Winter at Cray (10 page)

She felt the moment
’
s listening silence before the door of the sitting-room opened and Jonathan Darrell appeared, surprise and curiosity in his eyes as he looked at her. Colin, she noticed vaguely, followed him from the room and he too stared at her questioningly.

‘
Louise, what
’
s happened?
’
Colin asked, while Jonathan Darrell
’
s gaze followed the direction of her own to the big wooden doors that shut out the snow and the dark and whoever it was out there.

‘
Someone outside
?’
he asked quietly, and she nodded dumbly, relieved not to have to voice it herself.

Colin stared at her in frank disbelief.
‘
You must be mistaken, Louise,
’
he told her.
‘
No one
’
s left the house, and who on earth would be out there otherwise?
’

‘
Someone
is
,’
Louise insisted, and watched as Jonathan turned the key in the heavy doors, her heart skipping crazily, telling herself that only her imagination could have made her see the face she had glimpsed out there in the darkness.

The door opened slowly and the black wetness of the step glistened darkly in the light from the hall. He peered out into the darkness, illuminated by the snow, and saw the same patches of light Louise had seen from the upstairs window, the pink sitting-room light and the yellow from the stairs, then after a moment he turned back into the hall and looked at her curiously.

‘
Are you sure you saw someone
?’
he asked, and she nodded, the expression in her eyes bearing witness to what she had seen.

‘
Just below the steps,
’
she insisted.
‘
He fell just below the steps.
’

Colin joined Jonathan in the doorway and together they peered out, then Jonathan nodded shortly and pulled the door open wider.
‘
I can see something lying there,
’
he said brusquely.
‘
I
’
ll take a look.
’
That he should have been the one to take the initiative did not for the moment strike her as strange.

He went down the steps, taking care on the slippery lower section, and Colin followed him, while Louise stood feeling dauntingly helpless, at the foot of the stairs, her eyes as big as pools and reflecting the anxiety she felt.

It seemed like an eternity before the two men returned, though it could have been only a few minutes at most, and they carried between them an ominously limp figure whose dark head was turned away from her as they passed, but which was, even so, heart-stoppingly familiar. Seeing it, she put her hands to cover her mouth as she had done earlier, her head shaking slowly in disbelief.

She followed them into the room where curiosity had already brought the rest of the family to the doorway, and she heard Diamond draw a sharp breath as if she recalled her own words about needing to call for help. .

Carefully they laid the man on the settee and it was Jonathan who turned the face towards the watching, silent family. It was Hector Kincaid
’
s voice that broke the silence as the still, cold face became visible against the dark cushions, and Louise had already seen and had her worst suspicions confirmed.

Her grandfather
’
s voice was the last thing she remembered hearing.
‘
Good God,
’
he whispered,
‘
it
’
s Simon Dupont!
’

CHAPTER FIVE

LOUISE did not remember being carried to her room, but that was where she found herself when she opened her eyes to Aunt Jessie
’
s kindly anxious face looking down at her.

‘
Are you feeling better, dear?
’
The deep voice was soothing and Aunt Jessie smiled encouragement.

‘
Aunt Jessie!
’
She smiled her relief, but touched and held the soothing hands for a moment.
‘
Aunt Jessie, who is he
?’

‘
My dear, I don
’
t know,
’
Jessie Ross told her.
‘
I honestly don
’
t know.
’
She sat on the edge of the bed, her dark eyes anxious, and Louise was glad that it was Aunt Jessie who was there.
‘
Try not to worry about it,
’
she urged, and Louise shook her head.

‘
I can
’
t help worrying,
’
she insisted.
‘
I saw his face, Aunt Jessie, please—
’

‘
Now there
’
s no point in getting upset about it,
’
Jessie told her firmly but kindly, brushing back the dishevelment of red hair from her forehead.
‘
Your grandpa was wrong, of course, it can
’
t possibly
be
Simon, we know that, but who he is I don
’
t know.
’
She smiled ruefully.
‘
Frankly, darling, I wish I did.
’

‘
But it
was
him,
’
Louise insisted, knowing she was talking nonsense, but yearning to be convinced.
‘
You never saw Simon, Aunt Jessie. Grandpa did.
’

‘
Darling, that
’
s just silly,
’
Jessie told her firmly.
‘
It
’
s easy enough for two people to look alike, heaven knows. My father looked exactly like Grandfather
Kincaid and your nice Mr. Darrell looks like both of them. It often happens, dear, don
’
t let yourself get fanciful about it and don
’
t worry.
’

Louise frowned over the reference to
‘
your nice Mr. Darrell
’
, but there was something reassuringly practical about Aunt Jessie and she relaxed a little. It could not possibly
be
Simon, of course, but that somehow only made it seem more discomfiting.
‘
I
’
m sorry,
’
she said with a wry smile,
‘
but I do wish I knew who he was.
’

‘
I had very little opportunity of finding out, dear,
’
Jessie Ross told her, smiling faintly.
‘
Mr. Darrell scooped you up as soon as you fainted and brought you up here. I think he was afraid you
’
d come round and have hysterics or something.
’
Which was probably exactly what he would think, Louise thought wryly.
‘
I volunteered to be nurse,
’
Aunt Jessie went on,
‘
and I
’
ve been with you ever since, so I really know nothing about the man and I must admit I
’
m horribly curious.
’

‘
I was an idiot to faint like that,
’
Louise admitted,
‘
but I saw him from the stairs window, he was there in the patch of light it makes and I could see his face.
’
She shivered at the memory of it.
‘
It was
his
eyes, Aunt Jessie, just as I remember them—that
’
s what frightened me so much.
’

