henry to tell her to come down to the hard when she could. I'll have to go off and wait for her.”

“You stay where you are,” Tony ordered. “I'll pick her up. I need some exercise.”

Giles was too weary to argue. He finished his drink, went below, and stretched himself on his bunk. After a little while, being now out of the sun, he began to shiver, and realised that he still wore only the cotton shorts he had put on to go fishing. He found his shirt and a sweater and pulled them over his head. By this time he was too restless to lie down again, so he rejoined Phillipa on deck.

“I don't call that much of a rest,” she said. “But never mind. Susan's come. Just arrived. With luggage.”

“
Luggage
?”

He stared towards the shore. Susan was there, right enough. He could see her tall, slim figure, leaning against the sea wall. She had on a white shirt and black slacks. There were two suitcases at her feet. Her intention was perfectly clear. She had left the château and meant to travel on
Shuna
.

“Bless her,” he said aloud.

Phillipa knew what he meant. There was no place now for Susan at the house, so she was coming to Giles, quite naturally and simply, for help and protection, and because she loved him. It was the kind of love he needed and deserved. She, too, blessed Susan in her heart.

Tony was back in a very short time. Giles helped Susan on board and followed her down to the cabin with her suitcases.

“They told me to go,” she said. “I couldn't be any help. So can I go with you?”

He drew her into his arms, looking deep into the clear amber eyes.

“Always,” he said. “Always and everywhere.”

When they joined the others again on deck Susan explained what had been happening at the château after Giles left. The local doctor had arrived, almost at once, with a surgeon from the nearest orthopaedic hospital. They both urged Miriam to go away for treatment, but again she refused to be moved. Another specialist was called from Paris.

“I think she's right to stay,” said Susan. “Her legs are paralysed. They can't do anything for her.”

“If they set her back properly she might get some recovery. It could be just a concussion of her spinal cord, not a complete break.”

“Do you really think so? How do you know?”

“I knew a chap once that had a car accident where the same sort of thing happened.” But he remembered the iron ladder striking that sprawling defenceless back; the convulsive jerks; the flaccid limbs he had helped to lift on to the stretcher. No, he did not really think she would recover.

“What did Henry say? Didn't he change his mind, after that, and insist on her going?”

“He's in bed, himself. He collapsed in the library after we took her upstairs. Francine found him there. They had to carry him up, too.”

“Pretty grim for you, altogether,” said Tony. “Did the inspector tell you to go?”

“The doctors. They'd been talking to him. They said there was no place for me now in the house. Nurses were on their way. And of course Francine was there to run the place as usual.”

After a pause Giles said, “It's unbelievable, really. This morning, all peaceful, even if quite artificial. I mean Miriam's act about Henry's suicide. I didn't believe a word of it. But I didn't expect such a sequel.”

“No.” Susan's face was full of pain. “No. She was so sure of herself at lunch. She thought she'd got everybody taped, even the inspector. I think she really believed Henry's body would turn up in the river and show he had died of drowning, and they wouldn't look for any other cause. She ate a really big lunch, for her.”

“Oysters and all?” asked Giles.

“Oysters?” Susan was astonished.

“Didn't you have oysters?”

“We didn't have fish at all. We had a wonderful sort of Breton hash, only it has a much grander name than that.”

“Giles,” interrupted Phillipa. “When are we leaving? Do you want us to have dinner now?”

“Yes. We'd better.”

“You can't guess what we're having,” she said, as she turned on the companion-ladder.

“Oysters,” they all cried in chorus.

The two men prepared for sailing, while Phillipa helped Susan to stow her things below in one of the lockers. The suitcases were disposed of in the forepeak, wedged firmly with spare coils of rope.

It was dark when
Shuna
left the river, but clear, as it had been the night before. The buoys in the channel winked brightly, La Corne lighthouse sent its beam flashing round over the rocks and the water between. Giles motored to save time for the channel often changed direction, and he did not want to beat. But when he was clear of the in-shore marks he put up his sails and switched off the engine, and
Shuna
bounded on towards the open sea.

They had decided already, weather permitting, to go straight back to the Solent. Their holiday was nearly over, and none of them felt like staying on the French coast any longer.

“We've a fair breeze,” Giles explained to Susan, as the land dropped away behind them. “We'll make up to the Casquets. We've still got a couple of days in hand. We can always go into Bray in Alderney if we change our minds. But personally I feel like getting home. How about you?”

“I feel like being sick,” said Susan, faintly, and was so.

She spent most of that night on deck, secretly wishing she had not chosen to travel this way, even for Giles's sake. The others came up to take the helm at regular intervals, spending their time off watch quietly sleeping below. They made her share their frequent drinks of cocoa, which she promptly returned. At first light, quite exhausted, Susan at last gave in and crept down to a bunk, not caring any longer that the movement in the cabin was worse than on deck. To her enormous surprise she fell asleep at once, and when she woke it was seven in the morning, and she crawled back on deck and welcomed hot coffee and scrambled eggs, and kept it all down.

Giles pointed ahead.

“The Casquets,” he said.

“Where?”

“Little white spike dead ahead.”

She saw the lighthouse far off, with the spray breaking on the rocks below.

“Want a rest? Shall we go into Bray?”

“No. Let's go on. I don't want to start at the beginning again.”

“Good girl. That's the spirit.”

So they went on towards England, the westerly wind steady behind them. It died off during the afternoon, however, and left them at nightfall drifting on the fringe of the steamer lanes, ten miles out from the English coast. They were in no hurry now, so there was no point in motoring, unless they had to take action to avoid being run down. Just after midnight a very gentle air came up in the south, and they crept forward towards Poole Bay. By dawn the cliffs at the Needles stood out of a light mist in front of them, with the coast line of the Island fading away towards St. Catherine's Point.