I listened. Creeping footsteps. I looked at my treasured key. It jutted out from the door, promising security.
I rose, went to the door and listened.
Yes, someone was going stealthily along the corridor down there.
Very quietly I unlocked my door and looked out into the corridor. I tiptoed to the banister. Candlelight flickered on the wall and it came from the candle which Desmond Featherstone was carrying. His feet were bare and he had a bedgown flung loosely round him. I saw him open my stepmother's door and go in.
I stood back. This was significant.
I clutched the banister and thought what it meant. They were lovers.
Was it possible that he had to tell her something suddenly? Nonsense. He had walked in in the most casual fashion, as though it
were a habit. He had not even knocked at the door. Besides, what would he want to talk about at midnight?
I stood there, shivering.
I felt I had to wait and see what happened, for I knew it was of importance.
I stood there until three o'clock. He had not emerged.
So there could be no doubt.
I crept back to my room and locked myself in.
They were indeed lovers. How long had they been? Obviously he had come down here to see her. Had they been lovers when my father was alive?
Those periodical visits... Did he come to make love to my stepmother? And the same time he was trying to court me! She knew about it. She was trying to help him. She had invented lies about Magnus and Mrs. Masters' niece.
What did it mean?
Sleep was impossible. I should have guessed. And yet my stepmother had almost won me over. I had believed in her grief. I had almost been ready to be her friend.
My thoughts are in a whirl.
And my father... what of him? He had loved her so deeply. Perhaps it was only since his death ...
My thoughts alighted on a hundred possibilities.
So I am taking out my journal and writing it all down. It soothes me in a way. It calms me.
My first thoughts were: I shall tell Magnus what I have seen. But then he will not be back for a week. I am thankful that I shall soon be out of this house.
February 5th
I am spending the day in my room. I have pleaded a headache. I could not face either of them. I am not sure how I should act.
Sometimes I feel like confronting them. At others I feel I must keep silent.
The fact is, I am afraid of them. I am afraid of this house. All that uneasiness I felt, that instinct which insisted that I acquire a key and lock myself in, was a warning. Something within me saw more than my conscious self.
Everything had changed since Lois Gilmour came into the house. Before that how open and easy everything had been. She had brought that sinister atmosphere here—and of course she was the reason for it.
At midday she came to see me.
I lay on my bed and closed my eyes when I heard her coming.
"My dear child," she said, "you do look pale."
"It's just a headache. I'll stay in my room today I think."
"Yes, perhaps it is best. I'll have something sent up to you."
"I don't feel much like eating."
"A little soup, I should think."
I nodded and closed my eyes. Silently she went out.
Freddy was there.
"No dear," she said. "You can't go in. Ann Alice is feeling poorly today. Just let her rest."
I looked up and smiled at him as he stood in the doorway. He looked very sorry for me. He is such a nice little boy.
I took the soup and that was all I wanted. I lay on my bed thinking.
What does it mean? They are lovers... lovers since when? I thought of the first time I had seen Desmond Featherstone in the inn with her. Then, I suppose. Yet she had married my father, and my father had died. He had left her a comparatively wealthy woman. She had come merely as a governess and I imagined she had not had much then. And now her friend ... her lover... was trying to marry me. I had been deeply shocked.
I did know that they had been shattered by the news that Charles was safe. Why? Because Charles would inherit. I should be provided for, of course, but I should not be the rich woman I should have been if my brother were dead.
It was all fitting into place.
"Conjecture," I said.
Look at it this way, I admonished myself. My father has been dead for some time. Perhaps she is the sort of woman who needs a lover. Perhaps it has only just started between them. Perhaps he no longer wants to marry me. Perhaps he will marry her now.
How could I be sure that the thoughts I had entertained about them were true? And if they were... ? Those turns of my father? What did they mean? He had never had them before his marriage.
What if she were a murderess? What if they plotted between them? What if they were plotting now. Would it be for him to marry me, and murder me as she had murdered ...
It is helpful to write down my thoughts like this just as they come. They are a little incoherent perhaps, but it helps me to think.
The house has become a very sinister place.
I am afraid. Oh, Magnus, I wish you were here. If you were, I would say, Take me away, take me away tonight. I do not want to spend another in this place.
It frightens me. It is full of menace. What I have been thinking were childish imaginings are now taking on a sinister reality.
I must try to decide what I am going to do.
I have thought of something. I might try it out tonight. I will listen for him to go to her room. I know the house well, of course, and next to their room is another with a door leading into the corridor. Like most Tudor houses, some rooms lead into others. This one leads into hers, although it has that door into the corridor. The door between the two rooms is locked. If I were in that room I could listen to their conversation perhaps. I have decided that this afternoon when they are out, I will go down to that room and examine it to see if it is possible for me to secrete myself there and if I did I should be able to hear what was said.
It is now afternoon and I have found out what I want. I have been down to the floor below. The door between the two rooms is bolted on both sides.
I have made sure that it is locked. The door is ill-fitting. If I stand on a stool I can reach a crack at the top of the door and I am sure I should be able to hear what is being said on the other side.
I am going to try it tonight.
Of course I may hear nothing. I have already proved that he spends his nights with her. But I want to hear what they talk about.
I believe he is very partial to the port and likes to sit drinking after dinner. That would be the time perhaps to listen to what they say. But they might be more careful then. Servants have their ears everywhere.
So ... tonight, I will try.
It is one o'clock. I am shaking so much I can scarcely hold my pen. But I must write it down while it is fresh in my memory. I heard them come up as before. It was past midnight. I fancied he was reeling a little. He must have drunk a great deal. I hoped not too much for that would probably make him sleepy and disinclined to talk.
I crept down very quietly into the room with the door wide open for my escape if necessary and my own door open so that I could run into it quickly.
My handwriting is shaking so much. I am so frightened.
It worked really better than I thought. He was in a quarrelsome mood.
Standing on the stool with my ear to the crack I could hear him distinctly.
"What's the matter with her?" he demanded.
My stepmother said: "She said a headache."
"That she-devil is up to something."
"You should give up. Let her go to her Swede or whatever he is."
"I'm surprised at you, Lo. You go so far and then you lose your nerve. You didn't want to get rid of the old man, did you? Look at the time you took over that! You liked the cosy life. I believe you even liked the old fellow."