"The gentlemen are not back yet, are they, Robert?" I asked.
"No, Madam, not yet. I thought you were with them, Madam."
"No. No, I've been back sometime."
"Will you have tea, Madam?"
"No, no, I'll wait."
"It looks as though the weather is going to break at last, Madam."
"Yes."
No rain fell. Nothing since those two drops on my hand. I went back and sat in the library. At half past five Robert came into the room.
"The car has just driven up to the door now, Madam," he said.
"Which car?" I said.
"Mr. de Winter's car, Madam," he said.
"Is Mr. de Winter driving it himself?"
"Yes, Madam."
I tried to get up but my legs were things of straw, they would not bear me. I stood leaning against the sofa. My throat was very dry. After a minute Maxim came into the room. He stood just inside the door.
He looked very tired, old. There were lines at the corner of his mouth I had never noticed before.
"It's all over," he said.
I waited. Still I could not speak or move towards him.
"Suicide," he said, "without sufficient evidence to show the state of mind of the deceased. They were all at sea of course, they did not know what they were doing."
I sat down on the sofa. "Suicide," I said, "but the motive? Where was the motive?"
"God knows," he said. "They did not seem to think a motive was necessary. Old Horridge, peering at me, wanting to know if Rebecca had any money troubles. Money troubles. God in heaven."
He went and stood by the window, looking out at the green lawns. "It's going to rain," he said. "Thank God it's going to rain at last."
"What happened?" I said, "what did the Coroner say? Why have you been there all this time?"
"He went over and over the same ground again," said Maxim. "Little details about the boat that no one cared about a damn. Were the sea-cocks hard to turn on? Where exactly was the first hole in relation to the second? What was ballast? What effect upon the stability of the boat would the shifting of the ballast have? Could a woman do this unaided? Did the cabin door shut firmly? What pressure of water was necessary to burst open the door? I thought I should go mad. I kept my temper though. Seeing you there, by the door, made me remember what I had to do. If you had not fainted like that, I should never have done it. It brought me up with a jerk. I knew exactly what I was going to say. I faced Horridge all the time. I never took my eyes off his thin, pernickety, little face and those gold-rimmed pince-nez. I shall remember that face of his to my dying day. I'm tired, darling; so tired I can't see, or hear or feel anything."
He sat down on the window seat. He leaned forward, his head in his hands. I went and sat beside him. In a few minutes Frith came in, followed by Robert carrying the table for tea. The solemn ritual went forward as it always did, day after day, the leaves of the table pulled out, the legs adjusted, the laying of the snowy cloth, the putting down of the silver teapot and the kettle with the little flame beneath. Scones, sandwiches, three different sorts of cake. Jasper sat close to the table, his tail thumping now and again upon the floor, his eyes fixed expectantly on me. It's funny, I thought, how the routine of life goes on, whatever happens, we do the same things, go through the little performance of eating, sleeping, washing. No crisis can break through the crust of habit. I poured out Maxim's tea, I took it to him on the window seat, gave him his scone, and buttered one for myself.
"Where's Frank?" I asked.
"He had to go and see the vicar. I would have gone too but I wanted to come straight back to you. I kept thinking of you, waiting here, all by yourself, not knowing what was going to happen."
"Why the vicar?" I said.
"Something has to happen this evening," he said. "Something at the church."
I stared at him blankly. Then I understood. They were going to bury Rebecca. They were going to bring Rebecca back from the mortuary.
"It's fixed for six-thirty," he said. "No one knows but Frank, and Colonel Julyan, and the vicar, and myself. There won't be anyone hanging about. This was arranged yesterday. The verdict doesn't make any difference."
"What time must you go?"
"I'm meeting them there at the church at twenty-five past six."
I did not say anything. I went on drinking my tea. Maxim put his sandwich down untasted. "It's still very hot, isn't it," he said.
"It's the storm," I said. "It won't break. Only little spots at a time. It's there in the air. It won't break."
"It was thundering when I left Lanyon," he said, "the sky was like ink over my head. Why in the name of God doesn't it rain?"
