Bewilderingly there swept over her a sense of irretrievable loss. What had she done? And quick on that something that resisted. She hadn’t done anything-nothing at all. If Anne had gone with that man, she had gone of her own free will, hadn’t she? She had. She had.
She went slowly up the stairs and heard Janet call from the bathroom.
‘Is that you, Anne?’
‘No, it’s me. Anne’s gone up. Do you want her?’
‘No-not really-it will do in the morning.’
She went on up the flight of stairs which led to her bedroom and Anne’s. When she was half way up she called down to Janet in the bathroom. ‘Good-night! I’m awfully sleepy.’ Then she ran the rest of the way and came into her room with a sense of escape.
She locked the door and sat down on the bed in the dark.
She didn’t want the light. And then after a few minutes she did want it and she got up and turned it on. She undressed, put the light out, and got into bed. But she couldn’t sleep. Her thoughts were racing. She had been very clever, very clever indeed. There was nothing to feel uncomfortable about. What had she done?
What had she done? ‘I haven’t done anything.’ Anne had lost her memory. She didn’t know who she was, or where she was, or where she had come from. It was only kindness to give her back to her own people.
‘It was the basest betrayal in the world.’
Lizabet started on her elbow. Who had said that? Someone had said it. She was in her own room, locked in. She had been comfortable and nearly asleep, and someone had said that.
It went on all night. When she was quite awake she could argue with herself. These were Anne’s own people-it was much better for her to be with them. And then when she was slipping down into sleep the thought would come, ‘How do you know who they were, or what they wanted? How do you know?’ Round and round, and over and over the thoughts went on. There was nothing to distract your mind in the silence of the night.
The first faint breath of fear came and went. It did not stay long. It came back again. It kept on coming back until with the first faint streak of daylight it was there all the time and would not be talked down or covered up. She got out of bed, slipped on her dressing-gown, and went down to Janet’s room. She couldn’t bear it by herself any more. Janet would know what to do. Janet always knew.
She opened the door cautiously. Janet didn’t move. She could tell by her breathing that she was asleep. A wave of self-pity came over her. Janet could sleep. She hadn’t slept all night-not really. A sob came up in her throat. And at once Janet stirred and woke. She was up on her elbow looking across the faint dawn light that filled the room.
‘Lizabet-what is it?’
Lizabet was child enough to dissolve into tears. She ran across to the bed and sobbed.
‘Janet-oh, Janet!’
‘What is it? Lizabet, what’s the matter?’
‘I-I couldn’t sleep.’
‘Why couldn’t you?’
‘I don’t know.’ There was a fresh and more agonised burst of tears.
Janet got out of bed.
‘You’re all cold,’ she said. ‘I’ll get you some hot milk. Get in and cover yourself up. I won’t be a minute.’
It was nice and warm in Janet’s bed. Perhaps she could go to sleep here. She could try. And then just as she was beginning to feel comfortably warm and sleepy Janet came back with the hot milk. Lizabet sipped the milk. Then she became aware that Janet was looking at her.
‘What put you in such a state?’
Lizabet hung her head.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Something did. You’d better tell me what it was.’
‘It wasn’t anything.’ Lizabet drank up the rest of the milk and pushed the glass at Janet. ‘It wasn’t anything at all.’
Janet took the glass, put it down, and turned to the bed again.
‘If you don’t tell me, I must go and ask Anne.’
‘No-no-you can’t-’
‘Why can’t I?’
It was at that moment it came home to Lizabet that she would give almost anything for Anne to be still there. She caught Janet by the wrist and broke again into tears.
‘You can’t! She’s not there-she’s gone!’
There was a stunned silence. Then Janet said, ‘Where has she gone?’
‘I-don’t-know-’
Janet sat down on the bed. Her legs shook. She sat because she couldn’t stand any longer. She said as firmly as she could, ‘What have you done?’
CHAPTER 43
The bell rang. Miss Silver waked. She was quite composed, quite all there. She stretched out her hand to the extension by her bed, took up the receiver, and said, ‘Miss Silver speaking.’
A voice that tried very hard to be steady answered her.
‘Miss Silver, it’s Janet Wells. Something dreadful has happened. Anne has gone.’
‘Gone!’
‘Yes. I don’t know what to do.’
Miss Silver sat up and pulled a shawl round her.
‘What has happened?’
There was a pause. It was as though Janet couldn’t get it over her lips. Then she said, ‘I’m afraid I was followed yesterday afternoon. Lizabet went out to post a letter, and she saw the man. I’m afraid she hasn’t behaved well, but she’s so young-she didn’t understand. She is dreadfully sorry now.’
Miss Silver pressed her lips together. She said, ‘What did she do?’
‘The man persuaded her. She thought it was a joke-I don’t know what she thought. Anne was finishing some sewing and I went to have a bath. When I had gone, Lizabet pretended that she had a letter to post. She asked if Anne would come to the corner with her. She said she had promised me not to go alone when it was late. Anne went with her, and Lizabet turned back. She said she had forgotten one of her letters and would catch her up with it, so Anne walked on slowly. There was a car standing by the pillar-box. When she got level with it a man came round from the other side and another got out from the front. I-I think they held something over her face. Lizabet couldn’t see, and she was frightened. She says it didn’t take a minute, and then they drove away with her.’
Miss Silver said, ‘I see-’ Then she said, ‘Have you reported this?’
‘No-not yet.’
‘I will tell Jim Fancourt. Do not do anything until I ring you.’
She rang off, sat for a moment in thought, and then rang up Jim Fancourt.
Anne lay in the back of the car. Every now and then the deep unconsciousness which held her thinned away. She became aware of unhappy things, a confusion, of a rushing, sliding sound. As often as this happened there was the smell of chloroform again and she went down into the pits of sleep. This was until they were out of London -out of the network of roads round London.
It was later that she passed this stage. She did not hear the driver say, ‘I should slack it off now,’ or the man who was sitting by her answer with a brief ‘All right,’ but this time her consciousness came nearer and went on coming.
She made a moaning sound, and Ross Cranston said, ‘I say, what about it?’
The man who was driving laughed.
‘She’ll probably be sick. Never mind-we’ll be there soon.’
Ross was in a state. ‘Oh, I say!’ he protested. The man who was driving said, ‘Shut up!’ and he shut up.
The first thing that Anne knew was the motion of the car. At first it was pleasant and vague and then, after it had gone away and come back several times, she was tired of it and wanted it to stop. But it wouldn’t stop. It went on, and on, and on. In the end she called out and tried to change her position. Something stopped her and she struggled to be free. And then the thick white giddiness came down on her again.