The Shivering Sands (37 page)

“Hello,” she called. “Have you come to see the gypsies?”

“Yes,” said Allegra.

I saw a flash of white teeth. “You have a fondness for the gypsies, you there with the black hair. Shall I tell you why? You’re almost a gypsy yourself.”

“Who told you?”

“Ah…that would be telling. But I will tell you your name. A pretty one. It’s Allegra.”

“Are you telling my fortune?”

“Past, present, and future.”

“I think,” I said, “we should be going.”

The girls ignored me and so did the gypsy.

“Allegra from the big house. Deserted by her wicked mother. Never mind, my dear. There’s a charming Prince and great fortune awaiting you.”

“Is there really?” said Allegra. “What about…the others?”

“Let me see…there’s the young lady from the parsonage and the other from the big house…though she doesn’t exactly belong there. Give me your palm, dear.”

I said: “We have no money.”

“Don’t need money from some company, madam. Let me see…” Alice held out her hand which looked very white and small in the gypsy’s brown one.

“A…” said the gypsy. “Alice. That’s it.”

“You’re wonderful,” breathed Allegra.

“Little Alice who lives in the big house and is not quite of it…but will be one day because someone very important is going to see that she is.”

“Oh,” cried Alice, “it’s wonderful.”

“I think we should be going back,” I said again.

The gypsy stood watching me; her hands on her hips.

“Introduce me to the lady,” she said insolently.

“She’s the music teacher,” began Allegra.

“Oh can’t you tell…for her too?” cried Alice.

“The music teacher. Tra la la…” said the gypsy. “Be careful, lady. Beware of a man with blue eyes…”

“And what about Sylvia?” cried Alice.

Sylvia’s face puckered and she looked as though she were going to run away. “She is the vicar’s daughter and takes lessons with us,” Allegra explained.

“You don’t have to tell,” reproached Alice. “She knows.”

The bold gypsy turned on Sylvia. “You’ll always do what your mother tells you, won’t you, ducky?”

Sylvia blushed and Allegra whispered: “She knows…It’s special powers. Gypsies have them.”

I said: “It’s all very interesting and now we must go.”

Allegra began to protest but I signed to Alice to turn her horse and obediently she did so.

“That’s right,” said the gypsy, “when in doubt, run away.”

Alice and I had started to walk our horses away from the encampment. Sylvia followed us but Allegra lingered.

I was thinking: Is it possible that that woman is Allegra’s mother? The likeness was startling and if she were that would account for her knowing who the girls were.

Blowsy, voluptuous, sensuous as she now was, she must have been very attractive fifteen years ago when she was not much more than fifteen herself.

I shivered.

Do I really want to be involved in the affairs of Lovat Stacy? I asked myself as we rode back to the house.

Once again Mrs. Rendall came to Lovat Stacy like a militant general, and Mrs. Lincroft met her in the hall. I was with Mrs. Lincroft at the time but Mrs. Rendall took no notice of my presence.

“It is disgraceful,” she said. “Gypsies here. I remember the last time they came. Making the lanes and fields untidy. They’re everywhere with their baskets and clothes pegs…and cross your hand with silver. I said to the vicar, ‘Something must be done, and the sooner the better.’ It does happen to be Sir William’s land and he is the one to give them their marching orders. That, Mrs. Lincroft, is why I have come to see Sir William…so please tell him I am here and take me to him as soon as possible.”

“I’m sorry Mrs. Rendall, but Sir William is very ill. He is resting now.”

“Resting! At this hour. He’ll want to know that the gypsies are here surely? He hates them on his land. I think he made that pretty clear.”

I rose to go but Mrs. Lincroft signed for me to stay.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Rendall,” she said with the utmost firmness, “but Sir William is really not well enough to be worried with these matters. I think you should see Mr. Napier Stacy. He is managing everything now, you know.”

“Mr. Napier Stacy!” cried Mrs. Rendall. “Certainly not. I shall see Sir William and I’ll thank you, Mrs. Lincroft, to tell him I am here.”

“He would not thank me, Mrs. Rendall. Nor would the doctor on whose orders Sir William is not to be disturbed.”

“The vicar and I are determined that something shall be done.”

“You should, then, speak to Mr. Napier Stacy about the matter.”

Mrs. Rendall cast venomous glances both at me and Mrs. Lincroft and stalked out.

