“I’m glad.”
“When Mr. TreMellyn returns I shall tell him that I have seen you, and I shall ask if something can be done.”
“It is of little consequence now. Dr. Luscombe knows what happened. He is very indignant. But I have made him see that no good purpose could be served by bringing up the matter again. If Lady Treslyn ever tried to make more mischief, then something could be done. But she won’t; her only desire was to get rid of me, and that she did … quite effectively.”
“What a wicked woman she is! She did not consider the effect on you. But for the kindness of Miss Nansellock …”
“I know. But don’t let’s talk of it. You will tell Miss Nansellock that you have seen me?”
“Yes, I will.”
“Then tell her that I am engaged now to Dr. Luscombe. She will be so pleased. And there’s something else I would like her to know. Perhaps you’ll be interested too. It’s about the house. That house will soon be your home, won’t it? I envy you the house. It’s one of the most interesting places I’ve ever seen.”
“What were you going to tell me to pass on to Miss Nansellock?”
“I’ve been doing a little research on architecture, and so on, of the Elizabethan period, and my fiancé arranged for me to see Cotehele, the Mount Edgcumbe’s place. They were delighted to let me see it because they are understandably proud of it. It’s more like Mount Mellyn than any house I’ve ever seen. The chapel is almost identical, even to the lepers’ squint. But the squint at Mount Mellyn is much bigger, and the construction of the walls is slightly different. As a matter of fact, I’ve never seen a squint quite like that at Mount Mellyn before. Do tell Miss Nansellock. She would be most interested, I’m sure.”
“I’ll tell her. I expect she’ll be more interested to hear that you are so happy and that you are going to marry.”
“Don’t forget to tell her too that I remember I owe it all to her. Give her my kindest regards and my best thanks.”
“I will,” I said.
We parted, and on my journey home I felt that I had obtained from Miss Jansen some fresh light on my problem.
There was no doubt that Lady Treslyn arranged for Miss Jansen’s dismissal. Miss Jansen was very pretty indeed. Connan admired her and Alvean was fond of her. Connan would consider marriage because he would want sons; and Lady Treslyn, possessive as a tigress, was not going to allow him to marry anyone but herself.
I believed now that Lady Treslyn was planning to remove me as she had removed Miss Jansen; but because I was already engaged to Connan she would have to use more drastic methods in my case.
But Connan did not know of this attempt on my life.
I refused to believe that of him and, refusing, I felt a great deal happier.
Moreover, I had made up my mind. When Connan came back I was going to tell him everything—all I had discovered, all I feared.
The decision brought me great comfort.
Two days passed and still Connan had not returned.
Peter Nansellock came over to say good-by. He was leaving late that night for London on his way to join the ship which would carry him to Australia.
Celestine was with him when he came to say good-by. They thought Connan would have returned by now. As a matter of fact, while they were there a letter arrived from Connan. He was coming back if possible late that night; if not, as early as possible next day.
I felt tremendously happy.
I gave them tea and, as we talked, I mentioned Miss Jansen.
I saw no reason why I should not do so in front of Peter because it was he who had told me that Celestine had found her a job with the Merrivales.
“I met Miss Jansen the other day,” I began.
They were both startled.
“But how?” asked Peter.
“I wrote and asked her to meet me.”
“What made you do that?” asked Celestine.
“Well, she had lived here, and there was a mystery about her, and I thought it would be rather interesting, so, as I was going to Plymouth …”
“A charming creature,” mused Peter.
“Yes. You’ll be pleased to hear that she’s engaged to be married.”
“How interesting,” cried Celestine, her face growing pink. “I’m delighted.”
“To the local doctor,” I added.
“She’ll make an excellent doctor’s wife,” said Celestine.
“Her husband’s male patients will all be in love with her,” put in Peter.
“That could be disconcerting,” I replied.
“But good for business,” murmured Peter. “Did she send us greetings?”
“Particularly to your sister.” I smiled at Celestine. “She is so grateful to you; you were wonderful to her. She says she’ll never forget.”
“It was nothing. I could not let that woman do what she did and stand by doing nothing.”
“You think Lady Treslyn deliberately planted that theft on her? I know Miss Jansen does.”
“There is not a doubt of it,” said Celestine firmly.
“What an unscrupulous woman she must be!”
“I believe that to be so.”
“Well, Miss Jansen is happy now, so good came out of evil. By the way, I have a special message for you. It’s about the house.”
“What house?” asked Celestine with great interest.
“This one. Miss Jansen has been to Cotehele and has been comparing their squint, in the chapel, with ours. She says ours is quite unique.”
“Oh really! That’s very interesting.”
“It’s bigger, she says—I mean ours is. And there’s something about the construction of the walls.”
“Celestine is aching to go down and have a look at it,” said Peter.
She smiled at me. “We’ll look at it together sometime. You’re going to be the mistress of the house, so you ought to take an interest in it.”
“I’m becoming more and more interested. I’m going to ask you to teach me lots about it.”
