Dorothy Eden (65 page)

“He said he knew something. I think he was coming up to tell me last night, but—he was stopped.” She had been going to say that Iris had stopped him, but she changed her mind. It was better for these as yet unfounded suspicions to be quite impersonal.

Bella’s mouth hung open slightly. She looked extraordinarily like a caught fish, red-eyed and gasping.

“He did the boots this morning,” she said at last. “He didn’t go down to the beach till daylight. At least they were done when I got up, so he must have done them before he went. If he’d have wanted to run away he’d have done it in the dark.”

“Then there’s no reason for his wanting to run away?”

Bella turned her head with a swift movement this way and that. Suddenly she clutched Antonia’s arm and whispered, “He had something. He found something and hid it and even I can’t find it now. I don’t know what—”

Her voice stopped abruptly as the door opened and Ralph Bealey came in with a glass in his hand.

“Oh, there you are, Antonia,” he said. His voice was genial. “Bella, I’ve been detailed to bring you this concoction with Mr. Mildmay’s compliments. It’ll make you sleep and in the morning that shocking rascal of yours will have turned up.”

Bella took the glass. She managed a dim smile. Her thin nostrils twitched at the odour of the liquor and already her eyes were glistening.

“Come along, Antonia, and get yours,” Ralph said. “It’s really surprisingly good. Simon shakes a clever cocktail. Crazy hour to drink it, of course, but the girls all say it’ll help to make them sleep.”

Antonia said good night to Bella and went with him. There was nothing else to do. It was infuriating that Ralph had interrupted Bella’s first confidence. Now she might never persuade the woman to talk again.

“I don’t think anything will make me sleep,” she said, going back into the dining-room.

“Really!” said Ralph. “Then I must give you some sleeping tablets. I have some with me. I’ll give you the bottle and you can take one if this drink doesn’t fix you.”

“What a good idea,” said Iris. “Antonia’s looking shockingly tired. But try Simon’s drink first, darling. It’s really frightfully potent.”

Simon handed her the glass from the top of the cocktail cabinet and lifted his own.

“Here’s mud in your eye,” he said dejectedly.

They were all drinking with the seriousness of alcoholics. Simon wordlessly lifted the shaker and indicated that he would refill any glasses. Iris suddenly held hers out.

“Damn that boy!” she declared. “I feel like getting drunk. One thing, whether he’s found or not, we all go in to see the floral procession and to the dance tomorrow night. We can’t go into mourning for Gussie’s pranks.”

Her hand as she lifted her glass was shaking slightly. She was more disturbed than she had admitted. She would feel that this was a bad omen for the success of her venture. People would remember. They would say about the Hilltop, “But wasn’t there a small boy who drowned there?” It was bad luck for Iris and Simon. It couldn’t mean anything else to them as they had had no affection for Gussie.

Antonia didn’t think that anyone had shared her feeling of horror as she had watched the little boats going out over the glittering sea, a horror that still clung to her. It appeared, however, that someone did share something at least of her feelings, for a few minutes later Dougal Conroy telephoned and asked to speak to her.

“You’re not alone?” he queried.

She could scarcely have been less alone. Simon had gone over to mutter and whisper to his birds who were too sleepy to respond. Joyce Halstead, in the dining-room, was talking in her loud voice, and Iris, her glass still in her hand, was moving restlessly about, always within hearing.

“No. I’m not. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s a bad thing about Gussie, isn’t it?”

“Awful. Dougal, do you think—”

“I’d hate to repeat what Mother thinks.” His voice had a way that nothing else had of giving her reassurance. “Actually, it doesn’t look too good. He was a reckless little creature. It looks as if he’s slipped, or something. The police are checking every avenue. How are things up there?”

“Oh—not very happy. We’re all having a new cocktail Simon’s mixed. Why don’t you come up and have one?”

“I think not tonight. You won’t forget that appointment in the morning, will you?”

“Certainly not.” She wanted to add that she was extremely curious about it, but again Iris was in her vicinity and something made her hold her tongue.

“Good. There’s nothing more can be done tonight. You’d better get to bed.”

“Dougal, it was nice of you to ring.”

“Oh, never mind that.” She could visualise the slight embarrassment in his eyes. Suddenly she felt light-hearted and cheerful. That cocktail of Simon’s was potent.

“How’s the fox?”

“Well—not chicken-stealing, anyway.”

