Fear by Night (27 page)

“If I were deid, there'd be nae mair o't,” said Mary, still as if she had not heard.

Ann took her by the shoulders and shook her desperately.

“It's not for me—it's for Charles. He's
hurt
!”

Mary's gaze came back from the shadows in the corner of the byre and dwelt upon Ann.

“He's your lad?”

“Yes.”

“Ye're tae be married tae him?”

“Yes,” said Ann with a sob.

Mary nodded solemnly.

“Ay, lassie, I'll help ye.”

Something in her voice and look stayed Ann from speaking.

“I'll help ye,” said Mary again. Her voice had a strange, absent sound. She moved as if to go, but Ann held her.

“Will you help me to move the barrel?”

Mary shook her head.

“There's ither ways.”

“What ways?”

“Ye maun bide till they're gane oot.”

Ann ran out at the yard gate and round the house. Hope came easily to her. If Mary would help her, everything would be all right. They would get Charles out, and he wouldn't be
really
hurt—he would be able to row a boat. Perhaps they would have to wait till after dark. Then they would take the boat and row across the strait. Lovely to get away from the island! Lovely to be eloping with Charles! If his car was smashed, they would take Jimmy Halliday's and kill two birds with one stone, because if they had Jimmy's car he couldn't come after them. It would be very amusing. As for Charles' relations, they had ceased to exist. They mattered so little that she couldn't even remember why they had ever seemed to matter at all.

She came to the front door rather breathless, and was met by Riddle, plaintive and genteel.

“I'm sure I've been looking for you everywhere, Miss Vernon. I'm sure if Mrs. Halliday's asked for you once—”

As she stood aside for Ann to pass, Jimmy Halliday came out of the dining-room.

“My mother's in the parlour asking for you, but if I might have a word with you first—”

“I think I'll go to Mrs. Halliday.”

“Not till I've had a word with you. Miss Riddle, you go and tell the old lady she's coming—and you needn't say nothing about me, good nor bad.”

He pulled Ann inside the dining-room and shut the door.

“Now, my dear, you needn't look at me like that. I won't kiss you again until we're a bit more private than we are here—and I'm in a hurry, because I don't want to put the old lady in a tantrum. I've only got one thing to say, and that's this—if you've any notion of upsetting Mrs. Halliday by telling her any silly trumped-up stories about me, or my business, or Mr. Gale Anderson, or your friend that's met with an accident, well, I'll just tell you two things quite plain. One is, she won't believe you, not on your Bible oath—she'd only think you'd gone batty in the head. That's one. And this is the other. Anything you thought of saying like that 'ud make things very unpleasant and dangerous for your friend. And now you'd better go to the old lady.”

Mrs. Halliday received Ann with an air of extreme offence. She inquired very distantly how she found herself this morning, and produced a hopeful anecdote of one Fanny Stokes who, having been caught in a heavy shower of rain of a Monday, was took ill Tuesday and given up Wednesday.

“Did she die?” said Ann after an awful pause.

Mrs. Halliday sniffed her loudest sniff.

“Not she, and more's the pity! Why, there was 'er mother's sister come from Wales, and 'er brother come down from London, and 'er aunt that lived at Tiverton went so far as to buy 'er black, she taking a out-size and seeing something that would just do 'er in a shop near the station where she'd the best part of an hour to wait at the junction. And after putting of them all out like that she took and got well, and married a grocer's assistant with carroty 'air. 'Ad twins the first year and triplets eighteen months later, and serve 'er right. And if you've quite finished all you want to do this morning, Miss Vernon, I'd be glad if you'd read me the paper.”

The paper was a week old, a new batch being due next day. Ann began to read hastily:

“MISSING TYPIST. DIAMOND RING CLUE.”

“And who give it 'er?” said Mrs. Halliday suddenly and loudly. “Diamond rings indeed! Girls that take suchlike presents is asking for trouble! Keep yourself to yourself and mind your manners—that's how my mother brought me up. But once a girl begins running after the men, she's running after 'er ruin—and it'll be a good thing if you'll remember that. What else did he give 'er beside the diamond ring?”

