Allegra opened her eyes and began to talk very quickly.
“It’s going to cost an absolute fortune if you are really going to have new curtains everywhere. That pale yellow stuff with the feathers on it would be nice for your bedroom. You could lie in the dark and think of them coming down like snow, couldn’t you?”
Jacqueline Delauny said in a vexed voice,
“I didn’t know you were going to be away, Miss Muir, or I wouldn’t have arranged to go out for the day, and now I am afraid it is too late to put it off. My friend has been ill, and it would upset her very much. I do wish I had known!”
Geoffrey showed some impatience.
“There isn’t the slightest need for all this! I suppose I can look after Ally!”
Allegra half opened her eyes and said with a kind of absent sweetness,
“Better than anyone, darling-can’t you?”
“I hope so.” He had a smile for her whether she saw it or not. Then he turned to Jacqueline Delauny.
“You’re taking the Alvis, Jackie? I suppose you’ll be back for dinner?”
“Oh, yes-I’m only so sorry-”
“There’s no need.” Finality in the tone and in the gesture with which he set down his cup and went out of the room.
Jacqueline’s eyes followed him. All the muscles of her face were taut, but the eyes gave her away. It occurred to Ione, and not for the first time, that she was heading for a breakdown. When the door was shut behind Geoffrey Trent she drew a long breath and turned back again. She said with an unusual agitation in her manner,
“I really am vexed, you know. Both of us to be away all day like this-I really wouldn’t have had it happen! I thought everyone knew I was having the day to go and see my friend.”
Allegra looked through her lashes.
“I didn’t. And Geoffrey didn’t seem to.”
A quick flush coloured Jacqueline’s cheek-bones.
“But of course he knew! He was letting me have the Alvis.”
The lashes closed down. Allegra put up a hand to hide a yawn. She said in an indifferent tone,
“Oh, was he? I thought-it sounded-as if he was asking you-if you were taking it. You don’t generally wait for him to say you can-do you?” This time there was no attempt to suppress the yawn. She pulled a cushion down and snuggled up against it. “So sleepy-” she murmured, and appeared to all intents and purposes to be asleep.
Ione found herself saying, “It doesn’t really matter in the least, Miss Delauny. Allegra will be quite happy with Geoffrey, and it will do you good to get away.”
She tried to make her voice cordial, but even to herself it sounded cold. They had all been living in an atmosphere of strain, and it wasn’t only Jacqueline who would be the better for getting out of it, even if it were only for a day.
It was a little before ten when they separated for the night, Ione went to her room and packed the very few things she was taking. As she went to and fro, as she bent over her suitcase, she had a most uneasy feeling that she was being watched. It was not for the first time. Every now and then when she was in her room there would come that feeling of alien eyes upon her. In the beginning she had thought of Margot, hiding somewhere in the room and ready to jump out. She would open wardrobe and cupboard and look under the bed, but there was never anybody there. And just lately she had found herself wondering whether the spy-hole that gave access to the study was the only contrivance of its kind in the Ladies’ House. The thought was not a pleasant one.
She completed her preparations with relief, drew back the curtains, opened a window, and climbed into the four-post bed. It was stupid to start thinking about that sort of thing! Now, with the darkness covering her, she could tell herself just how stupid it was. Thought wandered a little way, and came back. There was something about being watched, spied on-it shook you. The house was too old. Too many people had lived their lives and thought their thoughts there. When you lay quiet like this they pressed about you and did not give you room. She fell into a most uneasy sleep. Afterwards she knew that she had dreamed. But the dream was gone. Nothing left of it but a shuddering sense that it had come out of one of the dark places of fear.
Her train was an early one. She was glad of the need to get up and dress. A lowering morning, but not wet. She put on her town clothes-neat black suit, fur coat, little hat with a bunch of veiling-and was particular about make-up and nail-polish.
It was when she had turned back to take a used handkerchief out from under her pillow that the thing happened. It might have happened any day or at any time, this way or another way-what did it matter? But it had to happen now. The bed-head was carved in bold relief-flowers and leaves, an archer shooting at a deer, initials twined together and caught up in a lovers’ knot. As she straightened up with the handkerchief in her hand, her hat pulled sideways. The veiling had caught in one of the carved initials. She felt it tear, put up a hand to the place, and jerked it free. The thought went through her mind that a pin would settle the damage, and that it would never show.
And then she saw the hole in the bed-head. The jerk that had freed her veil had opened a tiny panel. The shield which bore the initials and the lovers’ knot stood out like an open door. A crumpled fold of paper stuck out. Without any conscious volition her hand took hold of it and pulled. The torn-out sheets of Margot’s diary were there under her eyes. Crumpled sheets, and a scrawl in a childish hand. She saw Geoffrey’s name. Her hand stiffened. There was no time, no place for thought, only one dominant impulse-to get away from the place where this poor child had been tricked out of her life.
She folded the sheets without feeling them and pushed them down the front of her blouse. The used handkerchief had fallen on the bed. She picked it up, took it over to the soiled linen-basket, and dropped it in. Then she shut the little panel in the head of the bed and went down to her waiting taxi.
The Alvis was ahead of them, storming down the drive, turning away to the left where they turned to the right.
CHAPTER 37
Ione sat in the train with her eyes shut. She was in a carriage full of people, and every time the train stopped, which it did at every station, someone got out or got in. It was borne in upon her that in her hurry to get away she had caught the slow train by Marbury, which certainly did reach London in the end, but not until it had picked up the inhabitants of a dozen villages bound for Marbury market. If she had not been so blinded by impatience she would have waited for the fast London train which left a quarter of an hour later and arrived a good half hour before the wretched contraption in which she was now being jogged along. Impossible to read the torn-out pages of Margot Trent’s diary under the eyes of all these country people packed round her with their string bags, their baskets, their spreading coats, and the large feet which seemed to take up rather more room than there was.
At Marbury there was an exodus. She was left alone except for an elderly lady who appeared to be deep in a woman’s magazine. The train would not stop again until they were near London. As it gained speed, she slipped her hand inside her blouse and brought out the folded sheets. When she had read them through she went back to the beginning and read them again. She had arrived with a kind of horrified amazement at the last scrawled line, when the elderly lady addressed her.
“If I do not interrupt you-you seem so very much interested-but I was wondering whether you would object to having the window very slightly open at the top.”