“Good night, Dougal.”

“Good night. Oh, by the way.”

“Yes?”

He lowered his voice. Probably his mother or sharp-eared giggling Ethel was in earshot.

“I’d lock my door tonight if I were you.”

“Dougal!” She couldn’t keep the astonishment out of her voice. And now it was intolerable that she couldn’t ask him what he meant.

“It’s probably foolishness on my part,” she heard him saying in his slightly embarrassed voice. “But do it, please.”

That was why he had rung her. All the other polite chatter had led up to it. Antonia found it both comforting and disturbing to know that he shared her vague suspicions and fears. She intended to obey him religiously. As a matter of fact, it would add greatly to her peace of mind if her door were locked. Especially since Simon’s cocktail seemed to have made her extraordinarily sleepy and she wanted to tumble into her bed and completely relax.

She was not allowed to do this, however. She was scarcely undressed before there was a tap on the door and the knob was tried.

“Antonia,” called Iris’s voice. “You’ve locked your door, darling. Are you as nervous as that?”

Antonia hurriedly turned the key and let Iris in. Iris’s cheeks were flushed and she looked very slightly intoxicated.

“I’m sorry. I just thought—”

“I know, darling. Don’t bother to explain. You feel safer that way. Well, I’m sure I do, too. The thought of you tumbling down the stairs breaking your neck gives me the horrors.”

“Iris, once and for all, I do
not
sleep-walk.”

Iris looked at her with slightly glazed eyes.

“Then explain to me, will you, what you have been up to.”

“Explain to you!” Antonia exclaimed heatedly.
“You
explain to me why that seaweed was on the stairs the other night, why the telephone rang, why someone cried in the room in the other wing, why the light went out when I knocked, and why I found that grey hair. And why Gussie knew something he wanted to tell.”

Iris’s eyes were open wide.

“Antonia!” she said in shocked tones. “But, darling, you’re suffering from hallucinations. Really you are. You must have a consultation with Ralph tomorrow. I insist. You can see him here or at his rooms.”

“Isn’t it a little odd,” Antonia began (she was trying to speak with great distinctness, but it was difficult because she was so extraordinarily sleepy), “that Doctor Bealey who you insist is such a brilliant doctor and likely to notice any peculiarity about a person should want to marry me if I suffer from hallucinations.” She paused. “I’m sure sanity would be the first thing a doctor would want in a wife.”

She lifted her heavy eyelids with her fingers and held them, her fingers spread over her hot forehead. Iris was standing quite still, her mouth open as if she had begun to say something in unbelief. Antonia was aware that this should have been significant, but couldn’t think why.

“Did Ralph—ask you to marry him?” she finally said.

“Yes, in an awful place up on the top of a hill. The wind howling round. I refused, of course.”

“You refused?”

“Indeed, I did. Why, I don’t even know him, much less feel that way about him. As a matter of fact,” she finished confidentially, “I find him rather repellent. Don’t you?”

Iris didn’t answer for a while. Her eyes were glittering again as if this information had made her throw off the effects of Simon’s drink. There was a look of intolerable excitement in her eyes.

“Repellent,” she said at last, slowly. “Well - it’s a matter of taste. Actually, darling, I think you were wise.”

“I know I was.” Antonia sat on the edge of the bed. “Lord, that was some drink of Simon’s, or else I’m allergic to that particular mixture. Do you mind if I go to sleep?”

Iris gave a little high laugh.

“Well, how funny, and I’ve brought you Ralph’s sleeping pills. Look, I’ll just put them beside your bed in any case. Good night, darling. And by all means lock your door if it makes you feel safer.”

Lock your door, Antonia thought tiredly. Yes, Dougal had told her to. She must do what Dougal asked. That was the one important thing in this whole crazy business.

She turned the key again and went back to bed. It seemed she had hardly switched off the light before she was asleep.

Someone was rapping at her door and calling, “Antonia! Wake up and open the door! You’re wanted on the telephone!”

Antonia opened her eyes and shook her head muzzily. Telephone—that was a danger signal. It was a trick. Someone would lure her out somewhere, or she would fall down the stairs.

“Antonia!” called Iris. “Dougal Conroy wants to speak to you. It’s after eleven o’clock.”

Antonia shot upright. For a moment her head throbbed as if it would burst. Then it settled down into a dull perplexing ache. After eleven o’clock, Iris had said. But how could she have slept so long?

