The Shivering Sands (49 page)

He was still grasping my hands and I looked up into his face, smiling.

“I was going away,” he went on. “It didn’t seem to matter. One more misdemeanor…when there had been so many.”

“And your mother…she killed herself because she discovered that your father and Mrs. Lincroft were lovers. It was not only because she had lost Beau.”

“It’s all in the past,” he said.

“It is not,” I cried passionately, “when it continues to affect the present and the future.”

“As you know very well.”

I lowered my eyes. Pietro had never seemed so far away as he was at this moment.

“You are a fool, Napier,” I said.

“Has it taken you so long to discover that?”

“We are all foolish. But you have allowed them to
blame
you.”

“I killed him,” he said. “If you could have seen him…like everyone else you would have loved him.”

“He was clearly not perfect.”

“He was young, virile…full of life.”

“So he seduced the gypsy girl.”

“He was so full of vitality, and if he had lived he would never have disclaimed responsibility. He would have set her up somewhere, looked after her—and kept it from them. On the day I shot him I wished fervently…and most sincerely…that he had been the one to fire first. Then it would have been less of a tragedy. They would have forgiven him.”

“Were you jealous of him?”

“Of course not. I admired him. I wished I were like him. I tried to imitate him because I thought he was wonderful. I followed him and tried to be as much like him as possible. But I didn’t envy him. I was as fond of him as the others were…perhaps more. I thought him perfect.”

“So you took his blame on your shoulders.”

“It was the least I could do after taking his life.”

“If you had killed him deliberately you could not have paid much more fully.”

“So?”

“The affair is finished. You must banish it from your mind.”

“Do you think I can ever do that?”

“Yes, I do. And you shall.”

“Perhaps there is one person who could force me to do that…one person in the world. And you…have you forgotten your past?”

“Perhaps there is one person who could make
me
do so.”

“And you are not sure…”

“I am becoming more certain of it every day.”

We stood hands clasped but apart, for Edith still stood between us.

But I vowed I would not rest until I had discovered what had happened to Edith. It was imperative that I did. He was cleared of seduction of the gypsy, of causing his mother to kill herself, but he must be cleared of Edith’s disappearance…or death…before either of us could move into that future which was beginning to be so desirable to us both.

I
t was afternoon…the time of quiet. Sir William had been ordered to rest by the doctor and Mrs. Lincroft was lying down. She felt very distressed, she told me; and I saw the guilt in her eyes for she could scarcely bear to look at me.

I wanted to think about everything. I wanted to go over minute by minute that interview with Napier. I had to think about him and Godfrey.

But in my heart I did not need to make a decision. I knew…just as I had known when I had pretended to consider whether to give up my career for marriage with Pietro, that I would always follow my heart’s direction. If Roma were here now she would say I was mad to throw aside marriage with Godfrey for the sake of Napier. Godfrey offered security…the comfortable, easy life. And Napier? I was not sure what life would be like with him. I did not believe the shadow of Beaumont’s death had receded suddenly. I could not hope to eliminate it so easily. It would appear at unexpected moments; it would be a shadow across Napier’s life for many years to come. And what of Pietro? Should I ever forget?

On this sunny afternoon with an hour or so to spare I would go to the walled garden to think.

I made my way there and was surprised when I arrived to find Alice sitting there demurely, her hands folded in her lap.

“I thought you’d come here, Mrs. Verlaine,” she said.

“Did you want to see me?”

“Yes, I did. I want to tell you something…show you something I’ve found and I don’t really want to talk about it here.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because I think it may be very important.” She stood up. “Could we go for a little walk?”

“But certainly.”

As we walked away from the house, she kept looking over her shoulder.

“What’s the matter, Alice?” I asked.

“I was making sure that no one was following us.”

“Did you think they were?”

“I always think they are—after the fire.” I shivered, and she went on: “And so do you, Mrs. Verlaine, don’t you?”

I confessed that I often felt uneasy. “Of course,” said Alice, “anyone might get trapped in a burning cottage. But I felt ever since, that I had to look after you rather specially.”

“That is sweet of you, Alice. And I certainly feel very cherished.”

“It’s how I want you to feel.”

