She Fell Among Thieves Page 3

  My hostess turned to Acorn.

  ‘And what do you think?’

  ‘My opinion is valueless, madam.’

  ‘True,’ said Vanity Fair, and turned to the priest.

  The chaplain blew out his cheeks.

  ‘The man is expert,’ he said. ‘He mended my braces admirably.’

  Before we could laugh –

  ‘That’s really why I engaged him,’ flashed Vanity Fair. ‘And I very much want him to look at your spinal cord. I know that’s out of alignment. Bent at birth, I should say. Have some more trout, Mr Chandos. I’m going to take another and miss the meat.’

  The meal proceeded.

  Hare after hare was started by Vanity Fair, and though I was spared, the efforts of the others to course it were derided with merciless wit. She simply dug the pit-falls and then kicked her victims in, omitting no circumstances of insult, yet all the time displaying the utmost good will. It was an extraordinary business. Here was a queen usurping the functions of court-jester, and doing his job far better because her wit was so rare. In a way it was rather shameful, because, except for Gaston, her victims could hardly hit back, but with it all, she was gracious, and, though bad form is offensive, she never once offended my eyes or ears.

  Presently she returned to Mansel.

  ‘I pay Wright five pounds a week. Does anyone think he’s worth it?’

  ‘Jean doesn’t like him,’ said Gaston.

  ‘That’s in his favour. Jean is a lazy fool, who would be a knave. His efforts to rob me are really beneath contempt. Anything else?’

  ‘He minds his own business,’ said Virginia.

  ‘Which shows that you don’t,’ said her mother. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘From Suzanne,’ said the girl. ‘He never opens his mouth in the servants’ hall.’

  ‘He can’t talk French,’ said Gaston.

  ‘What of that?’ said Vanity Fair. ‘More than one of the staff can speak English. I don’t suppose he’s ashamed of his mother tongue.’

  ‘I’m not,’ cried Gaston, furiously.

  ‘Then why be so painfully English?’ said Vanity Fair. ‘Anywhere outside Paris they’d know you were French.’ She turned to me. ‘Would you be content to speak French as he speaks English?’

  ‘I should be very thankful,’ said I.

  This was true. His grammar was very sound.

  ‘I said “content”, Mr Chandos,’ said Vanity Fair.

  ‘Yes,’ I said stoutly, ‘I would.’

  ‘Liar,’ says she. ‘And don’t try to save his face. He knows how to do it a great deal better than you. Where did you see Wright last?’

  The shock could not have been greater, if she had picked up a hammer and hit me between the eyes.

  I seemed to hear Mansel speaking.

  Both our lives may depend on your never having seen him before.

  It was too late now. She had a sow by the ear. Unless I could make it the wrong one…

  My brain was out of action, but instinct caught up the reins.

  I heard myself make answer.

  ‘At a village in Wales. I’ve been trying to remember ever since I saw his face: and now you’ve jogged my memory.’ I put a hand to my eyes. ‘I stopped there one evening for petrol and he was standing close to the petrol-pump. I remember he helped the mechanic to get the top off my tank.’

  ‘Was your servant with you?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘I was alone,’ I said. ‘It must be two years ago.’

  ‘What was the name of the village?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said I. ‘I was going north from Brecknock.’

  ‘Was he a chauffeur then?’

  I opened my eyes.

  ‘Certainly,’ said I. ‘He was wearing a chauffeur’s clothes. I don’t remember any car.’

  ‘Did Wright know you?’

  ‘No,’ said I. ‘I asked him. I told him I was certain I’d seen him before. But he didn’t seem to know me. I’ll try him again tomorrow.’

  ‘Don’t do that. Let him be.’

  ‘As you please,’ said I. ‘But how on earth did you guess that I’d seen him before?’

  Vanity Fair vouchsafed me a dazzling smile.

  ‘There are more things in Jezreel, Mr Chandos, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’

  If I laughed, it was not in my heart. Indeed, I was at my wit’s end, for I knew as well as did she that the instant dinner was over, Vanity Fair was going to send for Mansel to check the truth of my words. Unless, before he was summoned, Mansel could be apprised of what I had said, Vanity Fair was going to catch him clean out.