Ann bit her lip till it bled and went on reading.

The morning was a very long one. After lunch she thought that the men would go out, but they sat on in the dining-room. Presently she heard them call Hector in, and in a flash she ran down the old stair into the kitchen.

Mary was washing up the lunch things, her figure bowed, her hands moving mechanically, her face drawn and grey. Ann stood in the doorway and called to her under her breath.

“Mary—come here!” And, as she looked round with a start, “I can't wait any longer. They're just sticking there in the dining-room. Show me how to get to him.”

“Lassie, it's no safe.”

“It won't ever be safe! I can't wait!”

“Lassie!”

“You promised!”

Mary made a hopeless gesture.

“Rin out intae the byre then an' bide till I come!”

She was there almost as soon as Ann was, with hurry in her steps and fear in her eyes. She thrust a lantern into Anne's hand and a box of matches.

“Dinna licht it till I shut the stane,” she said, and began to pull away the straw in the far corner of the byre.

There was an iron ring set there, very old and rusty. Mary pulled on it, and all of a sudden a flagstone tilted and left a gaping hole. Ann stood above it and looked down. She could see the beginning of a rude stair. Her heart quaked at the blackness and the cold, damp smell.

“What is it?” she said in a choking whisper.

“There's cellars aneath the hoose. They were for hidin' in the auld times. There was ae way in and anither way oot, so that they shouldna be trappit. For Gude's sake gae doon if yer gaun, or we're a' deid thegither!” Her tone was sharp and thin with terror.

Ann put her foot on the topmost step. The place smelt of old, dreadful things. If Charles was down there, she must go and find him. She took two more steps down, and felt as if she were going down into black evil-smelling water. Perhaps there wouldn't be any air to breathe and she would be choked when Mary shut the stone.

“Haste ye, lassie!”

Ann turned up an agonized face.

“You won't shut it so that I can't get out?”

“There's a ring aneath the stane. Ye'll need tae pull on't. It's no hard tae move.”

She pressed Ann's shoulder and sent her stumbling down the next two or three steps. As she brought herself up gasping, the stone fell back into its place and all the light was gone. She stood there clutching at the damp wall, and realized that the lantern had slipped from her hand. The noise that it made bounding from step to step bewildered and terrified her. She waited for the noise to stop, and then the silence was more terrifying still.

It was a minute or two before she remembered that she still had the matches. She had slipped them into the pocket of her jumper—one of those silly little pockets that aren't really meant to hold anything, but it had held the box of matches and it held it still. She got it out, struck a match, and saw dark slimy steps going down into what looked like a black pit.

She made herself go down five steps before she struck another match. This time the light brought her a little comfort. There were three more steps, and then a passage ran off in what she judged to be the direction of the house. The match flared and went out, but before it died she had seen the lantern lying against the passage wall. The worst of her terror left her then. It was the dark that was so dreadful. If she had a light she could bear it. And to find Charles she must have a light.

She groped her way to the lantern, set it on end, and lighted the inch or two of candle which it contained. That feeble yellow flame seemed to her the most beautiful thing that she had ever seen. She closed the glass of the lantern and, holding it up, began to make her way along the passage. It was of rock, and she guessed that it was in part a natural fissure enlarged and shaped by man. In some places the roof and sides were rough and untouched by any tool. In others the surface had been cut, and where this was the case the roof was very low. At the end she had to go down on her hands and knees. When she straightened herself up after this, she thought she must be under the house.

She had come out into a place like a cellar. In one corner a stair ran up to the stone roof. Quite illogically, Ann felt safer here. She thought the stair must lead up to the wash-house. She held the lantern up and looked all round. The place out of which she had crawled showed a black arch about three feet from the floor. Beyond it was another arch, a little higher. And on the same side as the steps there was a bolted door.

