He met me just beyond the shrubbery and our steps led up past Enderby.
He said: “I think everyone from the house has gone to the fair today. It seems so different without them. I’d like to show you the house. Have you ever gone through it?”
“No. I’ve heard about it but it was sold before I was born. My mother lived there as a girl but her aunt, who had brought her up, died and her husband was heartbroken. He was drowned and I don’t think anyone was sure whether it was suicide or an accident. Neither my mother nor her cousin Sabrina, who lives with her, ever wants to talk about it very much.”
“Come and take a look,” he said.
“I thought you would want to go to the fair.”
“I’d rather show you the house. You ought to see it and now that there is no one here there is an opportunity. Besides, it seems different when it’s empty. It has a great deal of atmosphere.”
He had taken my arm and was drawing me toward the house. I was reminded of my dream when I had fancied something had been warning me. I knew that when I had dreamed that I had imagined I was in that house, but I felt myself drawn on by an irresistible impulse and yet I was aware of another part of myself warning me not to enter that house of ill omen.
He had opened the door and we stood in the hall. It had a vaulted ceiling and fine paneling. I had seen many halls like it and yet there were shadows here. In the stillness I felt my heart start to beat so fast that I could almost hear it. He put an arm around me. I drew back and he said: “You looked … vulnerable … as though you need protection.”
I laughed but it sounded hollow. “I am really quite well able to look after myself.”
“I know it.” He was looking at me intently. “You would never do what you did not want to.”
My eyes had strayed to the minstrels’ gallery.
“Yes,” he said, “that’s one of the haunted spots. There are many of them. I’ve discovered that the servants won’t go into the gallery alone. Come, Zipporah, let us defy the ghosts.”
He took my hand and we mounted the stairs.
There was a carved door. It creaked as he opened it.
“Come,” he whispered and I stepped with him into the gallery.
“It’s colder up here.”
“That’s the spirit,” he said. “The ghosts come from the dead.”
He took my chin in his hands and looked into my face.
“You’re a tiny bit scared,” he said. “Oh yes, you are, my practical commonsensical Zipporah. Confess it, you are a little affected by Enderby.”
“Are you?” I asked.
“To tell you the truth,” he said, “I like it. It’s no ordinary house, but who wants an ordinary house? When I am here I say to myself: Is it true? Do the spirits of those long dead sometimes return to haunt the scenes of their sins … or their triumphs? Who can be sure? No one can. That’s the exciting thing about it. It’s mystery … wrapped in mystery, and one is never sure whether one is going to find the answer. Don’t you find that fascinating?”
“Yes, of course.”
We stood at the rail looking down at the hall. “It’s full of shadows,” he said. “Why?”
“Because of the trees and shrubs which grow too close and too high. Cut them down and have lawns all about the house and the light would be let in.”
“Perhaps the ghosts wouldn’t like it. Come on. Let me show you the rest of the house.”
“Where are the people who live here?”
“They are away. It is lent to me in their absence.”
“It was very convenient for you.”
“Oh very. I couldn’t have found a more pleasant spot.”
“But it is so far away from London.”
“Well, it has its little town wherein the good firm of Rosen, Stead and Rosen are housed.”
“But for a man of affairs …”
“This suits my affairs very well. I am near the sea … That is good, but best of all I am close to Eversleigh Court and because of that I met you, Zipporah.”
I sat quickly: “I think I should be returning home to Clavering soon. They will be missing me and I have done what I came to do.”
“Don’t talk of that now. Live in the present. It’s good to live in the present. The past is usually full of regrets. Never feel regrets, Zipporah. They change nothing. As for the future, that is the unknown. It is the present that has to be lived and living is the whole meaning of existence.”
“Too many generalizations are never quite true,” I said.
I was already beginning to feel the spell of the house … or perhaps it was his presence. I felt like another person. Trying to make excuses later I told myself that from the moment I had entered the house I had been taken into the possession of someone else.
We reached the top of the stairs, our footsteps echoing on the bare wooden boards. He opened a door and we were in a corridor.
I said: “How silent it seems! A strange soft of alliance … almost as though …”
“Perhaps the ghosts have come out today. I’ve got an idea they don’t much care for those giggling servants. They like a silent house.”
“We are here,” I said.
“On a tour of exploration. I am sure they want the house to live up to its eerie reputation.
“This is not an exceptionally large house,” he said. “There are five rooms on this landing. Above are the servants’ quarters. How quiet it seems.”
He opened a door. I was in a room in which was a large four-poster bed. The hangings were of brocade—white and gold. There was other furniture in the room but it was dominated by the large bed.
I had the uncanny feeling then that I had been there before. Or did I imagine that afterward. My emotions at this stage were so intense because I knew that I was being propelled toward some tremendous climax. I was trying to hold back yet urging myself forward.
“They prepared this room for me when I arrived,” I heard him say. “I believe it was a sort of honor. It’s the bridal suite.”
“But you brought no bride,” I said.
He had taken my hands and was looking steadily at me. I tried to withdraw them but I could not do so. I was not sure whether it was because he held them so firmly or because my own will would not allow me to relinquish the contact.
Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I remembered something I had heard about this room. Hadn’t the bed curtains been blood red … rich, velvet at one time; and hadn’t they been changed to white and gold. There was a reason.
The past seemed to be closing round me and I was a part of it. I wanted to escape from it. I wanted to be in the present … I wanted to live as I never had before.
Then he put his arms round me and held me close to him. I could feel his heart beating against mine. I was in love with him and this was different from loving Jean-Louis or anyone I had loved before. This was something I had never experienced, had never understood, had been vaguely aware existed … in romances of the past. Tristan and Isolde, Abelard and Héloïse … the sort of overwhelming passion for the sake of which people sacrificed everything … even that which they held most dear.
“Zipporah.” He was saying my name as I had never heard it said before. I seemed to be floating along in his arms. We had left the world and all its little conventions a long way behind. We were together … we belonged together … and there was no holding back the tide of passion which was enveloping us.
I heard myself say: “No … no … I must go. …”
And I heard his gentle laughter as he loosened my dress. I was still protesting but without any real conviction, I knew, and he knew it too. I was desperately trying to remember so many things. I was Zipporah Ransome, wife of Jean-Louis; our marriage was a happy one … my family …
It was no use, I was not with them … I was here in this house with my lover.