  As a man in a dream, I helped myself to some dish.

  Mansel would have saved the game somehow, but I was beaten and hopeless and could only dwell upon the ruin which I had wrought.

  And then a merciful Fate played into my hands.

  As a servant made to offer me gravy, Virginia bounced in her stall and touched his arm. The boat slipped off the salver and into my lap.

  The confusion that followed was hideous.

  The unfortunate servant was trembling: Virginia screamed her dismay: the butler came running with napkins: and Vanity Fair sat glowering in a silence far more scathing than any words.

  ‘It was nobody’s fault,’ said I: ‘but if you’ll excuse me, I think I must go and change.’

  With my thighs still smoking, I hurried out of the room…

  Bell, as luck would have it, was in my suite.

  As I tore off my clothes –

  ‘Run some water,’ I said, ‘and lay out clean things.’

  Then I seized a pencil and paper and scrawled a note, reciting exactly the tale I had told to Vanity Fair.

  Bell was ready and waiting before I had done.

  As I folded the paper –

  ‘Find Captain Mansel at once. Ask him for a gallon of petrol in which you can souse my clothes. And give him this note: it’s vital: and he’s to read it at once.’

  Though I made what haste I could, Bell was back with the spirit before I had done.

  ‘All right?’ said I.

  ‘Quite all right, sir.’

  I could have thrown up my hat.

  Some pudding was being served, as I entered the dining-room…

  I found the atmosphere sultry. Virginia was halfway to tears, and Vanity Fair was plainly seething with wrath. But I was exalted. I could, I think, have moved mountains, and after a little Vanity Fair was laughing and Virginia had asked me to use her Christian name.

  And then the meal was over, and the ladies rose to their feet.

  ‘Don’t sit too long,’ said my hostess. ‘My daughter has no use for women: neither have I.’ She turned to the door. As she passed the butler, ‘It may be too late,’ she said, ‘but I want to see Wright.’

  Of such, and worse, was the kingdom of Vanity Fair. She despised and mistrusted her fellows: to declare such scorn and suspicion was her delight: in her eyes of steel, tails were made to be twisted and necks, if need be, to be wrung: she was a ruffler born, whose swordsmanship was so brilliant that no one dared call her out: she revelled in intrigue: power was the breath of her life: she was fearless, unconscionable, charming and deadly shrewd: she would go all lengths – for a whim: to herself, as to everyone else, her will was law. The woman was mediaeval – born out of time: and she kept to herself at Jezreel because the days were modern and she could not do as she pleased without her gates. This limitation must have vexed her – Catharine de Medici cooped in a market-town: still even small fry can be hustled and teased and watched: for want of a duchy to harass and towns to sack, Vanity Fair was playing a game of chess – against herself, of course: her household made her the men, and the board was Jezreel. And now, for the very first time, somebody else had taken a hand in the game…

  I wondered how long it would be before she found out that she was being opposed. It occurred to me with a shock that she must never find out. If she did…

  As I switched out my l
ight, some clock chimed half-past eleven. As though inspired by its music, an owl cried twice.

  I lay back on my pillows, thinking.

  She must not find out…

  She almost had found out about three hours ago…

  I wondered what Mansel was thinking. I wished he could have been there at dinner, to see for himself how damnably clever she was…the infinite pains she had taken to put me at ease, to appoint me her gossip to dip in the dish of her gibes…and then, without any warning, the point at my throat…

  I lay there, wakeful and pensive, savouring the fine, sweet air with which the great chamber was quick. Now and again a wandering breath would flicker about my temples or flirt with the crimson valance above my head; but these were outlaw zephyrs, for all the winds were still. Somewhere without, a sluice was roaring gently, like Bottom’s sucking-dove.

  As I turned at length to my slumber, I heard the clock chime again.

  A quarter to twelve.

  And then I was sitting upright, and every nerve in my body had leapt to life – for again, when the chime was over, some owl had cried twice. And that was not natural.