“It’s comforting to have a guardian angel.”

“Yes, it must be. Well, you have one now, dear Mrs. Verlaine.”

“Where are we going and what are you going to show me?”

“We’re turning off here and going down to the shore.”

“Is it down there then?”

“Yes, and I do really think it may be very important.”

“You’re keeping me in suspense.”

“Not really, Mrs. Verlaine. But I don’t know how to describe it. But I think it may be of archaeological significance.”

“Good heavens, Alice, don’t you think we ought to…”

“To tell someone else? Oh no, not yet. Let us be the ones to discover it.”

“You are being mysterious.”

“You’ll soon know.” She looked over her shoulder.

“What’s the matter?”

“I just had a feeling that we were being followed.”

“I can see no one.”

“They could be hidden by those bushes.”

“I don’t think so. In any case there are two of us. We mustn’t be so nervous.”

Alice led the way down the winding cliff path to the sands.

Halfway down she paused and said: “Listen.”

We stood still listening. “You can hear footsteps clearly here…even if people are a long way away.”

“All’s well,” I said. “I came this way before.”

“Yes and I warned you to be sure you didn’t get cut off by the tide. Remember? Perhaps I saved your life then.” The thought pleased her. “It seems to be my mission in life.”

We had reached the sands and a little way ahead of us was that little cove with the overhanging rock where she had told me previously it was so easy to get cut off by the tide.

Purposefully, now and then looking uneasily about her, she led the way.

“Here, Mrs. Verlaine.” She had disappeared in an opening in the rocks.

“What is this, Alice?”

“It’s a sort of cave. Come in.”

I entered and she said: “This part is just a cave. But I think I’ve found some drawings in an inner cave. They’re very crude…the sort that people did hundreds of years ago. The Stone Age probably. Mr. Wilmot was telling us about that. Or perhaps the Bronze Age.”

I thought of Roma. Drawings in a cave! Had Godfrey been right? Had she made some startling discovery and had she been murdered because of it?

“I believe it’s of very great importance,” went on Alice.

“But where…” I looked about the dim cave and could see nothing.

She laughed indulgently. “If it had been easy to see it would have been discovered long ago. Look.” She advanced into the cave. “There’s a great boulder here. You have to roll it away…and I suppose nobody thought of doing that…until I did. Oh, Mrs. Verlaine, it’s really
my
discovery. I could be famous, I suppose.”

“It depends what you’ve found, Alice.”

“Something wonderful. And I’m going to show you.”

She had succeeded in rolling away the boulder and beyond it a cavern yawned. “Look,” she said. “You have to squeeze through here…It’s not easy. I’ll go first and you follow.”

“Alice. Is it safe?”

“Oh yes…it’s only caves. I’ve already explored. You don’t think I’d let you come if it wasn’t safe, do you? Come on.” She had disappeared and I could just see the white of her dress. I followed it and stepped through into another cave.

Alice produced a candle from her pocket and striking a match lighted it. “There!” There was now a faint glow in the cave and I exclaimed with wonder for as my eyes grew accustomed to the dim light I saw that here was a wealth of stalagmite and stalactite formation and its beauty was unearthly. All kinds of shapes had been formed and even in this light I could see that the colors were wonderful—copper had produced that green, iron the brown and red, manganese that delightful pink. It was like stepping into a world of fantasy.

“Alice!” I cried. “But it’s a wonderful discovery…”

She laughed gleefully. “I thought you’d say that. I was longing to show it to you.”

“But we must get back. We must tell of this. It’s like the caves of Cheddar. Fancy all this time…it was here…and no one knew.”

“You are excited, Mrs. Verlaine.”

“It’s a great discovery.”

“There’s something else I want to show you though…this isn’t all. Give me your hand, you have to go carefully.” She took my hand and almost immediately I nearly stumbled. She was alarmed. “Oh, Mrs. Verlaine, do be careful. It would be awful if you fell here…”

“I’ll be careful, Alice. But let’s get someone else. Mr. Wilmot will be delighted. He’ll be mad with joy.”

“First I want to show
you
, Mrs. Verlaine. Oh
please
, let me show you first.”

I laughed. Then I said: “Listen! I can hear the sound of running water.”