Ann's heart gave a jump. If the door was bolted, it was to keep someone in—and someone meant Charles. There must be a cellar under the kitchen, and Charles was there.

She ran to the door, set down her lantern, and tugged with both hands at the bolt. It was a huge rusty thing as thick as her wrist, and so stiff that she could not move it. But someone had been oiling it. She could feel the oil on her hands. She strained and pulled, and suddenly the bolt gave way—so suddenly that she went stumbling back against the lantern and knocked it over. The light went out. The swing of the cellar door caught her shoulder, and with a rush someone sprang upon her from the darkness and brought her down.

CHAPTER XXXII

It was like the most dreadful nightmare in the world. Darkness, and a slippery floor where her feet went from under her. The blow that made her dizzy. Arms that held her in a cruel grip. Heavy breathing close above her head. She thought she screamed, but she wasn't sure—and oh, what use to scream in this dreadful buried place?

She made a small weak sound scarcely louder than a sob, and almost before she made it the grip which held her changed; She was up against Charles' breast, and his voice was murmuring in her ear.

“Ann! My darling! My little darling! Did I hurt you? I thought it was those swine. They left me roped up, and I've just got my hands free. Ann, are you hurt? Darling—darling—do say something!”

Ann said, “Oh!… It's
you
!”

“Of course it's me. Who did you think it was?”

“A n-nightmare.”

“Thanks, darling! I say, let's get up, shall we? Ugh! I'm stiff! They left me roped up, and I've only just got my hands free. I'm still hobbled, so you'd better stand clear while I get up.”

Instead of standing clear Ann gave him both her hands. She pulled, Charles pulled, and with a floundering jerk he was on his feet again. She heard him laugh, and was pulled up close.

“I say, darling, did I give you a most awful scare? When I heard someone at the bolt, I was bound to give whoever it was the fright of his life.”

Ann nuzzled her face into his neck and said, “Beast!” And then, with a sob, “Oh, Charles darling—you nearly killed me!”

Charles hugged her.

“Yes, I know, darling—but I couldn't tell it was going to be you. I didn't really hurt you, did I?”

“You b-bashed my shoulder.”

Charles kissed the shoulder.

“Anything else?”

“My f-feelings.” This time the tremor in Ann's voice was nearer laughter than tears.

Charles assuaged the feelings.

“What did you think I was? An underground monster, or the ghost of a Highland prisoner who'd been left here to starve two or three hundred years ago?”

“Ouf!” said Ann. “
Don't
! I'm not feeling brave enough for ghosts.”

“I think it was frightfully brave of you to come and look for me. I suppose you were looking for me?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Well, if you got in, we can both get out, and we oughtn't to waste any time about it. By the way, what
is
the time?”

Ann tried to remember. Everything seemed such a long time ago.

“It's early afternoon—somewhere between two and three.”

“It would be easier to get away after dark. I suppose they're all three here still?”

“Yes, they are.”

“Well, I've got to get my ankles untied before I do anything else. I had to shuffle to the door and then jump. I thought if I fell on the feller and then beat his head on the floor I might be able to make him see reason. I say, darling, you didn't come here in the dark, did you?”

“I've got a lantern, but you knocked it out.”

“Good! I've got a torch, but I want to save it.”

They found the lantern, lighted it, and set to work on the rope which tied Charles' ankles together. There wasn't much that Jimmy Halliday didn't know about knots, and it wasn't going to be a very quick business.

“What did you think when I didn't come?” said Charles over the knots.

“I thought you were dead,” said Ann, and the lantern shook in her hand.

“I say, steady with that light, darling! What a little owl! Why should I be dead?”

The lantern shook again.

“You nearly were, weren't you? Charles, tell me about it. What happened? You're not hurt, are you?”

“Only my feelings—same like yours, darling.” He began to laugh. “You
are
an owl! Did I feel as if I was hurt when I jumped on you? There goes one of the blighted knots! Well, this is what happened. You know when I left you—well, going across the strait I met a sea-serpent, and it rammed me.”