The adulteress (28 page)

Dickon smiled at her and went out of the room.

Evalina was frowning. She said rather crossly: "Oh, I do wish we could do something sensible."

"What would you like to do?" asked Andrew fondly.

"Have a ball or banquet . . . something which I could plan."

"We'll have to see."

I said: "I think 1 should be going."

"It was good of you to call," said Andrew.

"Yes, it was nice seeing you again. I remember the last time . . ." Her eyes were malicious, daring me to mention it. "It seems quite a long time ago."

Dickon came back. He was holding a bronze statuette in his hands, which he held out to Andrew.

Andrew gasped. "Where did you find that?"

"It was in the chest."

Andrew took it and turned it over and over in his hands. He murmured: "I'll swear this is the one. I've seen it before. It was in Florence years ago. It's a beautiful thing. It was said to have been done by a pupil of Michelangelo."

"That," said Dickon, "would account for the purity of the lines."

"And it was in my chest! Impossible! How could it have got there? It belongs to Lord Eversleigh. ... At least it did when I last saw it ... if it's the one. We both wanted it. He could bid higher than I . . . and it was his. But how . . . ? I don't understand."

Evalina sat on a stool and laid her head against her husband's knee.

"I'd better confess," she said. "Although I swore to my mother I wouldn't tell. It's hers. I'm keeping it for her."

"Here?" said Andrew. "But this was one of the pieces Lord Eversleigh most prized."

"I know," said Evalina. "That was why he gave it to her. He wanted to give her something good . . . something valuable. I suppose he was thinking it was something she might sell after he died if she fell on hard times. I was holding it for her. She thought that if it was left at the Court and Lord Eversleigh died she wouldn't be allowed to have it. I'm sorry. Have I done wrong?"

Andrew touched her hair caressingly. "Of course not, and I suppose there is something in that. She would have to prove that he'd given it to her."

"How could she do that? She can't very well say 'I want it written down that you've given me this' ... or that. . . . He's given her one or two things . . . and she's

asked me to mind them for her. I thought I'd wrap them up and keep them for her. There's no harm in that, is there?"

"Of course there's no harm. But this is a very valuable piece. I don't suppose your mother realizes the value."

"Oh, she said Lordy wouldn't give her any old rubbish. Some of the things he gives her she leaves there and hopes for the best. It was just the things she thought were special."

Andrew was turning the statue over and over in his hands.

"Exquisite," he said. "Well, I suppose I should be honored to have it in my house for a little while."

Evalina took it firmly from him.

"I think I'd better wrap it up and put it away," she said. "I promised my mother I would take care of it."

I sensed tension in the atmosphere. Evalina threw a glance at Dickon in which there was a certain dislike. She had not cared that he should find the hiding place of the bronze statue and then show it to her husband. Dickon's expression was inscrutable.

I said I really must go and I thanked them for their hospitality.

Dickon said he would stay awhile. He wanted to talk about the chest and have a closer look at the bronze statue.

I left the house and rode slowly back to Eversleigh.

At supper that evening Dickon was rather more quiet than usual. At dusk I was taken once more to Uncle Carl's room. It was the same ritual; the brief visit, the hovering Jessie and the doctor, the brief pressure of the hand, the murmuring of my name, and then all too soon the request to leave the room.

I wondered if I was ever going to speak to my uncle.

I retired early but not to sleep. I sat in the window for a long time looking out and thinking about the events of the day— the marriage of Evalina to Andrew Mather and Dickon's discovery of the valuable statue which had belonged to my uncle and which Evalina had said he had given to her mother.

Had he? I wondered. How easy it would be for Jessie to help herself to valuable objects and hide them away somewhere!

Of course it was perfectly plausible that he had given them to her, and she might have been denied them if Uncle Carl died. What would happen then? I suppose Rosen, Stead and Rosen had some instructions. Would they come in and assess

his possessions? Would they know it" anything was missing? How could they? He was perfectly entitled to give his valuables away if he so wished. But it would be difficult for someone like a housekeeper to say some valuable object had been given to her if it were still in the house. He might very well have given her the statue—and other things besides—and she felt she had to get them out of the house while she had a chance.