Two days later I found a sealed envelope in my room addressed to me. I opened it and read:

Dear C,

Will you come to the cottage at 6:30 tonight? I have something important to tell you.

G.W.

Terse! I thought. And to the point. It was the first time I had received a letter from Godfrey and I guessed he had thought that six thirty would be a convenient time, for it would enable us to have a quiet chat before we went back—he to the vicarage and I to Lovat Stacy—for dinner.

I slipped out of the house and arrived there a few minutes before the appointed time. It was very quiet and I didn’t see anyone on the way there and it did occur to me even then that this was one of the quietest of times, when the day was not yet over and the evening had not begun.

I went into the cottage and as Godfrey was not there I made my way to the upper rooms to watch for his arrival.

I stood at the little leaded paned window and looked out across the remains and thought of Roma, picturing a hundred scenes from our childhood, and I tried to imagine from all I knew of her what she could possibly have done on that day she disappeared.

Time passed slowly. It was five minutes after the half hour, and it was unlike Godfrey to be late, for I had discovered him to be the most punctual of people. I smiled, visualizing him leaving the vicarage and being detained by Mrs. Rendall.

The minutes were passing. Ten minutes late. How unlike him. I had no premonition of danger until I smelt that fearful acrid smell of burning. Even then I thought at first that it was something outside. I attempted to open the window but the bolt had grown rusty and I couldn’t move it. Then I heard the crackle of flames and I knew that the fire was not outside but inside the cottage.

I went through to the communicating room and saw—though this did not strike me immediately—that the door to the stairs was shut, although I had left it open. I went to it and seized the handle, but I could not open the door.

Then the full horror of the situation came home to me. The door was locked. Someone had been in the cottage when I entered it or followed me in, had crept up the stairs while I was looking out of the window, and locked me in…and then that person had set the cottage on fire.

I hammered on the door. “Let me out!” I cried. “Who’s there?”

I ran to the window and desperately tried to open it. I could not but it would have been no use if I had. I could never have got through it. There was a broom propped up in a corner. I tried to break through those leaden panes but it was not easy to do so.

There was now a haze of smoke in the room and I began to cough and splutter. I could feel the heat below my feet. This was no accident. Someone had deliberately locked me in and set fire to the cottage.

Godfrey! I thought. But no…never, yet the note had come from Godfrey. I had been lured to this place to meet him. I couldn’t believe it. Not Godfrey.

I picked up the broom and through the sheer force of horror smashed one of the little panes.

“Help!” I cried. “Fire!…Fire!”

There was no response to my plea—only silence out there.

I went to the door…that heavy studded door which had so pleased Roma. I hammered on it. I turned the handle and shook it. But the horrible fact remained. I was locked in a burning cottage. Locked in!

I ran back to the window and shouted. I came back to the door and shook the handle. I could scarcely see now for the smoke was so thick that it was suffocating me.

Then my heart leaped with joy for I heard a shout from below.

I shouted out: “Here. I’m up here.”

Then the smoke and the heat were too much for me…I felt the overpowering suffocation.

Suddenly it seemed I was not alone. Something was wrapped about my face. Urgent hands were pulling at me.

“Quick! Run! Run with me. I can’t carry you.”

It was Alice’s voice. Alice’s hands…and I was being dragged through such heat that it was almost unbearable.

I was lying in the cool air and I heard voices.

“You’re all right. You’re all right.”

Then I was being lifted into a carriage I presumed, for I vaguely heard the distant clop-clop of horses’ hoofs.

“If it hadn’t been for Alice, heaven knows what would have become of you,” said Mrs. Lincroft.

I was in bed; the doctor had seen me, given me a sedative and Mrs. Lincroft orders that I was to sleep.

Alice had seated herself by my bed, like my good angel, determined that having saved my life she would continue to protect it.

“All you have to do is rest,” went on her mother. “You’ve had a nasty shock.”

So I obeyed and lay there thinking of Godfrey’s note and of Roma walking out of the cottage and never coming back…and of my being lured there and locked in that I might die.

Godfrey! I thought, and saw his face and it was Napier’s face…and they were both standing over me, laughing at me. “Trust no one,” said a voice in my mind. “No one at all.”

Alice whispered, “It’s all right now, Mrs. Verlaine. It’s all over now. You’re safe in bed.”