Betrayal at Blackcrest Page 4

  “Nevertheless, you thought you’d take precautions.”

  I glared at him. My cheeks were flushed.

  “I don’t think I should stay,” I said, as calmly as possible.

  “I insist,” he said smoothly. “I wouldn’t send anyone out on a night like this. You’ll stay the night, Miss Lane. One thing Blackcrest has is plenty of room. Perhaps in the morning we can discuss this further and reach some amiable conclusions.”

  He spoke the words with the firm, friendly insistence of the determined host. I did not protest any further. It suited my purposes to remain here. I was in no danger, and I would have an opportunity to find out more about the man. I stepped back, resigned.

  “I’ll ring for Morris,” he said. “He will show you upstairs to one of the guest rooms. It isn’t often I have an opportunity to display hospitality at Blackcrest. Don’t deny me that chance now.”

  I made no reply. I watched him as he stepped over to the wall and tugged a silken cord. I could hear a bell ringing somewhere in the back regions of the house. Derek Hawke turned to me and smiled. It was going to be cat and mouse, I reflected, but it would behoove anyone to know which was the cat, which the mouse.

  4

  The sound of the rain pounding on the roof was steady and monotonous. It finally lulled me to sleep. I had lain awake for what seemed like hours, my brain whirling with questions. Delia’s bright, pert face seemed to float before me, and then the dark eyes of Derek Hawke stared from out of the darkness, his wide lips twisting into a smile. The bed was warm, the feather pillow soft, and layers of unconsciousness superimposed one another until I floated in a dark void where nebulous gray shapes moved slowly against a darker gray field. Once I thought I heard angry voices outside the room, but I thought it must have been part of a dream.

  The room was filled with misty gray light when I opened my eyelids. Through the window I could see streaks of pinkish orange. I was drowsy, and for a moment I could not remember where I was. Some sound had awakened me. The sound was repeated. Someone was opening the door, and the hinges creaked slightly. I lowered my lashes, peering through them as a shadowy form moved slowly into the room.

  It was the girl I had seen last night when I stopped for petrol. I thought I must still be dreaming. She slipped across the room and stood over the bed, peering down at me with those enormous blue eyes. She wore a pale blue nightgown, and her silvery hair was fastened loosely with a blue ribbon. She was there only a moment, her pink lips slightly parted as though she wanted to whisper something, and then she was gone. There was no sound as the door closed behind her.

  I sighed, turning my head into the soft folds of the pillow. When I finally woke up, the room was flooded with sunlight, and a bird warbled lustily outside my window. I sat up, shaking away the last vestiges of sleep. I tried to remember the dream, not at all sure the girl had not really been here. I heard voices in the hallway outside my door.

  “Are you going to wake her up?”

  “It’s late, Miss Honora. The master wants her to join him in the breakfast room.”

  “She was sleeping so soundly when I saw her.”

  “He’d be furious if he knew you’d slipped in to see her. He’s already in a rage after what you done last night. Has a right to be, too, if you ask me. Sneakin’ off like that an’ then comin’ in all wet in the middle of the night—”

  “It’s none of your business, Betty.”

  “That it ain’t, to be sure. But I’d be careful, just the same. When he finds out who it is you’re sneakin’ off to see—”

  “How do you know who it is?”

  “I’m sure it ain’t no secret among the help, missy.”

  “Do you intend to tell him?”

  “I believe in mindin’ my own business, and that’s a fact. Run along now, Miss Honora. Stay out of the way and behave yourself.”

  “I must speak to the woman—”

  “You’ll have your chance later on, missy. Now scoot. The master is waitin’ for her now, and he’s gettin’ impatient. I’m sure I don’t know what things are comin’ to—strangers comin’ in and stayin’ the night, an’ people yellin’ at each other in the small hours so’s a person can’t get a wink of sleep—”

  The door flew open and a plump woman in her late thirties came into the room, marching briskly over to the window and jerking the draperies all the way open. The sunlight, brilliant before, was blinding now, and I groaned, throwing one arm out in protest. This seemed to delight the maid. A pert little smile played at the corners of her pink lips. There was a merry twinkle in her bright blue eyes. Short, rotund, with fiery red curls now frosted with gray, she had the cozy yet determined manner of the maid who has been with the family for years and regards the house and everything in it as her own private property. She wore a neat blue uniform and a starched white apron. A whimsical white cap perched atop the short red curls.

