The Shivering Sands (12 page)

“Yes.” She looked dubious. “I think my Papa was worried about me. He knew that he wouldn’t live long because he had consumption, so he arranged with Sir William that he should be my guardian and I came to Lovat Stacy when he died.”

Poor Edith, who had had no hand in forming her own life!

“Well now that you are mistress of the house that must make you very proud.”

“I always loved the house,” she agreed.

“You should be happy now everything is settled.”

A trite and foolish remark, because clearly she was not happy and everything was far from settled.

We had come down to the sea, which was gently rising and falling on the shingle.

“This is where Julius Caesar landed,” said Edith. And she pulled up the trap for a few moments so that I could savor this.

“It didn’t look very much different then,” she went on. “It couldn’t, could it. Of course the castles weren’t there. I wonder what he thought when he first saw Britain.”

“One thing we can be certain of—he wouldn’t have had much time for admiring the scenery.”

Before us lay the town of Deal with its rows of houses almost down on the shingle, and lying on that shingle were many boats so close to the houses that their mizzen booms seemed as though they were running into them.

Edith told me that the yellow “cats,” the smaller luggers, were used for fueling big ships which lay at anchor in the Downs.

We drove past Deal Castle—circular in shape with its four bastions, its pierced portholes, its drawbridge, its battlemented gateway and thickly studded door—set deep down in its grassy moat, and on into the town.

It was a busy sight on that lovely spring morning. Several fishing boats had just come in and were selling their catch. One fisherman was bringing in the lobster pots—another was mending his nets. I caught a sight of Dover soles and cat and dog fish, and the smell of fish and seaweed mingled in the salt sea air.

Edith had come to shop and she drove me away from the coast to an inn where she said she would leave the trap and perhaps I would care to explore the town a little while she visited the shops.

Because I sensed that she wished to be alone I agreed to this and I spent a pleasant hour wending my way through a maze of narrow streets with enchanting names—Golden Street, Silver Street, Dolphin Street. I wandered along by the sea, as far as the ruins of Sandown Castle, that one which had not stood up to time and sea, and I sat for a while on a seat which had been put in a convenient spot where the crumbling rock made a natural alcove. From there I looked across that benign sea and my eyes sought the masts on those ship-swallowing sands—a reminder of how quickly change could come.

When I returned to the inn where I was to meet Edith she was not there, so I sat outside on one of the wicker seats to wait for her. In my anxiety not to be late I had arrived ten minutes early, but it had been a pleasant morning and I felt very contented.

Then I saw Edith. She was not alone. Jeremy Brown was with her, and I wondered whether they had met by appointment. The thought flashed into my mind that I may have been asked to accompany her to divert any suspicion that she was meeting the curate, if suspicion there was.

I think they had been about to say goodbye to each other when Edith caught sight of me. There was no doubt that she was a little embarrassed.

I rose and went over to them. “I’m a little early,” I said. “I was afraid of misjudging the distance.”

Jeremy Brown explained with his frank and disarming smile: “The vicar is taking the girls for their lessons this morning. He feels he should now and then. I had one or two calls to make…so here I am.”

I wondered why he felt he had to explain to me.

“We—ran into each other,” said Edith in the rather painful, breathless way of someone who is not accustomed to telling untruths.

“That must have been very pleasant.” I noticed that she carried no packages, but perhaps whatever she had bought was already in the trap.

“Mrs. Verlaine,” said Edith, “you should try our local cider. It’s very good.”

She looked appealingly at the curate who said: “Yes, I’m thirsty too. Let’s all have a tankard.” He smiled at me. “It’s not very potent and I expect you’re thirsty, too.”

I said that I should like to try the cider and as the sun was shining and we were sheltered from the breeze we decided that we would sit outside and drink it.

As Jeremy Brown went into the inn Edith smiled at me almost apologetically, but I avoided her eyes. I did not want her to think that I was putting any special construction on her meeting with the curate. In fact, it was only her manner which suggested that there might be something to be suspicious about.

The curate rejoined us and in a very short time three pewter tankards were brought out to us. I found it very pleasant sitting in the sun. I did most of the talking. I explained where I had been and how enchanting I found the town and I asked all sorts of questions about the boats which were lying on the shingle. The curate knew a great deal about local history, which is so often the case with people who are not natives. He talked of the smuggling that went on and how many of the boats were forty feet long and hollow; that they had enormous sails which helped them to escape the revenue ships and so bring in safely their contraband brandy, silks, and tobacco. Many of the old inns had secret underground cellars and in these the goods were stored until there was no longer danger from the excise men.

Such activities were by no means rare along this coast.

I found it all very stimulating, sitting there idly in the sunshine while Edith glowed with pleasure, chatting and laughing so that it seemed to me a new personality emerged.

Why could she not always be like this? That very morning I discovered the answer, for as we sat lightheartedly chatting there was the sound of horses’ hoofs in the cobbled yard close by and a voice said: “I’ll be an hour or so.” A well-known voice which made Edith turn pale and my own heartbeats quicken.

Edith had half risen in her seat when Napier came into sight.

He saw us immediately.

“Well,” he said, and his eyes were cold as they swept over Edith. “This is an unexpected pleasure.” Then he saw me: “And Mrs. Verlaine too…”

I remained seated and said coolly: “Mrs. Stacy and I came together. We met Mr. Brown.” Then I wondered why I had felt I had to explain.

“I hope I’m not intruding on a merry party.”

I did not speak and Edith said in a flustered voice: “It’s—it’s not exactly a party. We just happened…”

“Mrs. Verlaine has just told me. I hope you will not object to my joining you for a tankard of that cider.” He looked at me. “It
is
excellent, Mrs. Verlaine. But I am repeating what you already know, I am sure.” He signed to one of the waiters who were dressed like monks in long dark robes tied about the middle with cords, and said he would have some cider.

