Endless Night (12 page)

“I'm sorry you've had this trouble. She's a very old woman and she may be getting tiresome. We've never had much real trouble with her up to now. I'll speak to her and tell her to lay off.”

“If you would,” I said.

He hesitated a minute and then said:

“I don't like to suggest things—but as far as you know, Mr. Rogers, is there anyone around here who might—perhaps for some trivial cause—have it in for you or your wife?”

“I should think it most unlikely. Why?”

“Old Mrs. Lee has been flush of money lately—I don't know where it's coming from—”

“What are you suggesting?”

“It could be someone is paying her—someone who wants you out of here. There was an incident—a good many years ago. She took money from someone in the village—to frighten a neighbour away. Doing this same sort of stuff—threats—warnings—evil eye business—Village people are superstitious. You'd be surprised at the number of villages in England that have got their private witch, so to speak. She got a warning then and so far as I know she's never tried it on since—but it could be like that. She's fond of money—they'll do a lot for money—”

But I couldn't accept that idea. I pointed out to Keene that we were complete strangers here. “We've not had time to make enemies,” I said.

I walked back to the house worried and perplexed. As I turned the corner of the terrace, I heard the faint sound of Ellie's guitar, and a tall figure, who had been standing by the window looking in, wheeled round and came towards me. For a moment I thought it was a gipsy, then I relaxed as I recognized Santonix.

“Oh,” I said with a slight gasp, “it's you. Where have you sprung from? We've not heard from you for ages.”

He didn't answer me directly. He just caught my arm and drew me away from the window.

“So she's here!” he said. “I'm not surprised. I thought she'd come sooner or later. Why did you let her? She's dangerous. You ought to know that.”

“You mean Ellie?”

“No, no, not Ellie. The other one! What's her name? Greta?”

I stared at him.

“Do you know what Greta's like or don't you? She's
come,
hasn't she? Taken possession! You won't get rid of her now. She's come to
stay.
”

“Ellie sprained her ankle,” I said. “Greta came to look after her. She's—I suppose she's going soon.”

“You don't know anything of the kind. She always meant to come. I knew that. I took her measure when she came down while the house was building.”

“Ellie seems to want her,” I muttered.

“Oh yes, she's been with Ellie some time, hasn't she? She knows how to manage Ellie.”

That was what Lippincott had said. I'd seen for myself lately how true it was.

“Do you want her here, Mike?”

“I can't throw her out of the house,” I said irritably. “She's Ellie's old friend. Her best friend. What the hell can I do about it?”

“No,” said Santonix, “I suppose you can't do anything, can you?”

He looked at me. It was a very strange glance. Santonix was a strange man. You never knew what his words really meant.

“Do you know where you're going, Mike?” he said. “Have you any idea? Sometimes I don't think you know anything at all.”

“Of course I know,” I said. “I'm doing what I want to. I'm going where I wanted.”

“Are you? I wonder. I wonder if you really know what you want yourself. I'm afraid for you with Greta. She's stronger than you are, you know.”

“I don't see how you make that out. It isn't a question of strength.”

“Isn't it? I think it is. She's the strong kind, the kind that always gets her way. You didn't mean to have her here. That's what you said. But here she is, and I've been watching them. She and Ellie sitting together, at home together, chattering and settled in. What are
you,
Mike? The outsider? Or aren't you an outsider?”

“You're crazy, the things you say. What do you mean—I'm an outsider? I'm Ellie's husband, aren't I?”

“
Are
you Ellie's husband or is Ellie
your
wife?”

“You're daft,” I said. “What's the difference?”

He sighed. Suddenly, his shoulders sagged as though vigour went out of him.

“I can't reach you,” said Santonix. “I can't make you hear me. I can't make you understand. Sometimes I think you do understand, sometimes I think you don't know anything at all about yourself or anyone else.”

“Look here,” I said, “I'll take so much from you, Santonix. You're a wonderful architect—but—”

His face changed in the queer way it had.