‘
Well, I
’
m quite sure there
’
s no need to be afraid of the poor man,
’
Aunt Jessie told her practically,
‘
whoever he is.
’

Louise looked at her wistfully, knowing Aunt Jessie would welcome the opportunity of satisfying her own curiosity.
‘
I
’
d love to know who he is, Aunt Jessie,
’
she said.
‘
Could you—
’

‘
Of course, dear.
’
Jessie got up from the edge of the bed.
‘
I
’
ll go down and see if he
’
s recovered yet, and if anyone knows who he is.
’
She stood for a moment beside the bed, looking down at Louise with her dark eyes kindly but glinting curiosity.
‘
It
was
Jon you called out as you came downstairs, wasn
’
t it?
’
she asked in her deep, soft voice.
‘
I told Stephen I was sure I was right, but he wouldn
’
t have it.
’
He wouldn
’
t, Louise thought ruefully, and sighed inwardly over the possible consequences of her impulsive cry for help.

‘
I—I
’
m not sure who I called for,
’
she demurred, her lashes hiding the expression in her eyes. It would not only be Stephen who was curious to know why she had called the name she did, she thought, but Jonathan Darrell too.

‘
Oh, it was Mr. Darrell all right,
’
Jessie Ross assured her blithely.
‘
I heard you quite plainly, dear. Anyway,
’
she walked to the door,
‘
I should get into bed if I were you, Louise. No one will expect to see you downstairs again tonight and the sleep will do you good.
’

‘
I shan
’
t sleep until you come back and tell me who that man is,
’
Louise told her,
‘
but I will get into bed. I
’
m very tired and I don
’
t think anyone will mind in the circumstances.
’

She undressed slowly, her mind only half on what she was doing, and she was sitting curled up in bed when Aunt Jessie returned, her knees hugged to her, her chin resting on the resultant hump as she gazed into the distance dreamily.

She looked up sharply when the door opened again and Jessie Ross smiled, a little uncertainly, Louise thought.
‘
You
’
ll be glad to know he
’
s not hurt,
’
Aunt Jessie began.
‘
He
’
s cold and a little exhausted from climbing up that hill, but we can be thankful it
’
s no worse.
’

‘I’m
glad,
’
Louise declared, waiting for the news she feared so much.
‘
Now please—who is he?
’
Seeing her mood, Jessie came straight to the point.
‘
His name
is
Dupont,
’
she told her,
‘
Henri Dupont
—
he
’
s Simon
’
s brother.
’

Louise stared at her for a moment, unable to grasp the truth of it.
‘
His brother? I don
’
t understand. What
’
s he doing here, on Berren
?’

Aunt Jessie shook her head.
‘
He says he wants to see you, dear, though I can
’
t imagine what for after all this time. Apparently he
’
s been staying with one of the families in the village since last Monday.
’

‘
A week ago!
’
Louise exclaimed.
‘
Why on earth has he waited all this time, and why come up here at this time of night
?’

‘
If you remember,
’
Jessie pointed out,
‘
it started snowing during Monday night and it hasn
’
t stopped since until today. Maybe he wanted to get up here without being seen and that
’
s why he came at night, though frankly, dear, I
’
m rather confused by the whole thing.
’

‘
Where is he now
?’

‘
Still downstairs in the sitting-room at the moment,
’
Aunt Jessie told her,
‘
but I understand it
’
s been agreed that he should stay in the spare bed in William
’
s room until morning. We can
’
t very well send him down that hill again in the dark, dear, can we, whoever he is
?’

‘
No, of course not.
’
It would be a strange feeling, Louise thought, to have Simon
’
s brother sleeping under the same roof, and not one guaranteed to make her rest easily.

Aunt Jessie left her alone and she tried to sleep, but found it impossible, for there was far too much on her mind Essie, she guessed, would be up to bed before too late and she hoped the other girl would not want to discuss the man and his dramatic arrival.

For a long; time she lay and stared at the ceiling, the lamp still alight beside her bed, casting a soft glow over the room, flattering in its softness. Despairing, at last, of finding sleep, she got out of bed and picked up a hairbrush on the dressing-table, finding the soothing regularity of the strokes almost hypnotic.

She was still engrossed in her task when she heard a faint tap on the door and started almost guiltily, then realised with a smile that it
was probably only Essie being d
iscreet in case there was someone with her still.

She smiled a ready greeting at the reflection of the door in the mirror and called,
‘
Come in
!’
blinking in surprise a second later when she saw who her visitor was.

He looked almost as surprised as she did to see her standing there, and she reached back towards the bed hastily for the robe that was draped across the foot of it.
‘
Are you decent?
’
he asked, his voice low as if he feared to be overheard, and she nodded.

‘
I—I thought it was Essie,
’
she explained,
‘
or I wouldn
’
t have called come in as I did.
’

‘
Well, don
’
t panic,
’
he urged, apparently untroubled by the situation.
‘
I only came to see how you were.
’

‘
I
’
m much better, thank you.
’
She still stood before the mirror, hating the flush that
wa
rm
ed
her cheeks and thankful for the dim lighting that made it less
obvious.
‘I’m
sorry I made an exhibition of myself
.’

He dismissed the explanation with an airy wave of a hand.
‘
Not to worry
,’
he told her,
‘
it
’
s a feminine prerogative to throw a touch of the vapours in times of stress.
’
He smiled, that dangerously attractive slow smile, and came further into the room so that she found herself holding the thin robe almost defensively against her, her eyes wide and vulnerable as a child
’
s.