She smiled at me warmly. “I’ll be glad.”
I asked Peter what train he was catching, and he answered that it would be the ten o’clock from St. Germans.
“I’ll ride to the station,” he said, “and stable the horse there. The baggage has gone on ahead of me. I shall go alone. I don’t want any fond farewells at the station. After all, I shall no doubt be home this time next year—with a fortune. Au revoir, Miss Leigh,” he went on. “I’ll come back one day. And if you do feel like coming with me … it’s not too late even now.”
He spoke flippantly, and his eyes were full of mischief. I wondered what he would say if I suddenly agreed to his proposal, if I suddenly told him that I was filled with terrible doubts about the man I had promised to marry.
I went down to the porch to say my last farewells. The servants were there, for Peter was a great favorite. I guessed that he had bestowed many a sly kiss on Daisy and Kitty, and they were sad to see him go.
He looked very handsome in the saddle and beside him Celestine seemed insignificant.
We stood waving to them.
His last words were: “Don’t forget, Miss Leigh … if you should change your mind!”
Everybody laughed and I joined in with them. I think we all felt a little sad that he was going.
As we were going back into the house, Mrs. Polgrey said to me: “Miss Leigh, could I have a word with you?”
“But certainly. Shall I come to your room?”
She led the way there.
“I’ve just had word,” she said. “The result of the autopsy. Death through natural causes.”
I felt floods of relief sweeping over me.
“Oh, I’m so pleased about that.”
“So are we all. I can tell you, I didn’t like the things that were being said … and him dying after he’d had supper here.”
“It seems as though it was all a storm in a teacup,” I said.
“Something like that, Miss Leigh. But ther
e you are—people talk and something has to be done.”
“Well, it must be a great relief to Lady Treslyn.”
She looked a little embarrassed and I guessed she was wondering what she had said to me in the past about Connan and Lady Treslyn. It must have been disconcerting to discover that I was going to be Connan’s wife. I decided to sweep aside her embarrassment forever, and said: “I hoped you were going to offer me a cup of your special Earl Grey.”
She was pleased and rang for Kitty.
We talked of household affairs while the kettle boiled, and when tea was made she tentatively brought out the whisky and when I nodded, a teaspoonful was put into each cup. I felt then that we had indeed resumed the old friendly relationship.
I was glad, because I could see this made her happy, and I wanted everyone about me to be as happy as I was.
I kept telling myself: If Lady Treslyn really did attempt to kill me by sending that boulder crashing down in front of me when I was mounted on Jacinth, Connan knew nothing about it. Sir Thomas died a natural death, so there was nothing to hide; he had no reason to ask me to marry him except the one which he gave me: he loves me.
It was nine o’clock and the children were in bed. It had been a warm and sunny day and there were signs of spring everywhere.
Connan was coming home either tonight or tomorrow and I was happy.
I wondered what time he would arrive. Perhaps at midnight. I went to the porch to look for him because I had imagined I heard horses’ hoofs in the distance.
I waited. The night was still. The house always seemed very quiet at times like this, for all the servants would be in their own quarters.
I guessed that Peter would be on his way to the station by now. It was strange to think that I might never see him again. I thought of our first meeting in the train; he had begun by playing his mischievous tricks on me even then.
Then I saw someone coming toward me. It was Celestine, and she had come by way of the woods, not along the drive as usual.
She was rather breathless.
“Why, hello,” she said. “I came to see you. I felt so lonely. Peter’s gone. It’s rather sad to think that I shan’t see him for a long time.”
“It does make one sad.”
“He played the fool a great deal, of course, but I am very fond of him. Now I’ve lost both my brothers.”
“Come in,” I said.
“Connan’s not back, I suppose?”
“No. I don’t think he can possibly be here before midnight. He wrote that he had business to attend to this morning. I expect he’ll arrive tomorrow. Won’t you come in?”
“Do you know, I rather hoped you’d be alone.”
“Did you?”
“I wanted to have a look at the chapel … that squint, you know. Ever since you gave me Miss Jansen’s message I’ve been eager to see it. I didn’t say so in front of Peter. He’s apt to laugh at my enthusiasm.”
“Do you want to have a look at it now?”
“Yes, please. I’ve got a theory about it. There may be a door in the paneling which leads to another part of the house. Wouldn’t it be fun if we could discover it and tell Connan about it when he arrives?”
“Yes,” I agreed, “it would.”
“Let’s go now then.”
We went through the hall and, as we did so, I glanced up at the peep, because I had an uncanny feeling that we were being watched. I thought I saw a movement up there, but I was not sure, and said nothing.
We went along to the end of the hall, through the door, down the stone steps, and were in the chapel.
The place smelled damp. I said: “It smells as though it hasn’t been used for years.” And my voice echoed weirdly through the place.
Celestine did not answer. She had lighted one of the candles which stood on the altar. I watched the long shadow which the flickering light threw against the wall.
“Let’s get into the squint,” she said. “Through this door. There is another door in the squint itself which opens onto the walled garden. That was the way the lepers used to come in.”