The birds were hushed in the trees. It was still very dark.
"I wish you did not have to go out again," I said.
He did not answer. He looked tired, so deathly tired.
"We'll talk over things this evening when I get back," he said presently. "We've got so much to do together, haven't we? We've got to begin all over again. I've been the worst sort of husband for you."
"No!" I said. "No!"
"We'll start again, once this thing is behind us. We can do it, you and I. It's not like being alone. The past can't hurt us if we are together. You'll have children too." After a while he glanced at his watch. "It's ten past six," he said, "I shall have to be going. It won't take long, not more than half an hour. We've got to go down to the crypt."
I held his hand. "I'll come with you. I shan't mind. Let me come with you."
"No," he said. "No, I don't want you to come."
Then he went out of the room. I heard the sound of the car starting up in the drive. Presently the sound died away, and I knew he had gone.
Robert came to clear away the tea. It was like any other day. The routine was unchanged. I wondered if it would have been so had Maxim not come back from Lanyon. I wondered if Robert would have stood there, that wooden expression on his young sheep's face, brushing the crumbs from the snow-white cloth, picking up the table, carrying it from the room.
It seemed very quiet in the library when he had gone. I began to think of them down at the church, going through that door and down the flight of stairs to the crypt. I had never been there. I had only seen the door. I wondered what a crypt was like, if there were coffins standing there. Maxim's father and mother. I wondered what would happen to the coffin of that other woman who had been put there by mistake. I wondered who she was, poor unclaimed soul, washed up by the wind and tide. Now another coffin would stand there. Rebecca would lie there in the crypt as well. Was the vicar reading the burial service there, with Maxim, and Frank, and Colonel Julyan standing by his side? Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. It seemed to me that Rebecca had no reality anymore. She had crumbled away when they had found her on the cabin floor. It was not Rebecca who was lying in the crypt, it was dust. Only dust.
Just after seven the rain began to fall. Gently at first, a light pattering in the trees, and so thin I could not see it. Then louder and faster, a driving torrent falling slantways from the slate sky, like water from a sluice. I left the windows open wide. I stood in front of them and breathed the cold clean air. The rain splashed into my face and on my hands. I could not see beyond the lawns, the falling rain came thick and fast. I heard it sputtering in the gutter-pipes above the window, and splashing on the stones of the terrace. There was no more thunder. The rain smelt of moss and earth and of the black bark of trees.
I did not hear Frith come in at the door. I was standing by the window, watching the rain. I did not see him until he was beside me.
"Excuse me, Madam," he said, "do you know if Mr. de Winter will be long?"
"No," I said, "not very long."
"There's a gentleman to see him, Madam," said Frith after a moment's hesitation. "I'm not quite sure what I ought to say. He's very insistent about seeing Mr. de Winter."
"Who is it?" I said. "Is it anyone you know?"
Frith looked uncomfortable. "Yes, Madam,
" he said, "it's a gentleman who used to come here frequently at one time, when Mrs. de Winter was alive. A gentleman called Mr. Favell."
I knelt on the window seat and shut the window. The rain was coming in on the cushions. Then I turned round and looked at Frith.
"I think perhaps I had better see Mr. Favell," I said.
"Very good, Madam."
I went and stood over on the rug beside the empty fireplace. It was just possible that I should be able to get rid of Favell before Maxim came back. I did not know what I was going to say to him, but I was not frightened.
In a few moments Frith returned and showed Favell into the library. He looked much the same as before but a little rougher if possible, a little more untidy. He was the sort of man who invariably went hatless, his hair was bleached from the sun of the last days and his skin was deeply tanned. His eyes were rather bloodshot. I wondered if he had been drinking.
"I'm afraid Maxim is not here," I said. "I don't know when he will be back. Wouldn't it be better if you made an appointment to see him at the office in the morning?"
"Waiting doesn't worry me," said Favell, "and I don't think I shall have to wait very long, you know. I had a look in the dining room as I came along, and I see Max's place is laid for dinner all right."
