‘Were you looking for me?’ asked Harriet, a little aggressively.
‘No,’ said Miss Hillyard, ‘I wasn’t. Certainly not.’ She spoke hurriedly, and Harriet fancied that there was something in her eyes both furtive and malicious; but the evening was dark for the middle of May, and she could not be sure.
‘Oh!’ said Harriet. ‘I thought you might be.’
‘Well, I wasn’t,’ said Miss Hillyard again. And as Harriet passed her she turned back and said, almost as though the words were forced out of her:
‘Going to work – under the inspiration of your beautiful chessmen?’
‘More or less,’ said Harriet, laughing.
‘I hope you will have a pleasant evening,’ said Miss Hillyard.
Harriet went on upstairs and opened the door of her room.
The glass case had been shattered, and the floor was strewn with broken glass and with smashed and trampled fragments of red and white ivory.
For about five minutes, Harriet was the prey of that kind of speechless rage which is beyond expression or control. If she had thought of it, she was at that moment in a mood to sympathise with the Poltergeist and all her works. If she could have beaten or strangled anybody, she would have done it and felt the better for it. Happily, after the first devastating fury, she found the relief of bad language. When she found she could keep her voice steady, she locked her bedroom door behind her and went down to the telephone.
Even so, she was at first so incoherent that Peter could hardly understand what she said. When he did understand, he was maddeningly cool about it, merely asking whether she had touched anything or told anybody. When assured that she had not he replied cheerfully that he would be along in a few minutes.
Harriet went out and raged distractedly about the New Quad till she heard him ring – for the gates were now shut – and only a last lingering vestige of self-restraint prevented her from rushing at him and pouring out her indignation in the presence of Padgett. But she waited for him in the middle of the quad.
‘Peter – oh, Peter!’
‘Well,’ said he, ‘this is rather encouraging. I was afraid we might have choked off these demonstrations for good and all.’
‘But my chessmen! I could kill her for that.’
‘My dear, it’s sickening that it should be your chessmen. But don’t let’s lose all sense of proportion. It might have been you.’
‘I wish it had been. I could have hit back.’
‘Termagant. Let’s go and look at the damage.’
‘It’s horrible, Peter. It’s like a massacre. It’s – it’s rather frightening, somehow – they’ve been hit so hard.’
When he saw the room, Wimsey looked grave enough.
‘Yes,’ he said, kneeling amid the wreckage. ‘Blind, bestial malignity. Not only broken but ground to powder. There’s been a heel at work here, as well as the poker; you can see the marks on the carpet. She hates you, Harriet. I didn’t realise that. I thought she was only afraid of you . . . Is there yet any that is left of the house of Saul? . . . Look! one poor warrior hiding behind the coal-scuttle – remnant of a mighty army.’
He held up the solitary red pawn, smiling; and then scrambled hurriedly to his feet.
‘My dear girl, don’t cry about it. What the hell does it matter?’
‘I loved them,’ said Harriet, ‘and you gave them to me.’
He shook his head.
‘It’s a pity it’s that way round. “You gave them to me, and I loved them” is all right, but, “I loved them and you gave them to me” is irreparable. Fifty thousand rocs’ eggs won’t supply their place. “The virgin’s gone and I am gone; she’s gone, she’s gone and what shall I do?” But you needn’t weep over the chest of drawers while I have a shoulder at your disposal, need you?’
‘I’m sorry. I’m being a perfect idiot.’
‘I told you love was the devil and all. Two-and-thirty chessmen, baked in a pie. “And all the powerful kings and all the beautiful queens of this world were but as a bed of flowers” . . .’
‘I might have had the decency to take care of them.’
‘That’s foolish,’ said he, with his mouth muffled in her hair. ‘Don’t talk so soft, or I shall get foolish too. Listen. When did all this happen?’
‘Between Hall and a quarter to ten.’
‘Was anybody absent from Hall? Because this must have made a bit of a noise. After Hall, there’d be students about, who might hear the glass smash or notice if anybody unusual was wandering about.’
‘There might be students here all through Hall – they often have eggs in their rooms. And – good God! there was somebody unusual— She said something about the chessmen, too. And she was queer about them last night.’
