Lonesome Road (7 page)

Rachel stood in the dark by the gate of Mrs. Capper’s cottage and tried to pull herself together. Cherry had gone away that morning in a bright green scarf—a flaring emerald scarf which even in the dusk might catch a child’s eye and be remembered. But anyone could have a green scarf. Caroline had one—jade green, very bright—too bright. Mabel had given it to her for her birthday only a week ago.

A trembling took Rachel—a sick trembling. Not Caroline. No, no, no—not Caroline! There are things you can’t believe.

She stood quite still. The air was very cold. The trembling passed. She got out her torch and switched it on. The beam was so faint that it hardly showed her the gate against which she leaned. She could scarcely believe her eyes, for the battery was a new one put in that morning. She hesitated as to whether she would take the cliff path after all, or whether it would be safer to go the long way round by the road. But the road was a very long way round, the cliff path safe enough for anyone who knew it. Her eyes had already accustomed themselves sufficiently to the darkness for her to be able to distinguish the outline of the cottage against the sky, and the lighter surface of the road.

She put out the torch, walked a little way, and found that she could see well enough. It was quite easy to make out the path, and that was all that really mattered. There was just one place where it ran for about twenty yards right on the edge of the cliff with a long drop to the beach. She thought she would save the torch and use it there. This was the one dangerous spot, for the low parapet which guarded it was under reconstruction, most of it having collapsed in the heavy storms of a month ago.

She had just switched the torch on, and was finding it more confusing than helpful, when she thought she heard a footstep behind her. She stood still to listen, the torch swinging in her hand, making a dancing pattern on the path. There was both relief and warmth at her heart. Twice out of the last three times that she had been to see Nanny, Gale Brandon had appeared from nowhere to walk home with her along the cliffs. She had left early tonight. She did not doubt for a moment that he had found her gone and was following her now. Without appearing to wait for him, she thought that she might dally a little and give him a chance to catch her up. The idea of company was pleasant. She had no wish to listen to her own thoughts.

She walked a few paces and stood at the edge of the path looking out over the sea. It was a high tide and far in, but only the very highest tide with a winter gale behind it ever reached the foot of the cliffs. Black ridges of rock ran down into black water. There were scarcely visible, darker shadows in a general gloom, but she knew that they were there. Over them and over the cliff the wind blew cold. It had voice enough to drown the sound of the oncoming footsteps. There had been a lull, and there would be a lull again. She waited for it and listened, looking out over the water.

And then there was the sound, right behind her. She made to turn, received a violent blow between the shoulders, dropped her torch, and stumbled forward over the edge of the cliff. That half turn saved her life. She fell sideways instead of headlong, her right arm flung out, the hand grasping at emptiness, but all her left side in contact with the shelving cliff. Her left leg rasped against rock, her left hand caught at a sod, a tussock. Her foot checked the descent for a moment, and in that moment she had both hands fast in the twigs and branches of some small shrubby bush. She hung there, not dazed but sharply, horribly aware of the rocks below. But she knew that she could not hang there long. The bush would give, or her frantic grasp.

And then her left foot found a hold again, a little jutting shelf of rock, narrow, oh, so narrow, but firm as the cliff itself. She got the toe of her other foot upon it, and the worst of the strain was off her hands. The bush and her hold of it were enough to steady her.

For a moment the relief was as sweet as if she had been saved, but on the heels of that came the realization of her position. She could just make out the edge of the cliff. It seemed to be about eight feet above her. She could maintain herself here for a time—but for how long? It was very cold. Her hands were bare—she never wore gloves if she could help it—and this had helped to save her. But if her numbed fingers could hold no longer, if she were to turn faint—the rocks were waiting. The only living soul within call was the one who had pushed her over the cliff. She did not dare cry out.

As she looked up, there was a sound from above—a kind of grunt and the scrape of stone on stone. Something blacker than the darkness came over the verge and rushed past her. She heard the crash of its fall far down below. The wind of it sang in her ears—and her own cry—and the wind that came in from the sea. Her body shook, and her heart. If she had not remembered the rocks she would have let go.

She looked up at the place from which the big stone had come and waited for another. There were plenty there, great lumps of rock from the ruined wall—loose too, and not hard to push over. The next would stun her, carry her away… None came. She thought, “I cried out. He thinks I fell.”

