Voices in a Haunted Room (36 page)

During the day I could believe that. It was at night when the hideous dreams came.

Jonathan had come back to Eversleigh for the inquest.

I did not attend, but immediately it was over he sought an opportunity to be alone with me.

I said: “They will search for the one who killed him. Jonathan, what if—?”

He shook his head and smiled at me rather sardonically.

“They will talk of an enquiry. They will make a show of having one. But I can assure you that nothing will be revealed. That has been taken care of. It is for the country’s security, and that is understood in certain quarters.”

“It is all so… subversive.”

He laughed. “What did you expect? It is the very nature of the matter. How are you feeling now? You’ve not told anybody?”

I shook my head firmly.

“Not even David? He’d understand, of course. He’s always logical. But there is no point in people’s knowing when it is not necessary. I’m only sorry you had to see it.”

“What of Billy Grafter?” I asked.

“He got away. Never mind. We know what he looks like. He might provide a useful lead. And we know Léon Blanchard is—or has been—in London. I shall shortly be going to London again and when I come back I daresay Dickon and your mother will come with me.”

I put my hand to my head and said wearily: “I wish it would all end.”

“Poor Claudine! Life is very complicated, is it not?”

“I want mine to be simple… peaceful.”

“Oh come, you are too young for peace.” Then he kissed me briefly. “
Au revoir,
my love,” he said.

I was glad when he went. He added to my disturbed state of mind.

I went to see Aunt Sophie.

Jeanne greeted me. “She is in bed. She’s been poorly. This has upset her more than I would have believed possible.”

She certainly looked wan lying in her bed with the blue curtains drawn back.

“Oh, Claudine…” she said.

“Dear Aunt Sophie, you have been unwell, Jeanne tells me.”

“This is a house of mourning, Claudine,” she answered. Her fingers picked restlessly at the sheets. “Why is life always like this to me? Why is it that when I have a fondness for someone something like this happens?”

“There is always tragedy around us, Aunt Sophie.”

“For me, certainly,” she said.

“I’m sorry…”

“That poor boy, that poor innocent boy…”

Ah, Aunt Sophie, I thought, not so innocent. It is amazing how little we know of those with whom we live closely.

“What did he do? He only took out a boat… for a pleasure trip… and some wicked villain shot him. Can you understand it?” she demanded. “It doesn’t make sense,” she went on piteously.

“It is difficult to understand, Aunt Sophie. Why was he in the boat, do you think? Hadn’t he just returned from London? You thought he had gone back because he had forgotten something. But why should he have taken that moment to go out in the boat?”

“A whim,” she said. “People do have whims. His horse, Prince—how he loved to ride Prince!—found his way back to the stables. He must have ridden down on Prince to get to the sea.”

“Did you know he had a boat?”

“No. He never said. He and Billy Grafter must have acquired it between them. Poor boys… poor innocent boys.”

I said: “It seems rather odd that they should both have decided to go out then.”

But Aunt Sophie was not interested in why they had gone. All she cared about was her grief. I should not talk either. I should not set people speculating. Let it be thought that the young man, having been in London, was so eager for a breath of fresh air that he could not wait to take his boat out.

Aunt Sophie said: “Murdered! Cut off in the prime of his youth. He was a beautiful boy, bright and merry. It made me happy just to have him here.”

“I’m so sorry, Aunt Sophie.”

“You, my child, what do you know of loneliness? You have your husband, your dear child… You are fortunate, whereas I…”

“But, Aunt Sophie, we’re here. We’re your family. My mother…”

“Your mother was always lucky. Fortune smiled on her. She had Charles de Tourville… and now this husband of hers who thinks such a lot of her. Oh, I know she’s beautiful and she has the sort of nature that people seem to like, but it’s so unfair, Claudine, so unfair. And just because this young man is pleasant and makes me laugh and I have enjoyed having him in my house, someone has to murder him.”

I looked helplessly at Jeanne, who lifted her shoulders. I supposed she had to endure a great deal of Aunt Sophie’s self-pity.