  “Did you have to do that?” I asked irritably.

  “A person needs sunlight,” she replied primly.

  “Not that much,” I protested, “and not this early.”

  She told me in no uncertain terms that it was after ten o’clock and regarded me with a look that plainly expressed her opinion of anyone who could still be in bed at such an hour. I felt completely immoral under the surveillance of those eyes. Betty was a brisk, efficient person who would clearly stand for no nonsense, I reflected, and yet I liked her immensely on sight. She reminded me of a maid we had had in Dorset years ago.

  “I’m Betty, ma’am,” she said. “I’ve come to tell you that the master wishes to see you. He’s waitin’ in the breakfast room. When you’re ready to come down, I’ll show you the way.”

  “Thank you, Betty,” I said in a very friendly voice. “How is Mrs. Hawke this morning?”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t know. She’s still with her cats. You wouldn’t catch me anywhere near those wretched beasts.”

  “Cats?”

  “Cats. The old lady collects ’em. A cat hasn’t been drowned in the county for fifteen years. People just bring ’em to the gates and turn ’em loose. They know the old lady’ll take ’em in and coddle ’em and give ’em perfectly good food any poor orphan would be thankful to get.”

  “Odd,” I remarked.

  “She’s an odd one, all right.”

  I was disappointed. I had asked about Mrs. Hawke in hopes that the maid would indicate that Delia was really here, after all. Delia would have had an eyetooth pulled before intentionally stroking a cat. Derek Hawke had not been lying when he said the Mrs. Hawke Morris had referred to was an old woman.

  “I meant the young Mrs. Hawke,” I said hopefully. “Derek’s wife.”

  “He ain’t married,” Betty retorted. “Though it ain’t surprisin’. No woman in her right mind would have ’im.”

  I got out of bed and pulled a white linen robe over my nightgown. I smiled at Betty, hiding my disappointment. I intended to cultivate the woman. She would be a marvelous source of information, for clearly very little went on at Blackcrest that she didn’t know about. For all her sanctimonious pretension, she had alert eyes and a lively tongue and she certainly had no scruples about discussing her employers. Betty plainly had a penchant for gossip, and later on she might prove an important ally in my quest.

  “I heard you talking with a young girl outside my door,” I said.

  “Miss Honora? Yes, she was about to burst into your room when I got upstairs. There’s no controllin’ that child—although she ain’t one of them wild ones, mind you. An angel, she is, but with a mind of ’er own, and that’s puttin’ it mildly.”

  “Is she Mr. Hawke’s sister?” I inquired.

  “Lord, no. She ain’t nothin’ like him, an’ that’s a blessing. She’s the old lady’s legal ward. Poor thing, her parents died when she was a baby, and the old lady took ’er in, much like she’d of taken in a kitten without a home. Miss Honora’s parents were distant relatives, and there was no one else. She’s a love, she is, a perfe
ct love.”

  Betty’s tone of voice left no doubt as to her feelings toward the girl. She would have faced a firing squad for Miss Honora, refusing the blindfold as a further sign of loyalty. I found this quite touching.

  “The master does get impatient,” Betty said now as I stood lingering in my robe and nightgown. “Per’aps you’d better snap it up, ma’am. He does hate to wait. He begins to boil, if you know what I mean.”

  “I believe I do,” I replied glibly.

  “We all like to keep ’im in a good temper whenever possible. Makes things more pleasant an’ all.”

  She made a wry face, indicating her personal opinion of the master. I smiled.

  “I’ll be downstairs dustin’ the hall furniture,” Betty said. “When you finish dressin’, you’ll find me there, an’ I’ll show you to the breakfast room.”

  “Thank you, Betty.”