“Yes,” he said, “I'm a good architect. This house is the best
thing I have done. I'm as near as possible satisfied with it. You wanted a house like this. And Ellie wanted a house like this, too, to live in with you. She's got it and you've got it. Send that other woman away, Mike, before it's too late.”

“How can I upset Ellie?”

“That woman's got you where she wants you,” said Santonix.

“Look here,” I said, “I don't like Greta. She gets on my nerves. The other day I even had a frightful row with her. But none of it's as simple as you think.”

“No, it won't be simple with her.”

“Whoever called this place Gipsy's Acre and said it had a curse on it may have had something,” I said angrily. “We've got gipsies who jump out from behind trees and shake fists at us and warn us that if we don't get out of here, some awful fate will happen to us.
This place that ought to be good and beautiful.
”

They were queer words to say, those last ones. I said them as though it was somebody else saying them.

“Yes, it should be like that,” said Santonix. “It should be. But it can't be, can it, if there is something evil possessing it?”

“You don't believe, surely, in—”

“There are many queer things I believe…I know something about evil. Don't you realize, haven't you often felt, that
I
am partly evil myself? Always have been. That's why I know when it's near me, although I don't always know exactly where it is…
I want the house I built purged of evil.
You understand that?” His tone was menacing. “You understand that? It matters to me.”

Then his whole manner changed.

“Come on,” he said, “don't let's talk a lot of nonsense. Let's come in and see Ellie.”

So we went in through the window and Ellie greeted Santonix with enormous pleasure.

Santonix showed all his normal manner that evening. There were no more histrionics, he was his own self, charming, lighthearted. He talked mostly to Greta, giving her as it were the special benefit of his charm. And he had a lot of charm. Anyone would have sworn that he was impressed by her, that he liked her, that he was anxious to please her. It made me feel that Santonix was really a dangerous man, there was a great deal more to him than I had ever glimpsed.

Greta always responded to admiration. She showed herself at her best. She could on occasion dim her beauty or else reveal it and tonight she looked as beautiful as I'd ever seen her. Smiling at Santonix, listening to him as though spellbound. I wondered what lay behind his manner. You never knew with Santonix. Ellie said she hoped he was staying for several days but he shook his head. He had to leave on the following day, he said.

“Are you building something now, are you busy?”

He said no, he'd just come out of hospital.

“They've patched me up once more,” he said, “but it's probably for the last time.”

“Patched you up? What do they do to you?”

“Drain the bad blood out of my body and put some good, fresh red blood in,” he said.

“Oh.” Ellie gave a little shudder.

“Don't worry,” said Santonix, “it will never happen to you.”

“But why has it got to happen to you?” said Ellie. “It's cruel.”

“Not cruel, no,” said Santonix. “I heard what you were singing just now.

“I go safely because I know why I'm here. And for you, Ellie:

“That's
you.
”

“I wish I could feel safe,” said Ellie.

“Don't you feel safe?”

“I don't like to be threatened,” said Ellie. “I don't like anyone to put a curse on me.”

“You're talking about your gipsy?”

“Yes.”

“Forget it,” said Santonix. “Forget it for tonight. Let's be happy. Ellie—your health—Long life to you—and a quick and merciful end to me—and good luck to Mike here—” He stopped, his glass raised towards Greta.

“Yes?” said Greta. “And to me?”

“And to you, what's coming to you! Success, perhaps?” he added, half quizzically with an ironic question in his tone.

He went away next morning early.

“What a strange man he is,” Ellie said. “I've never understood him.”

“I never understand half of what he says,” I answered.

“He knows things,” said Ellie thoughtfully.

“You mean he knows the future?”

“No,” said Ellie, “I didn't mean that. He knows people. I said it to you once before. He knows people better than they know themselves. Sometimes he hates them because of that, and sometimes he's sorry for them. He's not sorry for me, though,” she added meditatively.

“Why should he be?” I demanded.