Then she was aware that someone was looking at her—looking down at her as she looked up. She could see nothing that could be called a shape, but there was a place where the darkness was solid. It was the same place from which the stone had come. Someone who hated her was there—someone who wanted her to die—someone who wanted to make sure that she was dead before he went on his way. She said “he,” but she did not know that it was a man. There was someone there who desired her death. That was all. It might have been a woman That scrutiny was worse than anything that had gone before. It seemed to last a long time. Then the blackness moved. She did not know which way it went, but it was gone. The worst horror left her. She shut her eyes and tried to pray.

She never knew quite how long it was before she saw the light. She must have been aware of it through her closed lids, because she stopped in the middle of a verse from a psalm and opened her eyes. And there, not a dozen feet away on her left, was the dancing ray of a torch. It was not on the same level as she was, but four or five feet above the path, swinging easily in a man’s hand. Through the sound of the wind Gale Brandon’s voice came to her, singing a snatch of a negro spiritual:

“Look down, look down that lonesome road

Before you travel on—”

She called with the strength of agony,

“Help, Mr. Brandon—help!”

He stopped, and she heard her name spoken roughly.

She called again, the strength going out of her.

He said, “Rachel!” with a sort of angry shout, and the beam came down and struck her upturned face and open eyes.

He said, “My God!” and then, “Can you hold on?”

“I don’t know. Not very long.”

“You can. I won’t be long.”

And that was all. The light swung back to the path, and she heard his running feet.

She tried to think how far it was to Nanny’s cottage. Not very far, but there was no one there who could help. Ellen wouldn’t be back till seven.

The wind was chilling her, and she was getting stiff. There was only just room for the fore part of her feet on the narrow ledge. From the arch of the instep outwards they had no support. She could not move at all. Her left palm was cut from its desperate clutchings at the rock when she fell. Her head began to fell dizzy. She shut her eyes.

And then a lull, and the sound of running feet again, only this time they were coming nearer, and she heard Gale Brandon shout, “Hold on! I’m coming! It’s all right!”

He was above her now, with the torch cunningly tilted to show him her position without dazzling her. He had a white bundle in his arm and he began paying it out.

“Nanny hadn’t any rope—I had to tear up her sheets. That’s why I’ve been so long.”

The linen fell dangling beside her against the face of the cliff.

“Now, Rachel, can you let go at all with either hand?”

She said, “No.”

Gale Brandon said, “You must!” The light slipped to and fro across her hands. He said in an encouraging voice, “You’ve got quite a good bunch of stuff in that right hand. Does it feel firm?”

She couldn’t really feel anything at all, but she said, “Yes.”

“What sort of foothold have you got?”

“Rock—but I’ve only got my toes on it.”

“That’s fine. Now I’m going to swing the sheet close up to you on your left. It’s knotted into a sling at the end. I’ll try and pull the sling up under your elbow. The minute you feel it there let go the bush with your left hand, push your arm through the loop, and catch the sheet above it. That’ll bring the sling under your armpit. Now do that quick, and then I’ll tell you what to do next.”

Rachel did it, she never quite knew how. She found herself holding to the linen rope and feeling it cut in under her armpit as her weight came on the sling.

Gale Brandon said, “That’s fine.” The light slid over her again. “Now you’ve got to put your head through. It’s quite easy. And then your right arm, so that the sling will be under both armpits.”

Rachel said, “I don’t think I can.”

She heard the sharpest tone of command that had ever been used to her.

“Do what you’re told, and do it at once!”

She did it.

She was holding the linen now with both hands, and the sling was round her body.

He said, “Now we’re all right. I’m going to pull you up, but you must help yourself as much as you can. It’s nothing like sheer—there’s a good bit of slope in our favor. Take advantage of every bit you can. And don’t be frightened I’ll let you go, because I won’t. You’re quite safe now.”

Safe! The next few moments were the most terrifying she had ever known. If she had been less afraid she might have fainted. It was a very poignancy of terror which kept her conscious. It would have been much easier if she could have swooned. No use thinking about what would be easier—she had got to help Gale.