It was an unusual situation and very difficult to assess. Something should be done, I was sure, but I did not know what. Perhaps I should go and see Rosen, Stead and Rosen. I wished there was someone whose advice I could ask.

I could only think of the Forsters. But I hardly knew them well enough and could scarcely put such a private matter before them when I had only met them twice.

My mother always said: "When in difficulties always wait. Sleep on a big decision. It's often wisest." My father would have been different. He would have been more impulsive.

My sleep was once more fitful. I could never settle to regular sleep in this house. I suppose it was because my mind was so uneasy.

I was awakened from a light doze because I thought I had heard a noise below. I sat up in bed. It was two o'clock. I was sure someone was out on the lawn.

I got out of bed and went to the window and was just in time to see a figure go into the house.

Two o'clock! Who could it be? I immediately thought of Amos Carew coming to visit Jessie. Old Jethro had said that he came some nights. On the other hand it might have been Dickon. I imagined that he could have been paying a late-night call on Evalina. It was the sort of situation which would amuse him. I could imagine his making love with Evalina in a room close by that in which her husband lay. It was a Boccaccio situation and one I was sure which Dickon—and perhaps Evalina—would find highly diverting. But she had not been very pleased with him when he had brought out the bronze figure, I was sure; and he knew it and metaphorically he snapped his fingers at her. The incident could have brought about a coolness between them.

There was so much that needed explaining. I went to my door and listened. Stealthy footsteps were coming up the stairs.

I waited pressed against the door. If it were Dickon and he

were returning to his room, those steps would go on past my room, for he was at the end of this corridor.

I waited. There was silence. I heard the sound of a door opening and being quietly shut.

It seemed as though it was not Dickon.

I locked my door and returned to bed. It must have been Amos Carew visiting Jessie.

The next morning Jessie was hovering in the hall when I came down dressed for my morning walk.

"Hello," she said. "Off out?"

"Yes." I hesitated. "I wonder what good I'm doing here," I went on. "Lord Eversleigh doesn't know I'm here, I'm sure."

"He knows it, all right. It's just that he's lost the power to say so. But I know what you mean. . . . We're all so frustrated."

"It goes on," I said. "I suppose it has been like that for weeks."

She nodded.

"I was wondering," I said, "if there is anything that could be done."

"We're doing all we can."

"Yes, I know, but there have been so many new ideas in the medical profession recently. Some of them have worked wonders."

"That's why I'm so glad we've got Dr. Cabel living here."

"I've been thinking about that. He's retired and he was an old friend and I am sure Uncle Carl likes to have him here . . . but since his day there may have been advances in medicine. I was wondering whether we could call in a new opinion."

She was silent. She had turned slightly away from me. It seemed a long time before she spoke and when she did her voice was trembling a little.

"I'm sure I've thought of everything," she said. "You can imagine what he means to me. Oh no, you can't . . . nobody could. I know you think he is a meal ticket to me. He is, of course, but that's not all. I've loved the old fellow ... I still do. I can't bear to think of him gone. . . . Oh, I know you'll say . . . yes, where will you be Jess Stirling without him. Out on your ear, that's where. Well, it's not quite like that. I've looked after the future."

Yes, I thought. Italian Renaissance statues tucked away for a rainy day!

"I'm fond of him. I've said to him: 'Ought we to get another doctor?' He doesn't like it. He said, 'Old Cabel is the best I've ever known.' Wouldn't trust himself with any one of these modern quacks. That was what he said . . . quacks."

"When did he say this?" I asked quickly.

"Oh, it was before the seizure. When he was working up for it, you might say. I said then that we should get another doctor and he wouldn't hear of it. Got quite worked up at the thought."

"I see," I said. "But he would hardly be aware, would he now? He doesn't really know me. If we called in Dr. For-ster . . ."

"Dr. Forster! You mean . . . the doctor here!"

"I was thinking of him. I met him at Enderby. They're very nice people. I don't see why we shouldn't call him in. Two opinions are better than one."

"I believe Dr. Cabel would go if we did. Doctors don't like that. They like you to trust them."

