Daughter of Deceit (23 page)

I felt a great relief. At least I was not entirely buried. Someone must come. But who? They would discover that the land had subsided. But how long could I stay here?

I perceived that it would be impossible to try to climb up. There was nothing but damp loose earth to cling to. Then I began to feel very frightened.

I heard something. A cry. “Help … help me …”

“Hello,” I said. “Hello.”

“Here … here …”

I recognized Lady Constance’s voice.

A thought flashed into my mind. It had happened to her. She had been going to call on Fiona, just as I had been. She would have taken the same path.

“Lady Constance,” I gasped.

“Noelle. Where … are you here?”

“I fell …”

“As I did. Can you move?”

“I … I’m afraid to. It might …”

I had no need to explain. She was in the same position as I was. At the moment we were safe … but how did we know whether the slightest movement might set the earth falling down on us, burying us alive?

My eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness. I appeared to be on some sort of stone floor. There was earth scattered all over it. I could see something dark … a shape moving slightly. It was Lady Constance.

“Can you move very slowly … this way?” I said. “We seem to be in some sort of cave. It’s lighter where I am. The hole is still above. I’m afraid to move because the earth round me is very loose. But there seems to be a sort of ceiling.”

She started to crawl slowly towards me. There was a sound of
falling earth. I held my breath. I was desperately afraid that the soil would fall in and bury us.

I said: “Wait … wait.”

She obeyed and all was quiet. I said: “Try again.”

She was close now. I could see her vaguely.

She put out a hand and touched my arm. I grasped her hand.

I could sense that her relief matched mine.

“What … what can we do?” she whispered.

“Perhaps they’ll come and rescue us,” I said.

She did not speak. “Are you all right?” I asked.

“My foot hurts. I’m glad you’re here. I shouldn’t be. But … it makes two of us.”

“I understand,” I said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

We were silent for a while, then she said: “This is the end of us perhaps.”

“I don’t know.”

“What can happen, then?”

“We’ll be missed. When Roderick comes back. Someone will come to look for us. We must keep very still. We must not disturb anything. When they miss us they’ll come to rescue us.”

“You’re trying to comfort me.”

“And myself.”

She laughed, and I laughed with her. It was quite mirthless laughter, a defence, perhaps, against fate.

“Strange,” she said, “that you and I should be here.”

“Very strange.”

“It’s good to talk, isn’t it? I feel so much better now. I thought I was going to die alone. I was very frightened.”

“It’s always good to share something, I suppose … even this.”

“It’s a help. Do you really think we shall get out of this?”

“I don’t know. I think we may have a chance. Someone might come along.”

“They might fall down with us.”

“They might see what has happened in time. They’d get help.”

“Should we call out?”

“Would they hear us?”

“If
we heard them, they might hear us. There’s a gap there. You can see the daylight.”

“While that’s there, there is hope.”

“You’re a sensible girl,” she said. “I’m afraid I haven’t been very good to you.”

“Oh … that’s all right. I understand.”

“You mean about Charlie and your mother?”

“Yes.”

We were silent for a few moments. She was still holding my hand. I think she was afraid something would happen to separate us. I, too, felt comforted by her closeness.

She said: “Let’s talk. I feel better talking. I know what happened about the bust.”

“The bust?”

“On the stairs. I know Gertie broke it and you took the blame.”

“How?”

“I was watching from the top landing. I saw the whole thing. Why did you do it?”

“Gertie was terrified of being sent away. She sends money home to her family. She was afraid you would dismiss her and wouldn’t give her a reference. It seemed the simplest thing to do.”

“I see. That was good of you.”

“It was nothing much. I was going away soon. It seemed better to let you think it was my fault.”

“How did you know all this about Gertie?”

“We talk. She tells me about her family.”

“You talk thus … to the servants?”

“I suppose that shocks you. I was brought up in a different way … where differences in class were not nearly so important as human relationships. People were people in our household, not servants and employers.”

“That was Desiree, was it?”

“Yes. She was like that. She was friendly with everyone.”

“And you take after her.”

“No. I’m afraid there was only one Desiree.”

Silence again. I thought it was a pity the subject of my mother should be brought up at a time like this.

But she was still holding my hand.

It was not good to be silent. It made us frighteningly conscious of our desperate plight.

“I had no idea that you knew about the bust,” I said.

“I was watchful.”

“Of me?”

“Yes, of you.”

“I was aware of it.”

“Were you? You gave no sign. I can’t tell you how glad I am that you fell down where I did. I’m a very selfish woman.”

“No … no. I understand. I am glad you are here.”

She laughed and moved closer to me.

“Strange, is it not? We must keep talking, mustn’t we? When we talk, fear seems to recede … but it’s there. I think we may be going to die.”

“I think there is a good possibility of rescue.”

“You say that to comfort me.”

“As I told you, I also say it to comfort myself.”

“Are you afraid of dying?”

“I had never thought of it till now. One seems to be born with the idea that one will go on forever. One can’t imagine a world without oneself.”