But at first there was nothing she could do. The linen strip tautened and took her off her feet. A pause while she swung there, and then the bush scratching her face, her hands, as she was drawn up through it, a few inches at a time. Now the twigs were rasping against her stockings, and now she got a knee on a projecting tussock and eased the weight. Then on again, but less difficult now. The cliff sloped to the path, and she was dragged up, half leaning, half scrambling, until she reached the edge and Gale took her under the arms and pulled her up beside him.

They reeled back together across the whole width of the path to a place where there was rough grass under their feet. And stood so clasped they made one shadow there. And neither spoke. She could feel the laboring of his breath and the strong, measured beating of his heart, She had never been so close to another human being. The cold went out of her, and the fear.

And then all of a sudden he loosed her and sang out, “Who’s there?”

Rachel, holding to his arm, turned round and saw a lantern bobbing along the track, coming from Whincliff Edge. It spilled its circle of light about a long skirt and a pair of feet which she would have known anywhere. She said weakly, “It’s Louisa,” and sat down upon the grass.

And then there was Louisa, crying over her and fussing, and being told not to fuss with a good deal of energy by Gale. Most of it went over Rachel’s head, for she was really faint now, but neither Gale’s commands nor her own dizziness could entirely arrest the flow of Louisa’s lamentations.

“Oh, my dear Miss Rachel!” She said that several times. And, “I had to come—I was that anxious. Oh, my dear—that it should come to this! And I’d die for you— cheerful and willing—but I can’t stop them—”

“Will you be quiet!” said Gale Brandon. “I want to get your mistress home. Put that lantern down and help me to take the rope off her!”

She had not realized that it was partly the linen strip cutting in under her arms and across her chest that was making her faint, but when it was gone and she could take a deep, full breath again her senses cleared.

Gale lifted her up.

“Can you stand?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Walk?”

His arm was round her, the arm to whose strength she owned her life. It felt very strong.

She said, “Oh, yes,” again.

“That’s fine. Then we’ll be going. Louisa, you go on ahead with the lantern. No, not that way. I’ve got my car up at Nanny’s cottage. I don’t want her to walk farther than she need. Pick up that torch and come along!”

Actually, the movement did Rachel good. Her shoulders and arms had been numb, but the feeling came back to them. She was sore and bruised, but had no real hurt. She had not yet begun to think.

But when they came to the car and he had sent Louisa in to tell Nanny she was safe, she clung to his arm as if it was all she had to trust to.

“I’d like to sit in front with you.”

“I’d like to have you, but I thought you’d be more comfortable at the back—you can lean right into the corner.”

“No—I don’t want to—I want to stay with you.”

He frowned at the fear in her voice. He said,

“Why are you afraid? There’s nothing to be frightened of now.” He put his arm round her and said insistently, “Is there?”

Before she had time to answer Louisa came out of the cottage.

He was frowning in the dark beside her all the way to Whincliff Edge.

In her room Rachel reviewed the damage, and decided that it might have been much worse. She was bruised and she was scratched, but that was the worst of it.

“And you’ll go straight to your bed, Miss Rachel, and not see no one,” said Louisa tearfully.

Rachel considered. She could say that she had had a fall, and either go to bed or sit comfortably here by the fire. But she wondered if it would be humanly possible to keep Mabel out of her room, because if it meant a tête-à-tête with Mabel, she would rather confront the whole family and have done with it. Also she wanted to see Miss Silver.

She stood warm and relaxed from her bath and looked thoughtfully at Louisa.

“What I’d like to do, Louie, would be to have my dinner here quietly by the fire in my dressing-gown with Noisy. I don’t want to go to bed a bit, but I don’t feel like bothering to dress—or talk. That’s the thing—do you think you can keep the family out?”

Louisa nodded fiercely.

“Indeed I can, my dear, if I have to lock the door on you and take away the key.” She came close, picked up one of Rachel’s hands, and held it against her cheek. “Oh, my dear, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you—you know that.”

Rachel drew her hand away with a little shiver.

“I know, Louie.” She sank into the big chair and leaned back gratefully.

But Louisa stood her ground.

“Aren’t you going to tell me what happened, Miss Rachel?”

Rachel steeled herself. A scene with Louie now—oh, no!

“I had a fall,” she said. “I went over the edge of the cliff, and Mr. Brandon pulled me up. It was horrid, but it’s over. I’m not hurt, and I don’t want to go on talking about it.”

