The Adultress (32 page)

I really wanted to get away. … back to normality. There was nothing else I could do here.

When I came into the hall Jessie was there. She started when she saw me and turned a shade paler.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Yes. … Did you see Amos?”

“Yes, I saw him.”

“And … was everything all right?”

I raised my eyebrows. It was not the first time I had resented her interrogations and felt an irresistible urge to remind her of her position.

“We had our talk,” I said and walked past her.

I could feel her staring after me.

I went to my room thinking about Amos Carew. It was natural that he should be worried about his position, for it was quite clear that Uncle Carl could not live much longer in the state he was in. I think I had allowed myself to grow too fanciful. I was as bad as Jessie with her ghost.

I had one or two sewing jobs to do. I could have given them to one of the maids but preferred to do them myself. There was a tear in my skirt where I had caught it on a bramble—not much but it should be done at once—and a button was half off my dressing gown and the stitches in a petticoat had come undone. I would do them this afternoon. I had no sewing material and I knew that the maids went to Jessie’s room to get them.

I knocked at the door. There was no answer so I went in. My eyes went at once to the blank space on the wall. That was where the crucifix had hung. It was no longer there. Of course it wasn’t. It was in the haunted patch and Jessie was the one who had put it there.

I forgot all about the sewing materials and went back to my room.

What did this mean? I asked myself. Why should she have taken the crucifix from her wall to put in the wasteland?

It meant that there was a grave there in the wasteland. Whose? Wild thoughts chased each other through my brain. A possibility had occurred to me.

I had to find the answer.

One thing was becoming certain: I was in the midst of intrigue and what was shown to me was not the true state of affairs.

I wished there was someone whose help I could ask. I wished the Forsters were there, or that calm practical-looking doctor. Could I go to him? No! The people to whom I should go were Rosen, Stead and Rosen. Mr. Rosen already knew of the rather unconventional ménage at Eversleigh Court.

What could I say? The housekeeper has put her crucifix in the wasteland … ?

I would have to have more tangible evidence than that.

I must think about this clearly, reason it out. I must know the best thing to do. I went over everything that had happened. The strangeness of the atmosphere in this house. But I had felt that on my very first visit.

It would soon be suppertime and I must face them all; after that there would be my visit to the sick room. I must be watchful. I must not be so easily gullible. I must realize that I was here with scheming, unscrupulous people. And what part was Dickon playing in all this? He was devious and I was an enemy. I really must discover all I could and then go to Mr. Rosen.

I suppose I had been right about the crucifix. That might be some sort of clue. We would go the wasteland and we would dig up and discover why Jessie behaved as though a grave was there.

I had been right about the crucifix, hadn’t I? I hadn’t imagined it.

That was absurd. I had seen clearly that space on the wall with the nail protruding where the crucifix had hung, but I had to make sure. I had to look again. I was going to creep along to Jessie’s room when she was not there, open the door and take a quick look.

Opportunity came about half an hour before supper. It was safe then because Jessie was always in the kitchen at that time supervising the meal. That was something which was too important to be left entirely to others.

I was ready. I heard her go downstairs and slipped up to her room. Quickly, silently I opened the door.

I stared. The crucifix was in its place on the wall.

I could not believe it. I was sure earlier that day it had not been there.

Could I trust myself? Was my imagination betraying me?

I felt very alarmed.

Tomorrow, I promised myself, I will go to the wasteland. If the crucifix is there then it was not Jessie’s and I must have imagined I saw that blank wall. How could I? I was a practical woman of common sense, or so I had always believed.

What was happening to me in this strange place? Why did I fear I was being followed in the woods? Why did I see something sinister in Dickon because he happened to be where I was a great deal lately? Why should I feel this increasing menace just because he carried a pistol with him?

It was night—restless, uneasy night. I had got through the evening tolerably well. Although Dr. Cabel did say at supper: “You are very thoughtful this evening. Mistress Ransome.”

