“I don’t know what explanation there can be,” I said.
“It frightens me,” added Mrs. Emery.
It frightened me, too.
Benedict returned, and we began to realize how serious the matter was. He questioned every one of us and there was no doubt that Celeste had left the house on the previous night taking nothing with her. The search had been extended and she could not be found.
We knew that it could not be long before the news was out. It came sooner than we expected.
“Wife of prominent M.P. disappears. Tragedy-haunted Benedict Lansdon is the centre of a new mystery. His wife, Mrs. Celeste Lansdon, is missing from her home in her husband’s constituency of Manorleigh. As she appears to have taken nothing but the clothes she was wearing there is alarming speculation as to what has happened to her. It will be remembered that Benedict Lansdon’s first wife died during his original and unsuccessful campaign in Manorleigh and there were suggestions of foul play. It was, however, afterwards proved that she was suffering from an incurable illness and took her own life. Unlucky Mr. Lansdon is now at his home in Manorleigh where extensive enquiries are being made, and there is no doubt that the mystery will soon be solved.”
There was a hush over the house. The servants were talking in whispers. I could imagine the theories which were being circulated. I saw the expressions of excitement … suppressed into concern, of course, but they were there. They were hoping for startling developments. I wondered how many of them knew of the strained relations between the master and mistress of the house.
I also wondered what would be revealed when the press intruded on us and its members talked to the servants … always the most informed of detectives, keeping a close watch on our lives. What would the police get from them? I could imagine the questions … and the answers.
Tom Marner was a boon to us during that time. He took the children off our hands. They went riding with him and he was often in the nursery. I would hear their laughter which sounded odd in a house of fear.
We felt so helpless. What could we do? What had happened to Celeste? If only she would walk into the house and tell us she was well. If only we knew. It was so frustrating. She had just disappeared without a trace.
The first few days had passed and speculation was rife. The police had called. They spent a long time with Benedict. They asked some of us questions, including myself. Had I seen her the night she disappeared? Had I noticed anything unusual?
No, I told them. There had been nothing unusual.
“Had Mrs. Lansdon seemed distressed … afraid? Had she mentioned that someone had been threatening her?”
“Certainly not.”
The questions frightened me. They held a suggestion of foul play.
Did I know any reason why she should suddenly walk out of the house?
I did not. She was not a great walker. We had both said goodnight and gone to our respective rooms.
“What was the time then?”
“About nine o’clock.”
“Did anyone see her after nine?”
I thought no one had.
Yvette was closely interrogated. Everything had seemed as normal, she said.
“Was there any reason why Mrs. Lansdon should leave home?”
There was none that she knew of.
I guessed that they had not ruled out the possibility of murder.
Jean Pascal arrived at Manorleigh. It would have been impossibly embarrassing meeting him had it not been for the terrible tragedy which dwarfed everything else into insignificance.
He looked distracted and grief-stricken. He talked to Benedict in his study and when he emerged he was pale and clearly disturbed. He told us that his parents were worried. They were neither of them well enough to travel and he would have to go straight back to them but would keep in close touch.
He did have a word with me before he left.
“Don’t think too badly of me,” he said. “I’ve repented. I am truly sorry, Rebecca. I misjudged you. I have meant to come here on one or two occasions, but could not imagine how you would receive me.”
“I am afraid it would not have been very graciously.”
“So I guessed. This is a terrible business. We did not see very much of each other recently but she was … is … my sister.”
“If anything comes to light we shall let you know immediately.”
He frowned. “Was everything all right between … them?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she seems to have disappeared.”
I said, “Mr. Lansdon was not here when it happened. He was in London. We had to send for him.”
“I see.”
“You can be sure,” I reiterated, “that we shall keep you informed of whatever happens.”
“Thank you.”
I could not help being relieved when he left.
A week had passed. There were paragraphs in the paper.
“Where is Mrs. Lansdon?” The headlines stared out at me. I could imagine how the matter was being discussed all over the country.
My grandmother wrote. “This must be distressing for you right in the midst of it. Would it be possible for you to come to Cornwall for a while?”
I shivered at the thought. There were too many memories in Cornwall. I should be constantly reminded of Pedrek … and here his grandparents would have to be faced. I was glad to be out of London to avoid meeting Morwenna and Justin Cartwright. I believed they blamed me for breaking off the engagement which had sent Pedrek to the other side of the world. I could not bear to think of facing any of them. I could never explain what had happened and to be in Cador would make the bitterness all the more vivid.
Besides, I had to be here. For some strange reason I thought Benedict might need my help.
I could not imagine why I should feel this. He had always been my enemy. I understood the veiled suggestions which were circulating. He was a ruthless and ambitious man, and his wife had disappeared. Why? Had she been an encumbrance? Had he plans which did not include her?
A member of the press had cornered Yvette. They discovered through subtle questioning that the relationship between the husband and wife had not been a happy one.
We read in the papers: “He never had any time for her, said her personal maid. She was very upset about it. She was seen crying. She seemed desperate sometimes …”
Yvette was horrified when she read the papers. I guessed that her sometimes imperfect English had led her into saying more than she meant to reveal.
“I did not say it … I did not,” she cried. “He kept on … he make me say that which I do not mean …”
Poor Yvette. She had not meant to cast suspicion on her mistress’s husband. But of course this was seized on. There were sly hints. One of the less reputable papers printed a piece about him.
“The member for Manorleigh is unlucky in love … or should one say marriage. His first wife, Lizzie, from whom he inherited a goldmine which has made him many times a millionaire, killed herself; his second wife died in childbirth, and now his third, Celeste, has disappeared. But perhaps there will be a happy ending to this one. The police are pursuing their inquiries and are hopeful to solve the mystery soon.”
A week passed and there was still no news of Celeste. The police were searching for her. Emery came in with the news that they had been digging up Three Acre Field by the paddock because it looked as though the earth had been freshly turned over.
That was a terrible time. I was afraid that they would find Celeste buried there.
Nothing was found and there was silence for a few more days.
The news of Celeste’s disappearance was replaced by that of the Cabinet reshuffle as worthy of the headlines. I don’t think anyone was surprised that there was no place in it for Benedict.