Sophie was looking straight at me. “I shan’t rest until I know who killed him. And when I do, I’d kill him… I would.”

“Oh, Aunt Sophie…”

“Please don’t try to soothe me. I will not be soothed. I lie here, Claudine, and the only thing I have left to me is my hatred… my desire for revenge. When I know who killed Alberic, I will find a way of getting even with him.”

I could not suppress a shiver. She looked hardly sane with the fanatical light in her eyes, and her hood had fallen back. I could just catch a glimpse of the wrinkled scorched skin which she took such pains to hide. The unusual colour in her face accentuated it.

I felt an overwhelming pity and terrible fear, because somewhere in my mind was the terrible conviction that if she knew what had happened she would call me his murderer. True I had not fired the shot, yet but for me it would not have been fired. No one would have known of Alberic’s secret life but for me, and he would now be charming Aunt Sophie and working for his country against ours.

I said I would have to go. I kissed Aunt Sophie and she gripped my hands.

“If ever you should discover anything,” she said, “let me know. I am determined to find Alberic’s murderer.”

Jeanne walked downstairs with me.

“That is how she is, most of the time,” she said. “Sometimes I think it is a good thing to let her go on about it. While she is thinking of revenge she is not brooding on his death.”

I shook my head, and Jeanne went on: “She will grow calmer. She will accept his loss, for perforce she must.”

I went slowly back to Eversleigh.

By the end of May the death of Alberic had become a nine-days’ wonder. At first people had expected startling revelations. There were rumours of Alberic’s having enemies in the neighbourhood; there were even suspects, though it was hard to imagine who would have wanted to kill such an amiable young man. The weeks passed and nothing happened. People watched out for Billy Grafter’s body to be washed up and there was even a wild story in circulation that he had been found on the beach riddled with bullets. This persisted for two weeks and then died down. I think people gradually began to accept that Alberic’s murder would never be solved and that Billy Grafter had been with him and they had drowned together.

My mother came to my room on her first night back from London.

“You must not let this upset you,” she said. “It had to be. He was a spy. We cannot afford to let them go… however pleasant they may appear to be. Believe me, Claudine, I’ve been in the thick of it. I’ve seen Armand come back scarcely alive after his sojourn in the Bastille… put there by spies. You can say that killed him. Then there was my mother. I never forget that, and what they would have done to me but for Dickon. Living through that does something to you. It makes you understand that enemies of the state have to be eliminated, and if it can be quick—as it was with Alberic—that is the best way. I am only sorry that you were there when it happened.”

“It was my fault. Jonathan asked me to stay behind but I went.”

“And you saw it, and it upset you. You don’t blame Jonathan, I hope. He was doing what had to be done.”

“I see all that,” I said. “I just wish it hadn’t had to happen.”

“My dear girl, that’s what we all wish. We’ve got to forget this. David says you have nightmares. It’s that, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“Such a pity. But you’ve got to grow away from it. It was like that with me… after that night in the
mairie
with the mob screaming for my blood outside. It comes back even now. Sometimes I dream. One can’t come through these experiences unscathed. There is only one thing to do… grow away from them… that is, accept them as a necessary part of the world we live in.”

“You are right, of course. Dear Maman, I will try. I will think of what they tried to do to you. I will think of my grandmother… and then I will see that it has to be.”

She smiled. “And now,” she said, “there is the wedding. I’ve such a lot to talk to you about concerning that. For one thing, I don’t think we should take the babies.”

“No. I was thinking of that.”

“Grace Soper is quite capable of taking charge.”

“She does in any case.”

“She adores them both and they love her too. They would miss their nursery. I don’t fancy the journey with them. Then of course they would be in a strange place… and after all we shall only be away for a few days.”

I agreed with her.

Then we talked about clothes and all the time I was thinking about Jonathan and Millicent taking their vows—which he would never keep. I wondered if she would.

The wedding was to take place on the first of June. A few days before, our party set out for Pettigrew Hall, which was on the way to London—in fact it was about midway between the City and Eversleigh.