‘Who was that?’
‘Miss Hillyard.’
‘Again!’
While Harriet told her story he fidgeted restlessly about the room, avoiding the broken glass and ivory on the floor with the automatic precision of a cat, and stood at length in the window with his back to her. She had drawn the curtains together when she had brought him up, and his gaze at them seemed purely preoccupied.
‘Hell!’ he said, presently. ‘That’s a devil of a complication.’ He still had the red pawn in his hand, and he now came back, and set it with great precision in the centre of the mantelpiece. ‘Yes. Well, I suppose you’ll have to find out—’
Somebody knocked at the door, and Harriet went to open it.
‘Excuse me, madam, but Padgett sent over to the Senior Common Room to see if Lord Peter Wimsey was there, and seeing he thought you might know—’
‘He’s here, Annie. It’s for you, Peter.’
‘Yes?’ said Peter, coming to the door.
‘If you please, sir, they’ve rung up from the Mitre to say there’s a message come from the Foreign Office and would you kindly ring up at once.’
‘What? Oh, lord, that would happen! Very well, thank you, Annie. Oh, one moment. Was it you who saw the – er – the person who was playing tricks in the lecture-room?’
‘Yes, sir. Not to know her again, sir.’
‘No; but you did see her, and she may not know you couldn’t recognise her. I think if I were you I’d be rather careful how you go about the College after dark. I don’t want to frighten you, but you see what’s happened to Miss Vane’s chessmen?’
‘Yes, I see, sir. What a pity, isn’t it?’
‘It would be more than a pity if anything unpleasant happened to you personally. Now, don’t get the wind up – but if I were you, I’d take somebody with me when I went out after sunset. And I should give the same advice to the scout who was with you.’
‘To Carrie? Very well, I’ll tell her.’
‘It’s only a precaution, you know. Good night, Annie.’
‘Good night, sir. Thank you.’
‘I shall have to make quite an issue of dog-collars,’ said Peter. ‘You never know whether to warn people or not. Some of them get hysterics, but she looks fairly level-headed. Look here, my dear, this is all very tiresome. If it’s another summons to Rome, I shall have to go. (I should lock that door.) Needs must when duty calls, and all that. If it is Rome, I’ll tell Bunter to bring round all the notes I’ve got at the Mitre and instruct Miss Climpson’s sleuths to report direct to you. In any case, I’ll ring you up this evening as soon as I know what it’s all about. If it isn’t Rome, I’ll come round again in the morning. And in the meantime, don’t let anybody into your room. I think I’d lock it up and sleep elsewhere to-night.’
‘I thought you didn’t expect any more night disturbances.’
‘I don’t; but I don’t want people walking over that floor.’ He stopped on the staircase to examine the sole of his shoes. ‘I haven’t carried away any bits. Do you think you have?’
Harriet stood first on one leg and then another.
‘Not this time. And the first time I didn’t walk into the mess at all. I stood in the doorway and swore.’
‘Good girl. The paths in the quad are a bit damp, you know, and something might have stuck. As a matter of fact, it’s raining a little now. You’ll get wet.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Oh, Peter! I’ve got that white scarf of yours.’
‘Keep it till I come again – which will be to-morrow, with luck, and otherwise, God knows when. Damn it! I knew there was trouble coming.’ He stood still under the beech-trees. ‘Harriet, don’t choose the moment my back’s turned to get wiped out or anything – not if you can help it; I mean, you’re not very good at looking after valuables.’
‘I might have the decency to take care? All right, Peter. I’ll do my best this time. Word of honour.’
She gave him her hand and he kissed it. Once again Harriet thought she saw somebody move in the darkness, as on the last occasion they had walked through the shadowy quads. But she dared not delay him and so again said nothing. Padgett let him out through the gate and Harriet, turning away, found herself face to face with Miss Hillyard.
‘Miss Vane, I should like to speak to you.’
‘Certainly,’ said Harriet. ‘I should rather like to speak to you.’
