“That’s me,” Crawford said. “Never a dull moment. And think of it — if you marry me you can pick your own name. Not many women have such a glowing opportunity. Which name do you like best?”
“I’ll have to think it over,” Isobel said.
“Pick any one you like,” Crawford said with a vague sweep of his hand.
Isobel gave the cards a kick and walked rapidly into the library. Her face was flushed and she felt warm and a little shocked at herself because Crawford had made her forget Floraine.
She sat down in one of the sheet-covered chairs and thought about Crawford-Kelly-Marink-Henderson-MacTavish. After a time her face cooled, and she noticed that the room was very cold and thought suddenly about the furnace.
She rushed out and told Crawford. Crawford said he personally felt very warm but if Isobel would like to fix the furnace he offered no objections.
“Why should I have to fix it?” Isobel cried. The house is practically swarming with able-bodied men and I have to do everything! It’s not fair.”
“I know it isn’t,” Crawford said and took a gulp of brandy. “It’s a damn shame. But it’s life,” he added sadly, and waved her away.
She strode angrily down the hall and flung open the door into the kitchen. She found Mrs. Vista trying to make herself some tea on the stove, but she swept past her without speaking and hurled herself down the cellar steps.
“Really,” said Mrs. Vista pensively, “how very strange everyone else is.”
Isobel opened the heavy door that led into the furnace room. She expected a gust of warm air to meet her, but instead there seemed to be a very cold draught sweeping across at her and the cellar was quite bright.
She looked and saw that the door at the head of the short stairway leading outside was open.
There was a man standing in the doorway. He was watching her, motionless, as if he had frozen there.
Isobel took a step back. Neither of them spoke. The man, outlined by sun, seemed enormous and sinister. He was dressed in skiing clothes and he still had his poles strapped to his wrists. He moved suddenly and leaned against the door as if he were unutterably weary. One of the poles slipped off his wrist and clattered down the steps.
The man stared at it a moment, then he began to lumber down the steps after it, hanging on to the wall.
“I’m... I’m lost,” he said huskily and fell on his knees. Crouching there, he looked up at her with wild eyes.
Dazed with shock she didn’t move forward to help him.
“Don’t be frightened,” he said, trying to smile. “I’m cold. I can’t move very well. Close the door.”
She went automatically up the steps and closed the door. With the sun shut out the cellar was dim.
“Now come down here again,” the man said, and even though his voice was feeble and he was too ill to stand up, he had authority. She recognized it and came down the steps and stood a few feet away from him, like a child awaiting instructions from an adult.
She saw that he had a very dark skin and black eyes and she knew he was a French-Canadian from his intonations. He wasn’t as tall as she had thought, and a great deal of his bulk was clothing, layers and layers of it.
He began to take it off, holding out his arm to her when he needed help.
“Fingers numb,” he said. “Been out — a long time.”
She pulled his heavy jacket off. She saw him staring at her clothes.
“You live here?” he said.
“No.” She hesitated, wondering how to explain the whole crazy chain of events to a stranger. “No, we’re lost, too. There are quite a few of us here.”
“Who owns the house?”
“A Miss Rudd,” Isobel said. “She’s... she stayed here with her nurse.”
“Sick?”
“No... No, she’s a little peculiar,” Isobel said and began to giggle. The man just stared at her and waited until she had stopped.
“I’m sorry,” Isobel said in a muffled voice. “I guess I’ve had — too much excitement.”
“Yes?” He had a sharp alert voice. “What kind?”
“Miss Rudd, and the cat and... and everything. You’d better stay down here in the cellar for a while and I’ll bring you some food and blankets.”
“Yes? Why? Why should I stay here?”
“There’s something in the hall you’d better not see. I mean, I’ll explain everything later...”
He put his hand gently on her wrist. “No. Now.”
“It’s... a... a... body.”
“In the hall? A body?” He smiled slightly. “You’re not Miss Rudd yourself, are you?”
She turned her head away. “No. Miss Rudd killed her nurse.”
She felt his recoil and thought, he thinks I’m crazy. She said, “I didn’t want to tell you now. You made me tell you. I know how incredible it sounds.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” he said grimly. “You’re not making this up to get rid of me, are you?”
“I’ll go upstairs and bring you something...”
“No, wait.”
She paused at the door and looked back. He was standing up again gazing at her warily.
“I’ll come with you,” he said.
“No. I’ll have to tell the others you’re here. They’ve had so many surprises and one of the women faints...”
He brushed her words away with a gesture.
“I’ll come with you,” he said again and walked toward her, limping on one foot. When they came to the stairs he said, “Go up first.”
“No...”
“Go up first. I want you in front of me.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“Neither am I,” he said. “That’s why I want you in front of me.”
“How dare you order me around like this?” she said shrilly. “How dare you think I’m... I’m crazy!”
In the kitchen Mrs. Vista said with a sigh: “Miss Seton appears to be shouting about something. Shall we ignore her?”
“Yes. Quite,” said Mr. Goodwin.
“I agree. So much better in the long run. Tea, Anthony?”
Mr. Goodwin took his cup and settled down beside the stove. The door from the cellar opened and Isobel Seton emerged slowly. Her face was white and her hair was wispy and she looked at Mr. Goodwin with glassy eyes.
“Look what I found,” she said in a low voice.
“You found something?” Mr. Goodwin said. “Well, well.”
He stared with his mouth open as Isobel proceeded through the kitchen, followed by the limping man. They went out into the hall and the man turned and shut the door again carefully. He had barely glanced at Mrs. Vista and Mr. Goodwin.
“Extraordinary,” said Mr. Goodwin hollowly.
“Most unconventional,” Mrs. Vista agreed.
“Makes one doubt the senses, don’t you think?”
“You’re quite right,” Mrs. Vista said thoughtfully. “And once one doubts the senses what is there left for one?”
“Nothing,” said Mr. Goodwin, and sipped his tea.
Outside the door the man had stopped and grabbed Isobel’s hand.
He said, “This is the hall, is it?”
Isobel nodded wordlessly.
“Do you see any body?”
“No,” Isobel said in a strangled whisper.
“Did you ever see it?”
“It was there. Someone must have — taken it away.”
“What is this game?” the man said quietly. “If you simply want to get rid of me I’ll be delighted to leave. Have I accidentally stumbled on an insane asylum?”
“Mr. Crawford must have put the body some place. He was waiting for it to thaw.”
“To what?”
“Thaw. It was frozen.”
The man stared at her a moment, his face strained and puzzled.
“Madame,” he said, “you were correct. The cellar’s the place for me. I shall stay long enough to get warm. And don’t bother coming with me. I can find my way.”