  I took my time getting ready. Derek Hawke could simply boil. I intended to look my best. I brushed my hair until it had the deep coppery highlights. I applied makeup with extra care. Morris had brought up my suitcase, and I took out my emerald-green linen. It was old and no longer in fashion, but the cut was simple and the lines had an enduring chic that always looked up-to-date. The color went perfectly with my hair. I surveyed myself in the mirror before leaving the room. It might be hellishly early in the morning for style, but I felt I passed inspection. I could face Derek Hawke with composure.

  I closed the door of my room and walked down the hall. I wasn’t at all sure I could find my way to the staircase that led downstairs. I had been exhausted and bewildered last night when I followed the butler up, and we had turned several corners, leaving the main hall and going down a series of smaller ones. My room was in one of the wings, away from the main part of the house.

  I turned a corner and stopped in bewilderment. I had come to a dead end. I started to retrace my way, when a door opened behind me. The girl came out. She looked startled at seeing me, then relieved. She wore a dark blue sweater with a short pleated gray-and-blue tweed skirt. Honora did not seem to be in the least aware of her beauty, and that gave it an added quality of innocence and charm.

  “Hello,” she said. “I’m Honora.”

  “I’m Deborah. I seem to be lost.”

  “That isn’t surprising,” Honora replied. “Once we had a house guest who was lost for hours. We finally found her in one of the pantries. She thought it was a bathroom and the door slammed to and locked behind her. She was in an awful state when we found her. There were rats in the pantry—”

  “How dreadful,” I said.

  “I was rather glad. She was a prissy old thing, a friend of Andy’s who was being considered as a governess for me. She had warts.”

  “Warts?”

  “One on her nose, two on her neck.”

  “Most unsuitable on a governess,” I remarked.

  “That’s what I thought,” Honora replied.

  “Did you have many governesses?” I asked.

  “A few. Then I was sent away to school. It was dreadful. There was no hot water, and all the other girls were great lumpy things full of adenoids, but I learned to drink tea properly and curtsy and read Molière in the original. I never thought I’d miss Blackcrest, but I did. I was ever so glad to get back. Jessie baked a special cake, and Betty said her baby had grown up—”

  She smiled for a moment, remembering the episode, the smile lingering at the corners of her soft pink lips. Then her eyes grew cloudy. The smile vanished. She glanced quickly up and down the hall before stepping closer to me. She lowered her voice, as though afraid someone else might hear what she had to say.

  “I’m glad we’ve met like this,” she said, “before … before you go downstairs to talk to Derek. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t know why you’re here, but I can tell you’re—understanding.”

  “I’d like to think I am,” I said.

  “There is something I must ask you. I suppose you know what it is?”

  “I can guess,” I said quietly, “and you needn’t worry. I won’t say a word about seeing you last night.”

  Her enormous eyes regarded me nervously, as though she didn’t dare believe me. I smiled reassuringly.

  “He’s a handsome lad,” I said, “although the hair and black leather aren’t exactly to my taste.”

  “That’s all part of his—pose,” she said. “He isn’t like that at all, not like those others who hang around at the café. He’s wonderful. He’s working hard to make something of himself. Everyone else thinks he is insolent and sullen—”

  “By ‘everyone else,’ you mean Derek Hawke?”

  “How did you know?”

  “I merely guessed,” I replied.

  “Derek thinks I’m a child. He sees me as some fragile doll he must keep wrapped up in tissue paper, away from the world. He almost had a fit when Andy bought me the Chevrolet. There wasn’t anything he could do about it, though. He has no legal say-so over me, and Andy can put him down when she’s a mind to. Andy’s my guardian.”

  “Andy?”

  “Andrea Hawke. She owns Blackcrest.”

  “I see.”

  “Derek hates Neil. He says Neil doesn’t show proper respect. Neil lives here, you see, in the carriage house out in back. His father’s our gardener. Neil helps him during the day, working on the grounds, and at night he works at the café-station. Neil’s the only person I know who holds down two jobs. No one who works like that can be bad.”

  “It seems quite commendable,” I agreed.

  “I’ve known Neil all my life. He was like a brother to me when I was growing up. We fought all the time, and I thought he was a nasty little boy. Then, when I came back from school, all that—changed.”