"I suppose it might be unethical."

"Well ... I don't know. Don't do anything yet, though. Perhaps I could sound them . . . both Lordy and Dr. Cabel."

"You mean you would ask Lord Eversleigh? He would never understand."

"Oh, I think he might. You're worried, aren't you? You think he shouldn't go on like this. Dr. Cabel thinks it a bit of a miracle that he does."

I said: "I wish I could see him more often. Those brief visits by candlelight . . ."

"I know."

"At night," I said, "when he is probably tired."

"It was his wish that he sees people after dusk. He's changed such a lot. It's done something to his face. . . . It's drawn his mouth down one side. It's made his hair come out. He'll never take off that nightcap and he wears it so as to hide half his face. He was a very vain man . . . very fond of his own appearance. ... He can't bear the change in himself. I keep the mirror well out of his way."

"All the same I should like to see him in the light of day."

"You'd hardly recognize him. He's a pitiful sight."

"Dr. Forster seems to have a good reputation," I said.

"You're worried . . . just like me ... I know. I pray God he'll recover." She crossed herself as she spoke and looked rather anxiously upward. It had never occurred to me that Jessie was a religious woman and I had thought the gold cross which she always wore about her neck was an ornament rather than a symbol.

I said: "I shall go for a walk now."

"You're a good walker," she said.

"Yes, I like the fresh air. It makes me think."

She nodded and I went out. At the door I turned to look back at her. She was watching me and as she did so was fingering the cross about her neck.

I walked briskly toward the town. It was a long walk. I remembered how Gerard had driven me in that post chaise he had borrowed when we were concerned with Uncle Carl's will. There was no time to go to the solicitor this morning. Moreover, I was not sure whether it was the right thing to do. I imagined that Mr. Rosen might not be the most tactful of men, and if he were to upset Jessie or Dr. Cabel we might succeed in worrying Uncle Carl to such an extent that his condition grew worse.

I wished there was someone whose advice I could ask.

I wished I knew the Forsters better; I wished I could trust Dickon.

There seemed nothing to do but wait. I had always been able to see several sides to a question. It sometimes had the effect of making me hesitant because one was never sure which way to act for the best. People who had definite ideas need not hesitate. They were sure they were right even when they were wrong. But I could never be entirely sure.

As I saw it, Jessie was immoral; when she had been Uncle Carl's mistress she was also that of his agent. But at the same time she had provided comfort such as he longed for. The three of them had been happy. Whereas had she done the honorable thing and left Uncle Carl he would have been miserable. It was the same with Evalina. There was no doubt that she had made Andrew Mather very happy. If she was indulging in sexual adventure outside her marriage as long as Andrew didn't know . . .

It seemed mixed morality in a way. After all, I had the example of my own lapse before me.

So I remained undecided. I went back to the house. At dinner Dr. Cabel was as affable as ever toward me so I presumed Jessie had not said anything about my suggesting calling in other advice. Dickon was vivacious and said he was going over to Grasslands in the afternoon.

"Andrew likes me to enjoy his treasures/' he said looking at me mischievously.

I walked toward Enderby hoping that I should accidently meet one of the Forsters. I was unlucky. I just stood by the palings looking at that incredibly gloomy piece of wasteland and hoping for a sign to tell me what to do.

After supper I went to visit Uncle Carl again.

"He is a little better today," said Dr. Cabel as we went up to Uncle Carl's room. "I think your coming has done something for him. I think you could stay a little longer with him. Let's see how we go . . . shall we?"

He was lying there, blotched hands on the counterpane, his fingers twitching a little as I sat down. An indication, I thought, that he wanted me to take his hand.

I did so.

"Uncle Carl," I said, "it's Zipporah."

His eyes were half closed ... I could see that his mouth was drawn up at one side. It made him look unlike the man I had known. His nose looked sharper ... I thought his face looked a little fuller. But it was his eyes I had always noticed about Uncle Carl—those lively dark eyes—and now the lids were drawn down over them and he wasn't like Uncle Carl anymore. "Zipporah . . ." he whispered.