"Our plans have been changed," I said. "It's quite possible Maxim won't be home at all this evening."
"He's run off, has he?" said Favell, with a half smile I did not like. "I wonder if you really mean it. Of course under the circumstances it's the wisest thing he can do. Gossip is an unpleasant thing to some people. It's more pleasant to avoid it, isn't it?"
"I don't know what you mean," I said.
"Don't you?" he said. "Oh, come, you don't expect me to believe that, do you? Tell me, are you feeling better? Too bad fainting like that at the inquest this afternoon. I would have come and helped you out but I saw you had one knight-errant already. I bet Frank Crawley enjoyed himself. Did you let him drive you home? You wouldn't let me drive you five yards when I offered to."
"What do you want to see Maxim about?" I asked.
Favell leaned forward to the table and helped himself to a cigarette. "You don't mind my smoking, I suppose?" he said, "it won't make you sick, will it? One never knows with brides."
He watched me over his lighter. "You've grown up a bit since I saw you last, haven't you?" he said. "I wonder what you have been doing. Leading Frank Crawley up the garden-path?" He blew a cloud of smoke in the air. "I say, do you mind asking old Frith to get me a whiskey-and-soda?"
I did not say anything. I went and rang the bell. He sat down on the edge of the sofa, swinging his legs, that half-smile on his lips. Robert answered the bell. "A whiskey-and-soda for Mr. Favell," I said.
"Well, Robert?" said Favell, "I haven't seen you for a very long time. Still breaking the hearts of the girls in Kerrith?"
Robert flushed. He glanced at me, horribly embarrassed.
"All right, old chap, I won't give you away. Run along and get me a double whiskey, and jump on it."
Robert disappeared. Favell laughed, dropping ash all over the floor.
"I took Robert out once on his half-day," he said. "Rebecca bet me a fiver I wouldn't ask him. I won my fiver all right. Spent one of the funniest evenings of my life. Did I laugh? Oh, boy! Robert on the razzle takes a lot of beating, I tell you. I must say he's got a good eye for a girl. He picked the prettiest of the bunch we saw that night."
Robert came back again with the whiskey-and-soda on a tray. He still looked very red, very uncomfortable. Favell watched him with a smile as he poured out his drink, and then he began to laugh, leaning back on the arm of the sofa. He whistled the bar of a song, watching Robert all the while.
"That was the one, wasn't it?" he said, "that was the tune? Do you still like ginger hair, Robert?"
Robert gave him a flat weak smile. He looked miserable. Favell laughed louder still. Robert turned and went out of the room.
"Poor kid," said Favell. "I don't suppose he's been on the loose since. That old ass Frith keeps him on a leading string."
He began drinking his whiskey-and-soda, glancing round the room, looking at me every now and again, and smiling.
"I don't think I shall mind very much if Max doesn't get back to dinner," he said. "What say you?"
I did not answer. I stood by the fireplace my hands behind my back. "You wouldn't waste that place at the dining room table, would you?" he said. He looked at me, smiling still, his head on one side.
"Mr. Favell," I said, "I don't want to be rude, but as a matter of fact I'm very tired. I've had a long and fairly exhausting day. If you can't tell me what you want to see Maxim about it's not much good your sitting here. You had far better do as I suggest, and go round to the estate office in the morning."
He slid off the arm of the sofa and came towards me, his glass in his hand. "No, no," he said. "No, no, don't be a brute. I've had an exhausting day too. Don't run away and leave me, I'm quite harmless, really I am. I suppose Max has been telling tales about me to you?"
I did not answer. "You think I'm the big, bad wolf, don't you?" he said, "but I'm not, you know. I'm a perfectly ordinary, harmless bloke. And I think you are behaving splendidly over all this, perfectly splendidly. I take off my hat to you, I really do." This last speech of his was very slurred and thick. I wished I had never told Frith I would see him.