  Her face was radiant as she spoke of the boy. It glowed with beauty that only one emotion can give. I remembered how intensely one feels everything at that age, how tragic and hopeless everything seems, and I sympathized with the girl in her love for the gardener’s son.

  “Derek thinks Neil is only interested in my money. Andy set up a trust fund for me, and there was quite a lot of insurance when my parents died. It’ll all be mine when I turn eighteen. That’s just a few months away. None of them will have any say over me then.”

  “Does your guardian object to your seeing the boy?” I asked.

  “Andy? I don’t think she’s even aware of the way I feel about Neil. She’s too wrapped up in her cats and committees and letters to the newspapers to pay much attention to me. Now she’s writing her memoirs, and that takes up all her time. Oh, she’s a dear, and I love her, but she’s rather vague about everything. It’s Derek who opposes it. He’s forbidden me to speak to Neil. Neil’s father is afraid Derek will fire him, so he’s forbidden Neil to have anything to do with me. They’re doing all they can to keep us apart.”

  “Surely you and your young man can wait?”

  “That’s what Neil says. But I can’t—”

  “A few months is a very short time.”

  “I won’t wait,” she said, her voice passionately intense. “There are things—”

  She stopped abruptly. She composed herself. I could see the effort that took. I had the impression she had been on the verge of telling me something very important, of opening a closet door and revealing a skeleton so horrifying it would chill the blood. My pulses leaped. Could it have something to do with Delia? I felt it imperative to question the girl, but the moment had passed. She was cool and reserved now. Whatever secret she had been about to tell was locked away.

  “You must forgive me,” she said. “I … I’ve been very rude. No one likes to listen to the problems of other people. I don’t ordinarily go on like this. It’s just that … there are so few people to talk to, and you seem so nice, Deborah.”

  “That’s the nicest compliment I’ve had in a long time,” I replied.

  “Will you be staying at Blackcrest long?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “It w
ould be nice, but—”

  “Yes?” I prompted.

  “Nothing. Come, I’ll show you the way down now.”

  We walked down the hall. The house was shabby here, the wallpaper peeling at the seams, the carpet worn and smelling of moths. Plaster flaked off the ceiling, and there were brown moisture stains. Honora led the way through the maze of halls, and we finally came to the main staircase that curved down to the front hall. The girl hesitated, her hand resting on the dark mahogany banister.

  “I like you, Deborah,” she said. “I … I do hope you’ll keep your word and not mention seeing me last night.”

  “Of course I will,” I replied.

  It was dark at the top of the staircase. There were no windows anywhere near, and none of the sunlight penetrated here. Shadows stroked the dark blue wallpaper. Tall green plants grew in ugly black pots, their heavy leaves giving a dense, junglelike effect where we were. I could barely see the girl as she stood half-hidden by one of the plants.

  “Are you one of Derek’s friends?” she asked abruptly.

  “I just met him last night,” I replied.

  “I’m glad. I’m … glad you’re not his friend.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  She hesitated. Once again she seemed about to reveal something important. She touched one of the blackish-green leaves, and when she finally spoke, her voice was so low I could hardly hear her.

  “It isn’t likely you’ll stay,” she said. “It’s just as well. Derek doesn’t like people here. I’m afraid Blackcrest isn’t a happy place. You’re much too nice to be here.”

  I wanted to ask her to explain her words, but she had gone. She had vanished among the shadows. I was alone, surrounded by the dark plants. What a very strange girl, I thought, and how very odd her last words. I hesitated for a moment and then started down the spiral staircase. I would think about Honora later on. Now I was interested to see what Derek Hawke had to say for himself this morning.

  5

  Derek Hawke was just putting down the telephone receiver when I stepped into the breakfast room. He set the instrument aside and smiled at me, nodding his head in greeting. He was wearing a pair of brown pants and a bulky knit sweater of dull gold. His hair was as untidy as it had been the night before, spilling over his forehead in thick black waves. There was a strength and vigor about him this morning that made me uncomfortable. He was like a healthy animal confined to a small space and deliberately restraining great energy.