As he sat down opposite me with Edith on one side and the curate on the other, I knew he was conscious of the embarrassment of those two, and I wondered whether he guessed at the cause of it.

“I’m surprised to see
you
here,” he said to the curate. “I always imagined you were so overworked. But sitting outside an inn sipping cider…well, it’s quite a pleasant way of working, don’t you agree, Mrs. Verlaine?”

“We all have to have our leisure moments and I imagine work all the better for them.”

“Right…as I’m sure you always are. Still, I must confess that I’m pleased to see you all
at leisure
. What do you think of the neighborhood?”

“Fascinating,” I said.

“Mrs. Verlaine has been exploring as far as Sandown,” said the curate.

“What…alone?”

The curate flushed; Edith cast down her eyes. “I had some shopping to do…”

“But of course. And Mrs. Verlaine had no wish to visit our shops. Why should she? I believe you live in London, Mrs. Verlaine, therefore you will find our little shops scarcely worthy of your attention. With Edith it is different. She is constantly driving around to see…” he paused and smiled from Edith to the curate… “the shops. What have you been buying this morning?”

Edith looked as though she was going to burst into tears. “I really couldn’t find what I wanted.”

“Did you not?” He looked surprised and again his glance took in the curate.

“N…no. I wanted to match some…some ribbon.”

“Ah,” he said. “I see.”

I put in: “Colors are so difficult to match.”

“In these little towns, of course,” he said. And I thought: He knows that she has come to meet Jeremy and he is angry about it. Or is he angry? Doesn’t he care? Does he just want to make them uncomfortable? And for myself, why is he harping on my coming from London? Why should he be angry with
me
?

“Well, Mrs. Verlaine,” he said, “what do you think of our cider?”

“It’s very good.”

“Great praise.”

He finished his and setting his tankard on the table, stood up. “I know you will excuse me if I hurry away. I have business. You didn’t ride in?”

Edith shook her head. “We came in the trap.”

“Ah yes, of course. You wanted to take all those purchases back with you. And you?” He had turned his contemptuous gaze on the curate.

“I came in the vicarage trap.”

He nodded. “Thoughtful of you. You were going to help with the purchases. Oh but of course, the meeting was accidental, wasn’t it?”

For a few moments his eyes lingered on me.

“
Au revoir
,” he said.

And he left us.

We sat silently at the table. There was nothing to say.

Edith was very nervous during the drive back and once or twice I thought we were going into the ditch.

What an explosive situation, I thought; and I felt very sorry for the young girl beside me—scarcely out of the schoolroom. How would she cope with the kind of disaster to which she could be heading? I wanted to protect her, but I could not see how.

I sat in the vicarage drawing room, Allegra beside me, while I listened with some pain to her performance of scales.

Allegra made no attempt to learn. At least Edith had a little talent, Sylvia was in fear of her parents and Alice was by nature painstaking. But Allegra possessed none of these incentives; and she was not going to bestir herself for anyone.

She brought her hands down on the keys with an abandoned finale and turned to grin at me.

“Are you going to report to Sir William that I’m quite hopeless and you refuse to go on with me?”

“But I don’t consider you hopeless. Neither do I refuse to go on with you.”

“I suppose you’re afraid there won’t be enough work for you here if you let one of your pupils go.”

“That had not occurred to me.”

“Then why did you say you didn’t consider me hopeless?”

“Because no case is hopeless. Yours is a bad one admittedly—largely due to yourself—but not hopeless.”

She regarded me with interest. “You’re not a bit like Miss Elgin,” she said.

“And why should I be?”

“You both teach music.”

I shrugged my shoulders impatiently and picking up a piece of music set it on the stand. “Now!” I said.

She smiled at me. She had beauty of a provocative sort. Although her hair was dark, almost black, her eyes were a slaty color, most arresting under dark brows, and fringed with abundant dark lashes. She was undoubtedly the beauty of the household, but it was sultry beauty, a beauty of which to beware. And she was conscious of it too; she wore a bright red string of coral beads about her neck—long narrow ones strung tightly so that they looked like spikes.

She laughed and said: “It’s no use your trying to be like Miss Elgin because you’re not. You’ve
lived
.”

“Well,” I said lightly, “so has she.”

“You know what I mean by living.
I
intend to live. I shall be like my father, I suppose.”

“Your father?”

She laughed again. It was a low mocking laugh which I had already come to associate with her.

“Hasn’t anyone told you of my shocking birth? You’ve met my father. Mr. Napier Stacy.”

“You mean he…”

She nodded mischievously, enjoying my vague discomfiture.

“That’s why I’m here. Sir William could hardly turn away his own granddaughter, could he?” The mockery went out of her face, and fear showed itself. “He wouldn’t. No matter what I did. I mean I am his granddaughter, am I not?”

“If Mr. Napier Stacy was really your father that is certainly true.”

“You say it as if you doubt it, Mrs. Verlaine. You must not do so because Napier himself acknowledges me as his.”

“In that case,” I said, “we must accept the fact.”

“I’m ill-e-git-i-mate.” She spoke the word slowly as though relishing each syllable. “And my mother…you want to hear about her? She was half gypsy and came here to work…in the kitchen it was. I believe I look very like her, only she was darker than I…more of a gypsy. She went away after I was born. She couldn’t live in a house.” She began to sing in a pleasant, rather husky voice:

“She went off with the raggle-taggle gypsies oh.”

She looked at me to see the effect of her words, and was delighted, because I must have shown that I was taken aback by this further revelation of Napier’s character.