The Shivering Sands (7 page)

“There’s a powder closet—only a little one. But it will be your dressing room. Would you like me to help you unpack?”

I thanked her and said that I could manage by myself.

“Your view is lovely,” she said. She went to the window. I crossed the room and stood beside her. I looked over the lawns to a copse of fir trees and beyond that the sea was breaking about the white cliffs.

“There!” She stood back watching me. “Do you like it, Mrs. Verlaine?”

“I think it is enchanting.”

“It is beautiful—all of it. But they do say hereabouts that this is an unlucky house.”

“Why? Because a young woman mysteriously disappeared when…?”

“You mean the woman at the excavations. She wasn’t really anything to do with the house.”

“But you knew her and she had been working on the estate close to this house.”

“I wasn’t thinking of her.”

“Then there is something else?”

Alice nodded. “When Sir William’s eldest son died everyone said it was…unlucky.”

“But there is Napier.”

“Napier was his brother. This was Beaumont. They called him Beau. It suited him, you see, because he was so beautiful. Then he died…and Napier was sent away and he stayed away until he came back to marry Edith. Sir William never got over it nor did Lady Stacy.”

“How did he die? Was it an accident?”

“It could have been an accident. But then it might not have been.” She put her fingers to her lips. “Mother says I am never to speak of it.”

I could not prompt her then, but she added: “I suppose that’s why they call it an unhappy house. It’s haunted they say…by Beau. But whether they mean he’s a real ghost who glides about at night or whether they just mean you can’t get away from the memory of him, I don’t know. But it’s a sort of haunting whichever way, isn’t it? But Mother would be angry if she knew I’d mentioned him. Please don’t tell her, Mrs. Verlaine, and forget it, will you?”

She looked so pathetic, pleading with me in this way, that I said I would not mention it and immediately dropped the subject.

Then she said: “It’s clear today. Not clear enough to see the coast of France, but you can see the Goodwin Sands if your eyes are good enough. Well, you can’t exactly see the sands themselves but you can see the wrecks sticking up.” She pointed and I followed the direction which she indicated.

“I can see something that looks like sticks.”

“That’s it…that’s all you can see. It’s the masts of boats which long ago were caught on the sands. You’ve heard about the sands, Mrs. Verlaine. Quicksands…shivering sands…Boats are caught in them and they can’t get off. They feel themselves held in a grip so fierce that nothing will release them…and slowly they begin to sink into the shivering sands.” She looked at me.

“Horrible!” I said.

“Yes, isn’t it? And the masts are always there to remind us. You can see them very easily on a clear day. There’s a lightship out there to warn shipping. You’ll see it flashing at night. But some of them still get caught on the shivering sands.”

I turned away from the window and Alice said: “You’ll want to unpack now. I expect you will be dining with Mother and me. I’ll ask Mother what the arrangements will be. Then I suppose Sir William will send for you. I’ll be back in an hour.”

Quietly she slipped out of the room. I started to unpack, my thoughts flitting from Mrs. Lincroft to her daughter, to Allegra who was very likely going to give me trouble, to pale Edith who was Napier’s bride and of the ghost of Beau who had had an accident and who was believed by some to haunt the place…in one way or another.

I listened to the water being tossed against the cliffs and in my mind’s eye I saw those masts protruding from the treacherous sands.

In fifteen minutes, having washed in the powder room and unpacked my belongings, I was ready for the summons; I walked about my room examining the details. The cloth which lined the walls was of yellow brocade and must have been there for years for it was a little faded in places; the arched alcove, the rugs on the parquet floor, the sconces in the wall in which stood candles. Then I went to the window and looked out across the gardens to the copse and the sea. I looked for the masts of those sunken ships and could not see them.

I had nearly three quarters of an hour to wait so I decided I would have a look at the gardens. I was sure to be back in my room within the hour.

I put on a coat and found my way down to the hall and out into the upper courtyard. Passing under an archway I descended a flight of stone steps and before me was a terrace leading to lawns bordered with flowers which I guessed would be glorious in the late spring and summer. Rock plants grew in the stone-clumps of white arabis and blue aubrietia. The effect was charming.

There were no trees except stubby yews which looked as though they had stood where they did for centuries; but the shrubs were numerous. At the moment the only blooms were the yellow forsythia flowers, the color of sunshine, I thought—but this was because it was early spring, and again I imagined the riot of color there would be later.

I made my way through the shrubs and came to a stone archway over which a green plant was creeping. I passed under the arch and was in a walled garden—a quadrangle—cobbled, with two wooden seats facing each other across a water lily pond. It was charming and I pictured myself coming here during the hot summer weather in between lessons. I imagined I should have some spare time for I was beginning to plan a curriculum for the girls and although I intended to have each one at the piano every day, it seemed I should still have time to spare. But there was that suggestion that I was to play for Sir William. What could that entail? All sorts of possibilities presented themselves. I saw myself in that hall, playing on the dais…to a large assembly.

I wandered out of the walled garden and made my way back across a terrace, past the powerful buttresses; and as I looked up at those gray walls at the corbelled oriels and more of those hideous gargoyles, I thought how easy it would be to lose my way.