“Oh, because—” said Ellie.

I
t was the next day in the afternoon that as I was walking rather rapidly in the darkest part of the wood where the shade of the pine trees was more menacing than anywhere else, I saw the figure of a tall woman standing in the drive. I took a quick impulsive step off the path. I'd taken it for granted that she was our gipsy but I stopped in sudden recoil when I saw who it actually was. It was my mother. She stood there tall and grim and grey-haired.

“Good Lord,” I said, “you startled me, Mum. What are you doing here? Come to see us? We've asked you often enough, haven't we?”

We hadn't actually. I'd extended one rather lukewarm invitation, that was all. I'd put it, too, in a way which made it pretty sure that my mother wouldn't accept. I didn't want her here. I'd never wanted her here.

“You're right,” she said. “I've come to see you at last. To see all's well with you. So this is the grand house you've built, and it is a grand house,” she said, looking over my shoulder.

I thought I detected in her voice the disapproving acidity that I'd expected to find.

“Too grand for the likes of me, eh?” I said.

“I didn't say that, lad.”

“But you thought it.”

“It wasn't what you were born to, and no good comes from getting out of your station in life.”

“Nobody'd ever get anywhere if they listened to you.”

“Aye, I know that's what you say and think, but I don't know what good ambition's ever done to anybody. It's the kind of thing that turns to dead-sea fruit in your mouth.”

“Ah, for God's sake don't croak,” I said. “Come on. Come along up to see our grand house for yourself and turn up your nose at it. And come and see my grand wife, too, and turn up your nose at her if you dare.”

“Your wife? I've seen her already.”

“What do you mean, you've seen her already?” I demanded.

“So she didn't tell you, eh?”

“What?” I demanded.

“That she came to see me.”

“She came to see you?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Yes. There she was one day standing outside the door, ringing the bell and looking a little scared. She's a pretty lass and a sweet one for all the fine clothes she had on. She said, ‘You're Mike's mother, aren't you?' and I said, ‘Yes, and who are you?' and she said, ‘I'm his wife.' She said, ‘I had to come to see you. It didn't seem right that I shouldn't know Mike's mother…' And I said, ‘I bet
he
didn't want you to' and she hesitated, and I said: ‘You don't need to mind telling me that. I know my boy and I know what he'd
want or not want.' She said, ‘You think—perhaps he's ashamed of you because he and you are poor and I'm rich, but it isn't like that at all. That isn't like him at all. It isn't, really it isn't.' I said again, ‘You don't need to tell me, lass. I know what faults my boy has. That's not one of his faults. He's not ashamed of his mother and he's not ashamed of his beginnings.

“‘He's not ashamed of me,' I said to her. ‘He's
afraid
of me if anything. I know too much about him, you see.' And that seemed to amuse her. She said, ‘I expect mothers always feel like that—that they know all about their sons. And I expect sons always feel embarrassed just because of that!'

“I said in a way that might be true. When you're young, you're always putting on an act to the world. I mind myself, when I was a child in my auntie's house. On the wall over my bed there was a great big eye in a gilt frame. It said ‘Thou God seest me.' Gave me the creeps it did all up my spine before I went to sleep.”

“Ellie should have told me she'd been to see you,” I said. “I don't see why she should keep it such a secret. She should have told me.”

I was angry. I was very angry. I'd had no idea that Ellie would keep secrets like that from me.

“She was a little scared of what she'd done, maybe, but she'd no call to be frightened of you, my boy.”

“Come on,” I said, “come on and see our house.”

I don't know whether she liked our house or not. I think not. She looked round the rooms and raised her eyebrows and then she went into the terrace room. Ellie and Greta were sitting there. They'd just come in from outside and Greta had a scarlet wool cloak half over her shoulders. My mother looked at them both. She
just stood there for a moment as though rooted to the spot. Ellie jumped up and came forward and across the room.