"You come down here to Manderley," he said, waving his arm vaguely, "you take on all this place, meet hundreds of people you've never seen before, you put up with old Max and his moods, you don't give a fig for anyone, you just go your own way. I call it a damn good effort, and I don't care who hears me say so. A damn good effort." He swayed a little as he stood. He steadied himself, and put the empty glass down on the table. "This business has been a shock to me, you know," he said. "A bloody awful shock. Rebecca was my cousin. I was damn fond of her."
"Yes," I said. "I'm very sorry for you."
"We were brought up together," he went on. "Always tremendous pals. Liked the same things, the same people. Laughed at the same jokes. I suppose I was fonder of Rebecca than anyone else in the world. And she was fond of me. All this has been a bloody shock."
"Yes," I said. "Yes, of course."
"And what is Max going to do about it, that's what I want to know? Does he think he can sit back quietly now that sham inquest is over? Tell me that?" He was not smiling anymore. He bent towards me.
"I'm going to see justice is done to Rebecca," he said, his voice growing louder. "Suicide... God Almighty, that doddering old fool of a Coroner got the jury to say suicide. You and I know it wasn't suicide, don't we?" He leaned closer to me still. "Don't we?" he said slowly.
The door opened and Maxim came into the room, with Frank just behind him. Maxim stood quite still, with the door open, staring at Favell. "What the hell are you doing here?" he said.
Favell turned round, his hands in his pockets. He waited a moment, and then he began to smile. "As a matter of fact, Max, old chap, I came to congratulate you on the inquest this afternoon."
"Do you mind leaving the house?" said Max, "or do you want Crawley and me to chuck you out?"
"Steady a moment, steady a moment," said Favell. He lit another cigarette, and sat down once more on the arm of the sofa.
"You don't want Frith to hear what I'm going to say, do you?" he said. "Well, he will, if you don't shut that door."
Maxim did not move. I saw Frank close the door very quietly.
"Now, listen here, Max," said Favell, "you've come very well out of this affair, haven't you? Better than you ever expected. Oh, yes, I was in the court this afternoon, and I dare say you saw me. I was there from start to finish. I saw your wife faint, at a rather critical moment, and I don't blame her. It was touch and go, then, wasn't it, Max, what way the inquiry would go? And luckily for you it went the way it did. You hadn't squared those thick-headed fellows who were acting jury, had you? It looked damn like it to me."
Maxim made
a move towards Favell, but Favell held up his hand.
"Wait a bit, can't you?" he said. "I haven't finished yet. You realize, don't you, Max, old man, that I can make things damned unpleasant for you if I choose. Not only unpleasant, but shall I say dangerous?"
I sat down on the chair beside the fireplace. I held the arms of the chair very tight. Frank came over and stood behind the chair. Still Maxim did not move. He never took his eyes off Favell.
"Oh, yes?" he said, "in what way can you make things dangerous?"
"Look here, Max," said Favell, "I suppose there are no secrets between you and your wife and from the look of things Crawley there just makes the happy trio. I can speak plainly then, and I will. You all know about Rebecca and me. We were lovers, weren't we? I've never denied it, and I never will. Very well then. Up to the present I believed, like every other fool, that Rebecca was drowned sailing in the bay, and that her body was picked up at Edgecoombe weeks afterwards. It was a shock to me then, a bloody shock. But I said to myself, That's the sort of death Rebecca would choose, she'd go out like she lived, fighting." He paused, he sat there on the edge of the sofa, looking at all of us in turn. "Then I pick up the evening paper a few days ago and I read that Rebecca's boat had been stumbled on by the local diver and that there was a body in the cabin. I couldn't understand it. Who the hell would Rebecca have as a sailing companion? It didn't make sense. I came down here, and put up at a pub just outside Kerrith. I got in touch with Mrs. Danvers. She told me then that the body in the cabin was Rebecca's. Even so I thought like everyone else that the first body was a mistake and Rebecca had somehow got shut in the cabin when she went to fetch a coat. Well, I attended that inquest today, as you know. And everything went smoothly, didn't it, until Tabb gave his evidence? But after that? Well, Max, old man, what have you got to say about those holes in the floorboards, and those sea-cocks turned full on?"