Trying to find my way back to the courtyards, I came to the stables. As I was passing by the mounting block, which must have been used by the ladies of the house for centuries because the stone was very worn, Napier Stacy came out of the stables leading a horse. I felt embarrassed to be caught wandering about and would have liked to avoid him; but I was too late, he had seen me.

He stood still, looking at me in a puzzled manner, wondering, it seemed, who dared trespass on his domain. Tall, lean, legs apart, bellicose, arrogant. I immediately thought of fragile Edith married to such a man. Poor child, I thought. Poor,
poor
child. I disliked him. The heavy dark brows were frowning above those startlingly blue eyes. They had no right to be blue, I thought illogically, in such a dark face. His nose was long, slightly prominent; his mouth too thin, as though he were sneering at the world. Oh, certainly I disliked him.

“Good afternoon,” I said defiantly—it was a natural attitude with which to face such a man.

“I don’t think I have the pleasure…” He spoke the last word cynically to imply that he meant the opposite—or perhaps that was my imagination.

“I’m the music teacher. I’ve just arrived.”

“Music teacher?” He raised those black eyebrows. “Oh, I remember now. I’ve heard some talk of this. So…you have come to inspect the stables?”

I felt annoyed. “I had no fixed intention of doing so,” I said sharply. “I came here unintentionally.”

He rocked a little on his heels and his attitude had changed. I was not quite sure whether for the worse or the better.

I added: “I saw no harm in walking through the grounds.”

“Did anyone suggest there might be harm in such an innocent action?”

“I thought perhaps you…” I floundered. He was waiting expectantly, enjoying—yes, enjoying my discomfiture. I went on boldly: “I thought perhaps
you
objected.”

“I don’t remember
saying
so.”

“Well, since you don’t object I’ll continue with my walk.”

I moved away; as I did so I passed the back of the horse. In a second Napier Stacy was beside me; he had roughly caught my arm and dragged me violently to one side as the horse kicked out. His blue eyes blazed hotly; his face was tight with contempt. “Good God, don’t you know better than that?”

I looked at him indignantly; he was still gripping my arm and his face was so close to mine that I could see the clear whites of his eyes, the flash of his large white teeth.

“What are you…” I began.

But he silenced me curtly. “My good woman, don’t you know that you should never walk close behind a horse. You could have been kicked to death…or at least badly injured…in a second.”

“I…I had no idea…”

He released his grip on my arm and patted the horse’s head. His expression changed. How gentle he was! How much more attractive he found a horse than an inquisitive music teacher!

Then he turned to me again; “I shouldn’t come to the stables alone if I were you, Miss er…”

“Mrs.,” I said with dignity. “Mrs. Verlaine.” I waited to see the effect my married status would have on him; it was, however, perfectly clear that the fact was of no significance to him whatsoever.

“Well, don’t come to the stables if you’re going to be such a fool, for God’s sake. A horse hears a movement behind him, naturally he kicks out in self-preservation. Never do such a thing again.”

“I suppose,” I said coolly, “you are reminding me that I should thank you.”

“I’m reminding you to show a little common sense in future.”

“You are most kind. Thank you for preserving my life…however ungraciously.”

A slow smile spread across his features but I did not wait for more. I started to walk away, horrified that I was trembling.

I could still feel his grip on my arm and I guessed I should have bruises for days to come to remind me of him. It was most disturbing. How was I to have known his wretched horse was going to kick out. Common sense, he would say. Well there were some of us who were more interested in our fellow human beings than in horses. The expression on the man’s face when he had turned to the horse—and how it had changed for me! I didn’t like him. I kept thinking of Edith at the wedding, coming down the aisle on his arm. She was frightened of him. What sort of man was he to frighten a young girl? I could guess and I hoped I should not have to see very much of Mr. Napier Stacy. I would put him out of my mind. Pietro would have despised him on sight. That complete…what was it…virility, masculinity…would have irritated him. A Philistine, would have been Pietro’s comment—a creature with no music in his soul.

I could not banish him from my mind, however.

I found my way back to my room and there I sat on the window seat looking out, not seeing the gray-green water but the contempt in those startlingly blue eyes.

And then Mrs. Lincroft came to my room and told me that Sir William would see me.

As soon as I was presented to Sir William I saw the resemblance between him and Napier. The same blue penetrating eyes, the long nose somewhat hawklike, the thin lips and—something more subtle—that arrogant look of defiance against the world.

Mrs. Lincroft had explained to me on the way that Sir William was half-paralyzed due to a stroke he had suffered a year before. This meant that he could only move with great difficulty. I was beginning to fit things into some sort of shape and I realized that the stroke was probably another reason why Napier had been called home.

He sat in a leather wing chair, within his reach a cane whose handle was inlaid with what I believed to be lapis lazuli; and he wore a dressing gown of cloth with dark blue velvet collar and cuffs; he was obviously very tall and it seemed to me infinitely pathetic that such a man should be incapacitated, for he had clearly once been as strong and virile as his son. Heavy velour curtains were half drawn across the windows and he sat with his back to the light as though he were determined to avoid what little there was. The carpet was thick and it deadened the sound of my footsteps as I approached. The furniture—the great ormolu clock, the Buhl bureau, the tables and chairs, everything was heavy, and the effect was oppressive.