“Oh, it's Mrs. Rogers,” she said, then turning to Greta, she said, “It's Mike's mother come to see our house and us. Isn't that nice? This is my friend Greta Andersen.”

And she held out both her hands and took Mum's and Mum looked hard at her and then looked over her shoulder at Greta very hard.

“I see,” she said to herself, “I see.”

“What do you see?” asked Ellie.

“I wondered,” said Mum. “I wondered what it would all be like here.” She looked round her. “Yes, it's a fine house. Fine curtains and fine chairs and fine pictures.”

“You must have some tea,” said Ellie.

“You look as if you've finished tea.”

“Tea's a thing that need never be finished,” said Ellie, then she said to Greta, “I won't ring the bell. Greta, will you go out to the kitchen and make a fresh pot of tea?”

“Of course, darling,” said Greta and went out of the room looking over her shoulder once in a sharp, almost scared way at my mother.

My mother sat down.

“Where's your luggage?” said Ellie. “Have you come to stay? I hope you have.”

“No, lass, I won't stay. I'm going back by train in half an hour's time. I just wanted to look in on you.” Then she added rather quickly, probably because she wished to get it out before Greta came back, “Now don't worry yourself, love, I told him how you came to see me and paid me a visit.”

“I'm sorry, Mike, that I didn't tell you,” said Ellie firmly, “only I thought perhaps I'd better not.”

“She came out of the kindness of her heart, she did,” said my mother. “She's a good girl you've married, Mike, and a pretty one. Yes, a very pretty one.” Then she added half audibly, “I am sorry.”

“Sorry,” said Ellie, faintly puzzled.

“Sorry for thinking the things I did,” said my mother and added with a slight air of strain, “Well, as you say, mothers are like that. Always inclined to be suspicious of daughters-in-law. But when I saw you, I knew he'd been lucky. It seemed too good to be true to me, that it did.”

“What impertinence,” I said, but I smiled at her as I said it. “I always had excellent taste.”

“You've always had expensive taste, that's what you mean,” said my mother and looked at the brocade curtains.

“I'm not really the worse for being an expensive taste,” said Ellie, smiling at her.

“You make him save a bit of money from time to time,” said Mum, “it'll be good for his character.”

“I refuse to have my character improved,” I said. “The advantage of taking a wife is that the wife thinks everything you do is perfect. Isn't that so, Ellie?”

Ellie was looking happy again now. She laughed and said:

“You're above yourself, Mike! The conceit of you.”

Greta came back then with the teapot. We'd been a little ill at ease and we were just getting over it. Somehow when Greta came back the strain came out again. My mother resisted all endeavours on Ellie's part to make her stay over and Ellie didn't insist after a
short while. She and I walked down together with my mother along the winding drive through the trees and to the gateway.

“What do you call it?” my mother asked abruptly.

Ellie said, “Gipsy's Acre.”

“Ah,” said my mother, “yes you've got gipsies around here, haven't you?”

“How did you know that?” I asked.

“I saw one as I came up. She looked at me queer, she did.”

“She's all right really,” I said, “a little half-baked, that's all.”

“Why do you say she's half-baked? She'd a funny look to her when she looked at me. She's got a grievance against you of some kind?”

“I don't think it's real,” said Ellie. “I think she's imagined it all. That we've done her out of her land or something like that.”

“I expect she wants money,” said my mother. “Gipsies are like that. Make a big song and dance sometimes of how they've been done down one way or another. But they soon stop when they get some money in their itching palms.”

“You don't like gipsies,” said Ellie.

“They're a thieving lot. They don't work steady and they don't keep their hands off what doesn't belong to them.”

“Oh well,” Ellie said, “we—we—don't worry any more now.”

My mother said good-bye and then added, “Who's the young lady that lives with you?”

Ellie explained how Greta had been with her for three years before she married and how but for Greta she would have had a miserable life.

“Greta's done everything to help us. She's a wonderful person,” said Ellie. “I wouldn't know how—how to get on without her.”