She carried the candle high and I found that we were in a small chamber.
“This is the place,” I said, “which is bigger than most of its kind.”
She did not answer. She was pressing different parts of the wall.
I watched her long fingers at work.
Suddenly she turned and smiled at me. “I’ve always had a theory that somewhere in this house there is a priest’s hole … you know, the hidey hole of the resident priest into which he scuttled when the Queen’s men arrived. As a matter of fact, I know that one TreMellyn did toy with the idea of becoming a Catholic. I’ll swear there is a priest’s hole somewhere. Connan would be delighted if we found it. He loves this place as much as I do … as much as you’re going to. If I found it … it would be the best wedding present I could give him, wouldn’t it? After all, what can you give people who have all they want?”
She hesitated, and her voice was high with excitement. “Just a minute. There’s something here.” I came close to her, and caught my breath with amazement, for the panel had moved inward and shown itself as a long narrow door.
She turned to look at me and she looked unlike herself. Her eyes were brilliant with excitement. She put her head inside the aperture and was about to go forward when she said: “No, you first. It’s going to be your house. You should be the first to enter it.”
I had caught her excitement. I knew how pleased Connan would be.
I stepped ahead of her and was aware of an unrecognizable pungent odor.
She said: “Have a quick look. It’s probably a bit foul in there. Careful. There are probably steps.” She held the candle high, and I saw there were two of them. I went down those steps and, as I did so, the door shut behind me.
“Celestine!” I cried in terror. But there was no answer. “Open that door,” I screamed. But my voice was caught and imprisoned in the darkness, and I knew that I was a prisoner too—Celestine’s prisoner.
The darkness shut me in. It was cold and eerie—foul, evil. Panic seized me. How can I explain such terror? There are no words to describe it. Only those who have suffered it could understand.
Thoughts—hideous thoughts—seemed to be battering on my brain. I had been a fool. I had been trapped. I had accepted what seemed obvious, I had walked the way she who wished to be rid of me had directed; and like a fool I had asked no questions.
My fear numbed my brain as it did my body.
I was terrified.
I mounted the two steps. I beat my fists against what now seemed to be a wall. “Let me out! Let me out!” I cried.
But I knew that my voice would not be heard beyond the lepers’ squint. And how often did people go to the chapel?
She would slip away … no one would know she had even been in the house.
I was so frightened I did not know what to do. I heard my own voice sobbing out my terror, and it frightened me afresh because, for the moment, I did not recognize it as my own.
I felt exhausted and limp. I knew that one could not live for long in this dark, damp place. I pulled at the wall until I tore my nails and I felt the blood on my hands.
I began to look about me because my eyes were becoming familiar to the gloom. Then I saw that I was not alone.
Someone had come here before me. What was left of Alice lay there. At last I had found her.
“Alice,” I screamed. “Alice. It is you then? So you were here in the house all the time?”
There was no answer from Alice. Her lips had been silent for more than a year.
I covered my face with my hands. I could not bear to look. There was the smell of death and decay everywhere.
I wondered: How long did Alice live after the door had closed on her? I wanted to know because so long I might expect to live.
I think I must have fainted for a long time and I was delirious when I came to. I heard a voice babbling; it must have been my own because it c
ould not have belonged to Alice.
I was mercifully only half-conscious. But it was as though a part of me understood so much.
During that time I spent in the dark and gruesome place I was not sure who I was. Was I Martha? Was I Alice?
Our stories were so much alike. I believed the pattern was similar. They had said she ran away with Geoffry. They would say I had run away with Peter. Our departure had been cleverly timed. “But why,” I said, “but why …?”
I knew whose shadow I had seen on the blind. It was hers … that diabolical woman. She had known of the existence of that little diary which I had discovered in Alice’s coat pocket and she was searching for it because she knew it could provide one of those small clues which might lead to discovery.
I knew that she did not love Alvean, that she had tricked us all with her gentle demeanor. I knew that she was incapable of loving anyone. She had used Alvean as she had used others, as she was going to use Connan.
It was the house that she loved.
I pictured her during those delirious moments looking from her window at Mount Widden across the cove—coveting a house as fiercely as man ever coveted woman or woman, man.
“Alice,” I said. “Alice we were her victims … you and I.”
And I fancied Alice talked to me … told me of the day Geoffry had caught the London train and how Celestine had come to the house and told her of the great discovery in the chapel.
I saw Alice … pale, pretty, fragile Alice crying out in pleasure at the discovery, taking those fatal steps forward to death.
But it was not Alice’s voice I heard. It was my own.
Yet I thought she was with me. I thought that at last I had found her, and that we had comfort to offer each other as I waited to go with her into the shadowy world which had been hers since she was led by Celestine Nansellock into the lepers’ squint.
There was a blinding light in my eyes. I was being carried.
I said: “Am I dead then, Alice?”
And a voice answered: “My darling … my darling … you are safe.”
It was Connan’s voice, and it was his arms which held me.