“Yes. The next cave is far more exciting. Do come and look at it now. I can’t wait to show you. It’s a sort of waterfall. It’s an underground stream I think, and it goes through the caves and out into the sea somewhere. There are the drawings on the walls…that’s what I think is most interesting, Mrs. Verlaine.”

I said: “The sand here is quite damp.”

“It’s the stream and the waterfall.” She produced another candle. “One each,” she said. “I thought you’d like to have one. Isn’t this exciting? I call it my cave. It’s on the Stacy land, you know, and all the foreshore belongs to Sir William and his heirs.”

I could not take my eyes from those marvelous formations; the shapes were quite fantastic and when I thought that they had been slowly formed through the centuries I was so overawed that I could only stand and stare.

But Alice was impatient to disclose further wonders. I followed her through a gap in the rock and we were in a third cave. I could hear the water clearly now and I saw it freely trickling over the rocks. I peered forward.

Alice said: “The drawings on the walls are like those we saw in the British Museum.”

“Alice!” I cried. “But this is wonderful.” I was sure now that it was what Roma had discovered. Was it possible that Godfrey’s theory of the jealous archaeologist had some truth in it after all?

“You can see for yourself,” said Alice. “Over there.”

As I advanced my feet sank into the damp sand and it was difficult walking. I went forward holding the candle high, my eyes on the walls of the cave. Alice stood watching me.

“It’s quite…miraculous!” I began; and then suddenly I knew.

I turned to Alice. “Alice,” I cried, “stay where you are.”

She was standing at the mouth of the cave, the candle held high over her head.

“Yes, Mrs. Verlaine,” she said meekly.

“Alice…I…can’t…move…my feet. Alice…Alice…I’m sinking.”

She said: “They’re
slow
quicksands, Mrs. Verlaine. It takes a long time for you to disappear altogether.”

“Alice!” I shrieked. But she just stood there smiling at me.

“You!” I cried.

“Yes,” she replied. “Why not? Because I’m young. I’m clever, Mrs. Verlaine. I’m cleverer than the rest of you. These are my caves. These are my sands…and I shall never let anyone take them from me.”

“No,” I murmured, my thoughts confused. I could not believe this. It was a nightmare, a fantastic dream. I should wake in a moment.

She stood watching me, holding the candle above her head—and she was the more evil because she looked so meek, so docile. My candle slipped from my fingers; I stared at it as it lay on the sand for a second or so before it was sucked under.

Alice had moved; I saw her turn away and then she was holding up a rope…the thick kind which I had seen tethering boats on the shore.

She was going to save me. She had been teasing me. Oh, what a dangerous and cruel trick to play!

“If I threw this to you, Mrs. Verlaine, I might be able to pull you in…but I might not…the sands are strong. They look so soft…but they grip so tightly and they don’t like letting their victims go. Just little particles of sand! Isn’t it fascinating, Mrs. Verlaine? But then nature
is
fascinating. The vicar always says so.”

“Alice, throw me the rope.”

She shook her head.

“It’s what is called exquisite torture, Mrs. Verlaine. All the time you think I may throw you the rope and that makes it all the harder. You see if you give up hope you’re resigned…and you let yourself slip away…Don’t struggle. That makes you go down more quickly. Unless you want to go quickly, of course. I shall stay here…until you’ve gone.”

“Alice…you
fiend
.”

“Yes, I am. But you must admit I’m a clever one.”

“You deliberately brought me here.”

“Yes, deliberately,” she said. “You and the others.”

“No!”

“But yes. This place belongs to me. I’m Sir William’s daughter. It should be mine. Napier is his son but Napier killed Beau and Sir William hates him. He hated Napier’s mother and he loves mine. He will leave me the place when Napier is sent away. That’s what I want. And when anyone bothers me I shall bring them down to my cave. You bothered me, Mrs. Verlaine. You came here to look for your sister. She bothered me because she almost discovered my cave. She came looking for it. She came down here so I showed her what I had found…just as I showed you.”

The sand was about my ankles now. She watched me with the eye of a connoisseur. “The deeper you sink the quicker it swallows you,” she told me. “But you are tall and these are slow quicksands.”