Miss Hillyard, without another word, led the way to her own rooms. Harriet followed her up the stairs and into the sitting-room. The tutor’s face was very white as she shut the door after them and said, without asking Harriet to sit down:
‘Miss Vane. What are the relations between that man and you?’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘You know perfectly well what I mean. If nobody else will speak to you about your behaviour, I must. You bring the man here, knowing perfectly well what his reputation is—’
‘I know what his reputation as a detective is.’
‘I mean his moral reputation. You know as well as I do that he is notorious all over Europe. He keeps women by the score—’
‘All at once or in succession?’
‘It’s no use being impertinent. I suppose that to a person with your past history, that kind of thing is merely amusing. But you must try to conduct yourself with a little more decency. The way you look at him is a disgrace. You pretend to be the merest acquaintance of his and call him by his title in public and his Christian name in private. You take him up to your room at night—’
‘Really, Miss Hillyard, I can’t allow—’
‘I’ve seen you. Twice. He was there to-night. You let him kiss your hands and make love to you—’
‘So that was you, spying about under the beeches.’
‘How dare you use such a word?’
‘How dare you say such a thing?’
‘It’s no affair of mine how you behave in Bloomsbury. But if you bring your lovers here—’
‘You know very well that he is not my lover. And you know very well why he came to my room to-night.’
‘I can guess.’
‘And I know very well why you came there.’
‘I came there? I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You do. And you know that he came to see the damage you did in my room.’
‘I never went into your room.’
‘You didn’t go into my room and smash up my chessmen?’
Miss Hillyard’s dark eyes flickered.
‘Certainly I did not. I told you I hadn’t been anywhere near your room to-night.’
‘Then,’ said Harriet, ‘you told a lie.’
She was too angry to be frightened, though it did cross her mind that if the furious white-faced woman attacked her, it might be difficult to summon assistance on this isolated staircase, and she thought of the dog-collar.
‘I know it’s a lie,’ said Harriet, ‘because there’s a piece of broken ivory on the carpet under your writing-table and another stuck on the heel of your right shoe. I saw it, coming upstairs.’
She was prepared for anything after that, but to her surprise, Miss Hillyard staggered a little, sat down suddenly, and said, ‘Oh, My God!’
‘If you had nothing to do with smashing those chessmen,’ went on Harriet, ‘or with the other pranks that have been played in this College, you’d better explain those pieces of ivory.’
(Am I a fool, she thought, showing my hand like this? But, if I didn’t, what would become of the evidence?)
Miss Hillyard, in a bewildered way, pulled off her slipper and looked at the sliver of white that clung to the heel, embedded in a little patch of damp gravel.
‘Give it to me,’ said Harriet, and took slipper and all.
She had expected an outburst of denial, but Miss Hillyard said, faintly:
‘That’s evidence . . . incontrovertible. . . .’
Harriet thanked Heaven, with grim amusement, for the scholarly habit; at least, one did not have to argue about what was or was not evidence.
‘I did go into your room. I went there to say to you what I said just now. But you weren’t there. And when I saw the mess on the floor I thought – I was afraid you’d think—’
‘I did think.’
‘What did he think?’
‘Lord Peter? I don’t know what he thought. But he’ll probably think something now.’
‘You’ve no evidence that I did it,’ said Miss Hillyard, with sudden spirit. ‘Only that I was in the room. It was done when I got there. I saw it, I went to look at it. You can tell your lover that I saw it and was glad to see it. But he’ll tell you that’s no proof that I did it.’
‘Look here, Miss Hillyard,’ said Harriet, divided between anger, suspicion and a dreadful kind of pity, ‘you must understand, once and for all, that he is not my lover. Do you really imagine that if he were, we should—’ here her sense of the ludicrous overcame her and made it difficult to control her voice – ‘we should come and misbehave ourselves in the greatest possible discomfort at Shrewsbury? Even if I had no respect for the College – where would be the point of it? With all the world and all the time there is at our disposal, why on earth should we come and play the fool down here? It would be silly. And if you really were down there in the quad just now, you must know that people who are lovers don’t treat each other like that. At least,’ she added rather unkindly, ‘if you knew anything about it at all, you’d know that. We’re very old friends, and I owe him a great deal—’
‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ said the tutor roughly. ‘You know you’re in love with the man.’