“She's living with you or on a visit?”

“Oh well,” said Ellie. She avoided the question. “She—she's living with us at present because I sprained my ankle and had to have someone to look after me. But I'm all right again now.”

“Married people do best alone together when they're starting,” my mother said.

We stood by the gate watching my mother march away.

“She's got a very strong personality,” said Ellie thoughtfully.

I was angry with Ellie, really very angry because she'd gone and found out my mother and visited her without telling me. But when she turned and stood looking at me with one eyebrow raised a little and the funny half-timid, half-satisfied little-girl smile on her face, I couldn't help relenting.

“What a deceitful little thing you are,” I said.

“Well,” said Ellie, “I've had to be sometimes, you see.”

“That's like a Shakespeare play I once saw. They did it at a school I was at.” I quoted self-consciously, “‘She has deceiv'd her father and may thee.'”

“What did you play—Othello?”

“No,” I said, “I played the girl's father. That's why I remember that speech, I suppose. It's practically the only thing I had to say.”

“‘She has deceiv'd her father and may thee,'” said Ellie thoughtfully. “I didn't even deceive my father as far as I know. Perhaps I would have later.”

“I don't suppose he would have taken very kindly to your marrying me,” I said, “any more than your stepmother did.”

“No,” said Ellie, “I don't suppose he would. He was pretty conventional I think.” Then she gave that funny little-girl smile again.
“So I suppose I'd have had to be like Desdemona and deceived my father and run away with you.”

“Why did you want to see my mother so much, Ellie?” I asked curiously.

“It's not so much I wanted to see her,” said Ellie, “but I felt terribly bad not doing anything about it. You haven't mentioned your mother very often but I did gather that she's always done everything she could for you. Come to the rescue about things and worked very hard to get you extra schooling and things like that. And I thought it seemed so mean and purse-proud of me not to go near her.”

“Well, it wouldn't have been your fault,” I said, “it would have been mine.”

“Yes,” said Ellie. “I can understand that perhaps you didn't want me to go and see her.”

“You think I've got an inferiority complex about my mother? That's not true at all, Ellie, I assure you it isn't. It wasn't that.”

“No,” said Ellie thoughtfully, “I know that now. It was because you didn't want her to do a lot of mother stuff.”

“Mother stuff?” I queried.

“Well,” said Ellie, “I can see that she's the kind of person who would know quite well what other people ought to do. I mean, she'd want you to go in for certain kinds of jobs.”

“Quite right,” I said. “Steady jobs. Settling down.”

“It wouldn't have mattered very much now,” said Ellie. “I dare say it was very good advice. But it wouldn't have been the right advice ever for
you,
Mike. You're not a settler down. You don't want to be steady. You want to go and see things and do things—be on top of the world.”

“I want to stay here in this house with you,” I said.

“For a while, perhaps…And I think—I think you'll always want to come back here. And so shall I. I think we shall come here every year and I think we shall be happier here than anywhere else. But you'll want to go places too. You'll want to travel and see things and buy things. Perhaps think up new plans for doing the garden here. Perhaps we'll go and look at Italian gardens, Japanese gardens, landscape gardens of all kinds.”

“You make life seem very exciting, Ellie,” I said. “I'm sorry I was cross.”

“Oh, I don't mind your being cross,” said Ellie. “I'm not afraid of you.” Then she added, with a frown: “Your mother didn't like Greta.”

“A lot of people don't like Greta,” I said.

“Including you.”

“Now look here, Ellie, you're always saying that. It's not true. I was just a bit jealous of her at first, that was all. We get on very well now.” And I added, “I think perhaps she makes people get rather on the defensive.”

“Mr. Lippincott doesn't like her either, does he? He think's she's got too much influence over me,” said Ellie.

“Has she?”

“I wonder why you should ask that. Yes, I think perhaps she has. It's only natural, she's rather a dominant personality and I had to have someone I could trust in and rely on. Someone who'd stand up for me.”