  On my knees at an open window, I studied the night.

  The scene was memorable. A fine moon sailed in the sky, to fill the valley with magic and lend the mountains a standing not to be found by day: my eyes were no longer masters of what they saw: Mystery, orbed and sceptred, was holding her shining court, and all things, high and low, were wearing her levée dress: the stage was black with witchcraft: enchantment was in the air.

  And something else.

  After, perhaps, five minutes, I saw a definite movement…down in the meadows…some seventy yards from the foot of the terrace steps. With my eyes on the spot, I waited, but not for long. Again I saw the movement, nearer the house. Someone was stealthily approaching, passing from shadow to shadow, so as to move unseen.

  At the last I saw him plainly, a giant of a man, with the stride of one that spends his life in the mountains and on his feet. Then the wall of the terrace hid him, and I saw his figure no more.

  Had I been a guest at Jezreel, and nothing more, I should, I suppose, have gone to seek some servant and tell him what I had seen: it would, of course, have been my duty – to Vanity Fair. But I was more than a guest, and if thieves were to break in and steal, it was no business of mine. What was more, I was very sure that the man I had seen was no thief, but that he had announced his presence – by using the cry of an owl…that he was, in short, one of the pieces upon the board of Jezreel.

  For more than an hour I watched, but he never came back: and though I would have waited, the strong air fought against me, and after a while I knew that I could not trust my eyes.

  And so I went to my bed – to sleep the sun into the sky.

  A wail of horror woke me at seven o’clock – a French servant’s declaration of terrible news. As I rushed to a window, I heard him running on the terrace, mouthing his consternation, and calling upon his God.

  The poor man was hardly to blame. His duty was to open the shutters, not to remove the dead.

  Asprawl on the flags of the terrace was lying the body of a girl, flat on its face. Her pitiful arms were outstretched and a leg was drawn up. She was wearing no clothing at all, and her hair was fair.

  2

  I am Treated as I Deserve

  I ripped a sheet from the bed and ran downstairs: but Mansel was there before me, and two or three servants with him, trembling and peering and holding each other back.

  As Mansel laid down the head, I came up with my sheet, and the two of us covered the body without a word.

  Then –

  ‘I can’t speak French, sir,’ said Mansel; ‘will you tell them to find a stretcher or something like that? I mean, we can’t leave her here.’

  Someone thought of the leaf of a table, and this was brought. As Mansel and Bell were laying the body upon it, Acorn came, blowzed and bustling, to take my place.

  ‘Take her to the chapel,’ he said. ‘And lock the door, if you please, and bring me the key.’ As the bearers moved off, he addressed himself to me.

  ‘Mr Chandos, what do you know of this shocking affair?’

  I told him shortly enough.

  ‘What a dreadful business,’ he said. ‘To fall from a window like that! She’s only been here a week. Julie, her name was. Julie. A country girl. She was taken as kitchen-maid. Most respectable people, her parents.’ He sucked in his breath. ‘Madame de — will be most frightfully upset.’

  ‘Naturally enough,’ said I. ‘You think she fell from a window?’

  ‘That’s the report that was brought me.’ He stepped to the balustrade and peered at the house. Then he pointed up at a casement set in the steep-pitched roof. ‘I rather imagine,’ he said, ‘that that was her room. If she rose in the night and leaned out… They’re highly dangerous, these windows: the sills are so low.’

  ‘She was wearing no nightgown,’ I said. ‘The body was nude.’

  ‘That would be right,’ he said. ‘The people here wear no nightclothes of any kind.’

  Thoughtfully I withdrew to my suite…

  I had food for thought.

  I did not believe that Julie had fallen from her window – without any help. Indeed, I felt very sure that the man I had seen in the shadows had caused her death. And I had a dreadful feeling that, if the truth were known, Julie in some way or other had crossed the sinister path of Vanity Fair.

  The door of the bed-chamber opened and Bell came into the room.

  ‘A nice show, this,’ I said.