My mother and I rode in the carriage with Mary Lee, my mother’s lady’s maid, who would look after us both, and with us were the trunks containing our clothes and anything we should need. David and Dickon went on horseback and we were easily able to make the journey in a day, having set out very early and arriving at Pettigrew Hall at six in the evening.

We were warmly welcomed by Lord and Lady Pettigrew. Jonathan was already there.

Pettigrew Hall was more modern than Eversleigh. It had been erected just over a hundred years before when the great hall was no longer the centre of the house, and was a squarish solid stone edifice built round a court; and the kitchens, buttery and pantry were all underground. A magnificent staircase, which went to the top of the house, wound round a well as it went, so that from the very top landing one could look right down into the hall.

The drawing room was on the ground floor and it had glass doors through which the very beautiful gardens could be seen. The dining room, which was also downstairs, had similar views; and there were many bedrooms. The servants’ quarters were in the attic at the top of the house. It was richly furnished and there were several specimens of the Gobelin tapestry which had begun to be manufactured in France about a hundred years before and soon found its way into English country houses.

Lady Pettigrew’s taste seemed to me a little flamboyant; she had scattered pieces of marquetry all over the house; the hangings of the beds and the curtains were in the richest colours; and some of the ceilings had been painted with allegorical scenes. It was as though she wished to proclaim her importance to the world in everything she did—so naturally it would be obvious in her home.

The room I was to share with David was next to that assigned to my mother and Dickon. They were large and lighter than our Elizabethan ones and I thought them charming with their tall windows and marble fireplaces.

There would be several people staying at the Hall for the wedding. The Farringdons were of course there, being great friends of the Pettigrews; and Lady Pettigrew told us as she came up with us to show us our rooms—a very gracious gesture from such a grand lady and one which showed us how delighted she was to have us—that she was eager for us to meet the Brownings. They were such charming people and she was sure we were going to enjoy the company of Sir George and his wife Christine and their truly charming daughter Fiona.

David said when we were alone: “She is indeed an overpowering lady, and I fancy her daughter takes after her. But I don’t think she will be able to subdue Jonathan as Lady Pettigrew does his lordship.”

“I am sure,” I replied, “that Jonathan will know how to look after himself.”

“Oh yes. You can trust Jonathan for that.”

It was to be a grand wedding. Lord Pettigrew was very influential in banking and, I suspect, political circles; and that meant that the marriage of his daughter was an event of more than usual importance. And as Dickon held great sway in the same society there would be many people who would want to attend the wedding.

The ceremony was to take place in the village church in the morning, after which all the guests would return to Pettigrew Hall for the reception. Many would come down from London as well as from the surrounding country. Ourselves and the Farringdons and Brownings were the only house guests—though perhaps one or two might stay for one night, as Lady Pettigrew did not want them to leave too early after the reception.

When we went down to dinner that night we were greeted by the Farringdons—Gwen, John and Harry—and George and Christine Browning and their daughter Fiona, who was very pretty and about eighteen I should imagine.

“Are we all assembled?” said Lady Pettigrew, bearing down on us. “Let us go in to dinner. I daresay you are all ready for it. Travelling is so exhausting. I am glad you are staying with us and not popping in and out as I fear so many of the guests will be doing. How could it be otherwise? So many people want to see my daughter married.”

John Farringdon murmured that it was indeed a happy occasion.

“And none the less so because we have had to wait a long time for it,” added Gwen.

“Oh circumstances… circumstances…” cried Lady Pettigrew, waving her hand as though to dismiss these tiresome eventualities. She was of course referring to the death of Sabrina on account of which the wedding had been delayed. “Now let’s go in. George, will you take Gwen, and John, Christine. Now, Jonathan, I am going to make you very cross. You are not to take Millicent. David shall take her and you can take Claudine.”

I felt that ridiculous emotion as I slipped my arm through his. He gave me a one-sided grin and in some way I felt that we were conspirators.

I whispered: “I’m sorry to be the reason for making you cross.”

He laid his hand over mine and squeezed it gently. “Just a brief contact such as this sends me into paradise,” he said.