Louisa did not speak. She wasn’t crying any longer. She said harshly,

“You’re shutting yourself up from me. Do you think I don’t know the devil’s work when I see it? How did you get over the cliff—will you tell me that? You that know every foot of that path like this room! Mr. Brandon pulled you up. Did he push you over?”

Rachel laughed. It was lovely to be able to laugh.

“Don’t be stupid, Louie!”

“Oh, yes, I’m stupid, Miss Rachel—stupid to care like I do. But someone pushed you—you’d not have fallen else. And you think it couldn’t be Mr. Brandon, because he’s made you believe he’s fond of you.”

Rachel lifted her head.

“That will do, Louie. You had better not go too far. Now bring me my block and a pencil. I want to write a note.”

The note was to Miss Silver. It said:

“Make an excuse and come to my room as soon after dinner as you think wise. Louisa will show you where it is.”

Presently Caroline came tapping at the door. Rachel let her in for five minutes, and told her not to tell Mabel. She thought the girl looked pale and troubled.

“Is anything the matter, Caroline?”

Her hand was taken and kissed.

“Just you, darling. You mustn’t go falling about on the cliffs. Are you sure you’re all right?”

Rachel said suddenly, “What have you done with the green scarf Mabel gave you?”

Caroline drew back, startled.

“Darling—why?”

“Did you wear it yesterday? Yesterday afternoon—on the cliffs?”

Caroline stared.

“I walked up to meet Richard. I didn’t wear the scarf. I don’t like it very much—it’s too bright. Why, darling?”

“Someone saw a girl in a green scarf, and I wondered if it was you.”

Caroline looked puzzled.

“Anyone can have a green scarf.”

Miss Silver arrived at a little after nine o’clock. By the time she came Rachel was wishing that she need not see her until the morning. She had been sitting there by the fire in a curious atmosphere of safety and contentment, because she was quite sure now that Gale Brandon loved her. He loved her, Rachel Treherne, and no one else. And she loved him. Without a spoken word, with no more than a rough, insistent clasp, he had made her sure. Her heart was bright with a steady flame of happiness. No wonder the thought of talking to Miss Silver struck a jarring note.

But even as she crossed the room with Noisy frisking beside her and unlocked the door, her mood changed, because it was not just her life that was being attacked, it was this new happiness. And it was worth fighting for.

She meant to fight.

Miss Silver came into the room in the kind of garment affected by elderly ladies who frequent boarding-houses. It was quite obviously a summer dress that had been dyed black. Some jet trimming now adorned the neck and wrists. A long, old-fashioned gold chain descended into her lap as she took the chair on the other side of the fire. Her neat, abundant hair was tightly controlled by an unusually firm net. She wore black Cashmere stockings and glacé shoes with beaded toes. A broad old-fashioned gold bracelet set with a carbuncle encircled her left wrist, and a formidable brooch with a design of Prince of Wales’ feathers carried out in hair and seed pearls and surrounded by a plaited border of black enamel also picked out with pearls hung like a targe upon her bosom. She carried a black satin work-bag turned back with bright rose-pink. Rachel felt it would be quite impossible that anyone should suspect her of being a detective. She had almost to close her eyes before she could believe it herself.

Such politenesses passed as would be usual between any hostess and guest. Then Miss Silver said briskly,

“I see you have a good deal to tell me, but before you begin—are we perfectly private here? Those two doors?”

“One leads to my bathroom, the other to my own sitting-room. There is no other way into the bathroom, but it might be best to lock the door leading from the sitting-room into the passage.”

She was about to rise, but was prevented. Miss Silver said, “Allow me,” and trotted over to the sitting-room door. Rachel heard her open the second door. Then the click of the key informed her that it was being locked.

Miss Silver came back, but she did not immediately sit down. She went first to the bathroom and looked in, after which she resumed her chair, opened the black satin bag, and drew out her knitting, a mass of pale blue wool which, unfolded, declared itself as one of those rambling wraps or scarves in which invalids are invited to entangle themselves. Miss Silver herself called it a cloud.

“For dear Hilary. Such a sweet girl, and the pale blue should be most becoming. And now, Miss Treherne, why did you ring me up in the middle of the night? And what has been happening today?”