  ‘Shocking, sir,’ said Bell. ‘They say she was only sixteen.’

  I told him of the man in the meadows.

  ‘Tell Captain Mansel,’ I said. ‘Not a breath to anyone else. And ask him this. I suppose I shall be called at the inquest. Am I to mention this man?’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  As I was finishing dressing, Bell reappeared.

  ‘You’re to keep what you saw to yourself, sir, at any cost.’

  ‘Right,’ said I. ‘And the inquest?’

  ‘The Captain says there won’t be an inquest,’ said Bell.

  Brushes in hand, I regarded him.

  ‘No inquest?’ I said.

  ‘No, sir.’

  For an instant his eyes met mine: then he shrugged his shoulders and picked up my coat.

  I stepped to the window and stared at the mountains lifting their sunlit heads.

  There won’t be an inquest.

  I found the saying pregnant. If sudden, violent death was not to be probed, it looked very much as though Mansel had taken his life in his hand.

  (In fact, there was no inquest. So far as I know, the police were not even informed. Julie had died – and was buried the following day. Her father and mother were present, in deep distress. Their gratitude to her mistress was very touching: and when Vanity Fair, who received them, showed them a picture of the tombstone which she proposed to erect, the poor peasants were quite overwhelmed. The text to be cut upon the marble she chose herself. ‘Suffer little children to come unto me.’)

  At my hostess’ instance, that morning her daughter showed me the house. While the building itself was more curious than sightly, its contents were notable, and I cannot believe that anywhere else in the world were so many lovely pieces in everyday use. I cannot begin to describe them and what they must have been worth I cannot pretend to say, but I know that it seemed presumptuous to live and move in the midst of such precious things. We trod upon Persian carpets that famous museums would have been proud to hang up: we lifted arras that should have been under glass: we sat upon chairs which a king and his queen had honoured – there were the royal arms, which some tireless needle had blazoned four hundred years before. Statuary, paintings and tapestries argued the connoisseur of unlimited means: yet all was for use, not for show, and a clock that had come out of Strasburg in sixteen hundred and one, from whose case a different apostle appeared at each hour of the day, wa
s working perfectly. Several sedan-chairs were employed, of all things, as lampshades; on the floor of the one whose door Virginia opened was a powerful electric lamp, the light of which was projected on to the roof of the chair, and if, she explained, this radiance was not enough, the roof of the chair was opened to let the light on to the ceiling and make the hall or the chamber as bright as day. Of these chairs I counted eleven, all of them very fine: from what her daughter said, I gathered they were a weakness of Vanity Fair’s. ‘Mother loves them,’ she laughed. ‘She simply can’t resist a good-looking chair.’ I only once saw a cabinet-maker at work, but everything’s condition was perfect and all the rooms were open and beautifully kept.

  By the time we had done, I had a fair idea of the plan of the house and had learned how the household was lodged and which were the private quarters of Vanity Fair. Like that which I had been given, her suite was a ‘corner’ suite and lay at the opposite end of the south façade, commanding the valley on one hand, and on the other the mountains that soared to the west. In the midst of her suite, however, a tower rose up from the terrace, to pierce the floor above hers and then stand up by itself till its height diminished that of the steep-pitched roof: by using this tower I judged – and I later found I was right – access could be had to her suite from without and below and above, though the principal doors, which gave to the hall and the staircase, were shut and barred.

  There was no garden to see, for the countryside was the garden that graced Jezreel: and this I found so attractive that after lunch that day I proposed to go for a walk.

  ‘A long one,’ I said. ‘If you will excuse me, I won’t appear at tea.’

  ‘I told you Jezreel was dull,’ said Vanity Fair. ‘Where d’you propose to go?’

  ‘Right up the valley,’ I said. ‘I want to see the back of beyond.’

  ‘You won’t appear at dinner if you try to do that. When you get to the head of the valley, you’d better turn right. There you’ll find a path which will either break your heart or bring you into the road which leads to the Col de Fer. From what I’ve seen of you, I’ll back your heart, so a car shall be there to meet you from six o’clock on.’