‘By God!’ said Harriet, suddenly enlightened, ‘if I’m not, I know who is.’
‘You’ve no right to say that!’
‘It’s true, all the same,’ said Harriet. ‘Oh, damn! I suppose it’s no good my saying I’m frightfully sorry.’ (Dynamite in a powder factory? Yes, indeed, Miss Edwards, you saw it before anybody else. Biologically interesting!) ‘This kind of thing is the devil and all.’ (‘That’s the devil of a complication,’ Peter had said. He’d seen it, of course. Must have. Too much experience not to. Probably happened scores of times – scores of women – all over Europe. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! And was that a random accusation, or had Miss Hillyard been delving into the past and digging up Viennese singers?)
‘For Heaven’s sake,’ said Miss Hillyard, ‘go away!’
‘I think I’d better,’ said Harriet.
She did not know how to deal with the situation at all. She could no longer feel outraged or angry. She was not alarmed. She was not jealous. She was only sorry, and quite incapable of expressing any sympathy which would not be an insult. She realised that she was still clutching Miss Hillyard’s slipper. Had she better give it back? It was evidence – of something. But of what? The whole business of the Poltergeist seemed to have retreated over the horizon, leaving behind it the tormented shell of a woman staring blindly into vacancy under the cruel harshness of the electric light. Harriet picked up the other fragment of ivory from under the writing-table – the little spearhead from a red pawn.
‘Well, whatever one’s personal feelings, evidence was evidence. Peter – she remembered that Peter had said he would ring up from the Mitre. She went downsta
irs with the slipper in her hand, and in the New Quad ran into Mrs. Padgett, who was just coming to look for her.
The call was switched through to the box in Queen Elizabeth.
‘It’s not so bad after all,’ said Peter’s voice, ‘It’s only the Grand Panjandrum wanting a conference at his private house. Sort of Pleasant Sunday Afternoon in Wild Warwickshire. It may mean London or Rome after that, but we’ll hope not. At any rate, it’ll do if I’m there by half-past eleven, so I’ll pop round and see you about nine.’
‘Please do. Something’s happened. Not alarming, but upsetting. I can’t tell you on the phone.’
He again promised to come, and said good night. Harriet, after locking the slipper and the piece of ivory carefully away, went to the Bursar, and was accommodated with a bed in the Infirmary.
21
Thus she there wayted until eventyde.
Yet living creature none she saw appeare.
And now sad shadows gan the world to hyde
From mortall vew, and wrap in darkness dreare;
Yet nould she d’off her weary armes, for feare
Of secret daunger, ne let sleepe oppresse
Her heavy eyes with nature’s burdein deare,
But drew her self aside in sickernesse,
And her wel-pointed wepons did about her dresse.
EDMUND SPENSER
Harriet left word at the Lodge that she would wait for Lord Peter Wimsey in the Fellows’ Garden. She had breakfasted early, thus avoiding Miss Hillyard, who passed through the New Quad like an angry shadow while she was talking to Padgett.
She had first met Peter at a moment when every physical feeling had been battered out of her by the brutality of circumstance; by this accident she had been aware of him from the beginning as a mind and spirit localised in a body. Never – not even in those later dizzying moments on the river – had she considered him primarily as a male animal or calculated the promise implicit in the veiled eyes, the long, flexible mouth, the curiously vital hands. Nor, since of her he had always asked and never demanded, had she felt in him any domination but that of intellect. But now, as he advanced towards her along the flower-bordered path, she saw him with new eyes – the eyes of women who had seen him before they knew him – saw him, as they saw him, dynamically. Miss Hillyard, Miss Edwards, Miss de Vine, the Dean even, each in her own way had recognised the same thing: six centuries of possessiveness, fastened under the yoke of urbanity. She herself, seeing it impudent and uncontrolled in the nephew, had known it instantly for what it was; it astonished her that in the older man she should have been blind to it so long and should still retain so strong a defence against it. And she wondered whether it was only accident that had sealed her eyes till it was too late for realisation to bring disaster.