“That’s called egoism, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“So you have never had to be afraid until this happened?”

“That is so. I’m afraid now. I know that at any moment the earth can fall in and bury us.”

“We shall be buried together. Does that comfort you?”

“Yes, it does.”

“It comforts me, too. It is strange that I should draw comfort from you when I think how I resented your coming to Leverson.”

“I am sorry. I should never have come.”

“I’m glad you did now.”

I laughed. “Because if I had not, I could not have joined you here.”

“Yes … just that.” She laughed with me. Then she said: “Well, there is something more. We are in this strange position and down here we are getting to know each other more than we ever would in an atmosphere of security.”

“It is because we are facing possible death. That must draw people close.”

“Let’s go on talking,” she said.

“I am listening, too,” I said. “If we hear anything from above, we must be ready to call … to let them know we are here.”

“Yes. Could we hear them?”

“I don’t know. I think we might.”

“But let’s go on talking … softly. I can’t bear the silence.”

“Are you comfortable?”

“My foot hurts.”

“I expect you have strained something.”

“Yes. It’s a small thing when one may be facing death.”

“Don’t think of that.”

“I’ll try not to. You found my book of cuttings. You looked at them with Gertie.”

“I’m sorry. She called me in and when I saw … it was irresistible.”

“What did you think of it?”

“I thought it was very sad.”

“Why?”

“Because it told me how you must have felt through all those years.”

“I knew everything she was playing in … what they said about her. I understood it all. He was besotted about her.”

“Other people were, too.”

“She must have been a wonderful person.”

“To me she was the most wonderful person in the world.”

“A good mother, was she?”

“The best.”

“That seems unlikely. A woman like that! What would she know about bringing up children?”

“She knew about love.”

Silence again. I realized she was weeping quietly.

“Tell me more about her.”

So I told her. I told her how Dolly came with his plans and how they quarrelled and abused each other. I told her about all the dramas, the last-minute changes, the first-night nerves.

It was like a dream … sitting in a dark hole with Lady Constance, talking of my mother. But it helped me as it did her, and at that time we were overwhelmed with gratitude for the other simply for being there.

I thought: If we ever get out of here, we shall be friends. We can’t go back to our old relationship after this. Each of us has shown the other too much of our inner selves.

How strange it was that, in that nightmare situation from which we both feared we might never emerge alive, Lady Constance and I had become good friends.

I could just see from my watch that two hours had passed. We listened for some sound from above and heard nothing. I feared the coming of the night, for that would mean there was no hope of rescue till morning.

Roderick would return to the house. He would quickly learn that we were missing … both his mother and I. Where would he go to look for us? Could he possibly be led to this spot?

“How long have we been here?” asked Lady Constance.

“It is more than two hours since we found each other.”

“I was here before that. It seemed very long. That was the worst part.”

“It must have been more than an hour. I saw you leave the house. I knew where you were going, as you had said. It must have been shortly after you left when you fell.”

“To be down here … alone. That was terrible.”

“How lucky we were to land on this stone. I don’t know what it is. It seems like a sort of ledge. It’s very solid … and there’s the gap above it. That has saved us, I think. I wonder what it can be.”

“I should not like to have sat on soft earth. One would not feel safe.”

“That’s what I mean. We have been very lucky to strike this.”

“Let us hope our luck continues.”

She had to talk. She could not bear the silence. She told me about her early days in the grandeur of her ancestral home, where there was always a shortage of money. Charlie, of course, was very rich. Not quite on their level socially, but the family accepted that. He was so very helpful, and therefore a marriage was agreed on.

“But, you see, I loved Charlie,” she went on. “He was the kindest man I had ever known. He was so different from the others. I married Charlie because my family wished it, but I fell in love with him. More than anything, I wanted him to love me. He did … to a certain extent … but then, of course, there was Desiree.”

“I am sure she would have been upset if she had known she caused you suffering. She never wanted to hurt anybody. Life was a lighthearted affair to her. She had her men friends. It was very jolly. Do you understand?”

“It is not easy to. Charlie was my husband … and she had no husband.”

“My father died a long time ago. I never knew him.”

“I see. And after that she thought other people’s husbands were hers for the taking.”

“She never thought of it that way. She did not exactly
take
anyone. They came to her. They were all friends together. Life was to be enjoyed. That was her philosophy. She wanted to enjoy it, and everyone around her to do the same.”

“Never mind the heartbreak she caused.”

“She did not know of it. She would have sent Charlie back to you and told him to be a good husband if she had known.”

“But life is not like that. She must have been very beautiful.”

“She was, but she had more than beauty. Does it hurt you … to talk about all this?”

“I want to know. I can see her now more clearly than I ever did. I used to think of her as a wicked siren.”

“A siren … but never wicked. She would never have willingly hurt you. Sometimes I think that she let herself believe that everyone looked on life as she did. Listen …”

We were silent, straining our ears.

There was nothing.