I said I was feeling a little tired and would retire early.

I had not seen Uncle Carl that evening. Dr. Cabel had said he was no worse but just very very tired and he was sleeping deeply so it was not wise to waken him even to see me.

“It must be something in the air,” he said. “You are both tired today. It’s the weather. It can have that effect.”

I had made my excuse to retire early and I did so.

But not to sleep. I had made up my mind that the next day I was going to see Mr. Rosen. There was one thing I wanted to do first and that was ascertain that the crucifix was no longer on the wasteland. Whether it was or not I should go straightaway to Mr. Rosen.

I would ask what I should do before going home, for I was determined to go home soon.

I was still wide awake at half past one when I heard movements similar to those which I had heard before. I got out of bed and went to the window and waited. It was not long before a figure emerged from the house. It was a man in a long cloak who was certainly not Amos or Dickon. Then who?

I watched him walk across the lawn. Then an idea came to me. I put on my dressing gown and opening my door stood for a second or so listening. Then I went down the short staircase to the corridor in which was Uncle Carl’s room.

I sped along to it. I turned the handle and went in. There was enough moonlight to show me the furniture, the fourposter bed … with the curtains half drawn as they always had been.

I went to the bed. I think I had half expected what I saw. The bed was empty.

Events suddenly slipped into place like a jigsaw puzzle.

My earlier suspicions were proved to be founded in truth. The man in the bed had not been my uncle.

I looked round the room. I opened one of the cupboards. Clothes were hanging there. There was a shelf on which were various pots and pads and brushes … such as I imagined were used by actors.

Actors! They had been playing a drama … comedy … a farce … whatever, it was for my benefit.

They were actors … all of them … the doctor, the man in the bed … and Jessie knew it. She was one of them.

I had the proof I needed now. I could go along to Mr. Rosen tomorrow with the evidence I had gathered.

In another cupboard were playing cards. I smiled grimly. That was how they whiled away the time when they were not coaching this man for the part of Lord Eversleigh, while they were waiting for the moment when they would play their little scene for me.

They were ingenious people and they would be desperate. They must not know that I had uncovered their little plot before I had seen Mr. Rosen.

Shortly the bogus Lord Eversleigh would be returning. I imagined he took exercise at night for clearly he could not go out during the day.

I was aware that if anyone found me here I should be in acute danger. If they were bold enough to work out such a devious plan how far would they carry it?

In sudden panic I went swiftly to the door. I looked out into the corridor. All was quiet.

I crossed the corridor to the window and because of the heavy curtains I believed I could conceal myself there.

I went over and tried it. Yes. I could satisfy myself that no part of me was visible. I would now await the return of the actor who had played Uncle Carl in the piece.

I was cold and cramped through having to conceal myself, but I was rewarded.

Soon after two o’clock there was the familiar creak of the door followed by the sound of soft footsteps on the stairs.

I peeped out and saw him open the door of the room and disappear within.

I crept back to my room.

This is a gigantic fraud, I thought. And what happened to Uncle Carl? I was certain now that he was dead and buried in the haunted patch.

I knew the spot. It was where the crucifix had been.

My mind was working so fast that I almost played with the idea of getting a spade and digging up that grave.

That would be unwise. I could not do it on my own. I must get help.

How I wished there was someone who could advise me.

I played with the idea of calling in Dr. Forster. Could I bring him in? I did not know why I thought so much about him. It must be his connection with Enderby and the fact that I had first seen him in that spot where I had found Gerard.

No. Mr. Rosen was the one, although I could not imagine what his reaction would be to the bizarre story I should have to tell him.

It was foolish to expect to sleep. I lay in bed impatiently waiting for the morning to come.

I was out of bed at dawn and as I reached for my dressing gown I saw that the button which I had meant to sew on yesterday had come off.