“Antonia, are you all right?” There seemed to be alarm in Iris’s voice. Then Antonia could hear the rumble of Simon’s voice. She got out of bed, dragged on a wrap and walking rather dizzily to the door turned the key.

“I must have overslept,” she said. It was clear that Iris had spoken the truth for it was broad daylight.

“You certainly have,” said Iris. “I said you weren’t to be disturbed, but I didn’t know you had this appointment with Dougal at eleven. Run down and speak to him. He sounds in a bit of a flap.”

That was true. Antonia had never heard Dougal so agitated.

“I say, are you all right?”

“Of course I am.” She rubbed her hand over her eyes, trying to clear her vision. “At least, I’ve slept far too long and feel like nothing on earth. But I’m all right.”

His voice came back in deep indignation. “Good grief! Do you mean to say I’ve been sitting here worrying like hell as to what has happened to you and you’ve merely slept in.”

His indignation roused her more than anything else. She could imagine him sitting there with his blue fierce eyes and his ruffled hair and she began to smile.

“I’m terribly sorry. I can’t think how I came to sleep like that.”

“You didn’t take anything, did you?”

“No. They gave me sleeping pills but I didn’t need any. It must have been that cocktail of Simon’s. I thought I had a better head for liquor.” Abruptly her memory was returning. “Is there any news of Gussie?”

“Not yet. Do you mean to say you don’t know that, either?”

“I haven’t had time to find out.” She added pityingly, “Poor Bella.”

“Never mind Bella now,” he said rather callously. “When can you get in to see me?”

“A little later. When I wake up properly.”

“Antonia!” came Iris’s voice from behind her. “Don’t make another appointment with Dougal yet. We’re all having early lunch and going in to see the procession. Dougal will have to wait till tomorrow.”

“Sorry,” said Antonia into the telephone, “I was just listening to Iris. We seem to be getting ready to go to the procession.”

“And then there’s the dance tonight,” went on Iris. “You won’t have time to see Dougal today. Make your appointment for this time tomorrow. I’ll see you get there.”

Iris had come into the hall and was standing near the bird cage with Ptolemy in her arms. She had on a yellow linen dress. The white cat against her breast and the colour of her dress and her smooth pale hair made her seem cool and pure and a little remote.

“Tomorrow morning, Dougal,” said Antonia, a little hypnotically. There was something about the heaviness of her head and the confusing voices that made her unable to think at all.

“I’d rather—” Dougal’s voice was suddenly drowned by an uproar behind her. Ptolemy had sprung out of Iris’s arms and made a leap at the bird cage. The wires vibrated from his impact and the birds flew about, twittering madly.

“I can’t hear a thing,” shouted Antonia into the telephone. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Simon, hearing the noise, had come rushing into the hall.

“Now, it’s all right, Simon,” Iris insisted. “There isn’t a bird hurt. If anyone’s hurt it’s Ptolemy, the poor sweet silly.”

“—today,” Antonia thought she heard Dougal saying.

“I’ll ring you again,” she told him. “There’s too much noise going on here.”

She hung up and turned to see Simon, red-faced and anxious, poking his thick finger through the wires of the cage and twittering soothingly to the ruffled birds.

“Now, darling, don’t be so fussed,” said Iris impatiently.

“But it’s bad for them. They shouldn’t be frightened like that. Look, even Johnnie won’t come on my finger now. You’ve got him too nervous.”

“I!” Iris said indignantly. “Why, I’m doing my best to keep the peace. I tell you, Ptolemy will learn he can’t get them and then he’ll leave them alone.” She put her slim arm across Simon’s broad back. “Don’t be such a big silly!”

But Simon sulked. He took no notice of her. He whispered, “Pretty boy! Pretty boy!” and tried to entice the wary yellow bird on to his finger.

Iris followed Antonia out of the hall.

“I’ve asked Bella to make coffee for you, darling,” she said. “Isn’t Simon a baby! Really! Oh, what did you arrange with Dougal?”

“What you suggested. Tomorrow morning.”

“Ah, good. Does he want to give you some money or something?”

“I don’t know why he wants me.”

“Well, it will keep until tomorrow. You know Gussie hasn’t turned up yet, don’t you. I’ve told Bella to go off for a few days, but she says she has nowhere to go, poor soul.”