A horrible thought struck me. Suppose I had dropped it in what was ironically called the “sick room”? They would know I had been there. Then I should certainly be in danger.

Everything must appear as normal. I went down to breakfast. Dickon was there. He smiled at me almost patronizingly, I thought, and it occurred to me that had he been different, if I could have trusted him, I might have confided in him.

I would not dream of doing that. Sometimes the thought came to me that he was involved with it all, but I did not see for what purpose, and Dickon would always have to have a purpose, one which worked to his advantage.

“You’re in a hurry this morning,” he said.

“No.”

“And you seem preoccupied.”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Thinking of the adventures of the day to come, I’ll swear.”

It was almost as though he knew.

“I don’t suppose they will be as exciting as yours.”

He laughed. “Zipporah,” he said, “I wish sometimes that you liked me a little. It worries your mother and mine that you’re not more fond of me.”

“If esteem is wanted it has to be earned.”

“I know,” he said mockingly. “Alas.”

I stood up.

“So soon,” he said. “You’ve eaten scarcely anything.”

“I’ve had enough.”

“I’ll see you later.”

I did not answer and went out.

I should need my horse because I was going into the town to see Mr. Rosen. First, though, I was going to ride out to the haunted patch to see if the cross was there.

I felt better now that I was taking action. I began to piece everything together. My uncle had died. … Would someone have helped him to die? I wondered what advantage that would have brought, for Jessie had seen that he was more use to her alive than dead. That was why she had brought in her fellow actors. … They knew how to play their parts. … What was their motive? To enjoy a comfortable life at Eversleigh and take what they could.
I
thought of the statue at Grasslands.

Mr. Rosen would take charge and deal with everything.

I had reached the haunted patch. I slipped off my horse and tethered him to a bush. This was necessary as I couldn’t see from the path whether the cross was there or not. I stepped over the palings and walked forward. I stared down at the disturbed earth. The cross had been taken away.

Now I was certain. Jessie had placed it there because she had been truly scared by the ghost. Afterward she must have felt she had been foolish to do so and had taken it away.

I must get to Mr. Rosen at once.

I mounted my horse. How silent it was. It was really rather lonely country between Enderby and Eversleigh. There was the short stretch where the trees grew close together and I slowed down to walk my horse through them.

I heard a sudden movement. I wasn’t sure what it was … perhaps the displacement of a stone … but it startled me and I felt myself shiver with apprehension for I was certain that I was not alone among the trees. A sensation of horror seemed to crawl over me then. Instinctively I knew that I was in danger. I hesitated whether to ride on or dash back toward Enderby. I had no time to do either for a man was coming towards me. He carried a gun which was pointing at me. I could see eyes glittering through the highwayman’s mask, and his cocked hat was drawn down over his face.

I was staring into the muzzle of a gun.

I stammered: “I have very little money with me.”

He did not speak; he raised the gun and I knew I was looking into the face of death. He did not want my money; he wanted my life.

This was the end.

I heard the report. I was slipping from my horse. There was a buzzing in my ears and I saw blood spattered on the trees.

The dizziness was passing. I was not dead then.

A body was lying on the grass. Someone else had appeared. This can’t be real, I thought. Because it was Dickon standing there with the pistol in his hand.

He was calling to me. “You’re all right. I got him … just in time. I’ve shot my first man. It was you … or him, Zipporah.”

“You …” I began.

He knelt down beside the figure on the grass. “Dead,” he said. “Right through the heart. Good shot. And in the nick of time.”

“Who … ? What … ?”

He said: “Didn’t you see what was going on? No … not till what might have been too late. It was so clear to me. … But let’s go. There’s a lot of talking to be done.”

So Dickon had saved my life.

The first thing we did was ride into the town to Rosen, Stead and Rosen. Mr. Rosen senior sat very still as he listened to the story Dickon had to unfold.

“I shot Amos Carew,” he said. “He was dressed as a highwayman … and it was either him or Zipporah.”