Road to Paradise Island

by Victoria Holt

  "It is so... incredible."

  She was very pale. Of course, she had never known Charles. I could hardly expect her to share my joy.

  "Won't it be wonderful when he comes home," I cried. "I can't thank you enough for bringing us this news. Now we are going to drink to the health of my brother, and to all those kind people who have looked after him."

  My stepmother has recovered herself. She summoned one of the servants. She instructed them to bring wine and to set two more places at the table.

  What a happy day this has been!

  I feel so safe now. Charles will soon be home.

  I suddenly realize that the house is no longer mine. I am glad. That is how it should be. I should have felt dreadful about going away and leaving it. And of course that is what I shall have to do when I marry Magnus...

  Oh, happy day! A lovely beginning to the New Year.

  January 4th Desmond Featherstone arrived today. I came in and there he was coming down the stairs.

  I stopped short and stared at him. "So you are back," I said.

  "What a nice welcome! You make me feel so much at home."

  "It seems," I said, "that you have made this house your home."

  "You are all so hospitable."

  I began to feel that shivery feeling, as though—as Miss Bray used to say—someone was walking over my grave.

  Why should I feel this? It was broad daylight—a bright frosty day. We have turned the corner and the days are getting longer. It is still dark early, but every day there is a little change. And March will soon be here.

  What am I afraid of?

  He is shocked. I saw that at dinner. He is so angry about something that he cannot conceal it. I know what it is, of course. It is due to Charles. He is angry because Charles is alive!

  Of course, he has some plans for me. He thought the house was mine, the business was mine. No wonder he wants to marry me.

  All that is changed now. The true heir is alive. Charles will come back and when he does he will be master of this house. I am sure that then there will be no place in it for Mr. Desmond Featherstone.

  Come home soon, Charles.

  I am feeling happy today. The days have started to get longer. I have my key so that I may lock myself in. Charles is coming home. And very soon March will be here.

  % THE ROAD TO PARADISE ISLAND

  February 1st I cannot believe this story. It is incredible. How could there possibly be plague in Great Stanton? When I think of the plague I am reminded of lessons with Miss Bray. A red cross on the door. The death cart and "Bring out your dead."

  That could not happen nowadays.

  I went to the Shop today. I love going there. I try always to go at midday when they are stopping work. Mrs. Masters often sends over a tray. She is only across the road, but Mr. Masters says he doesn't always want to leave the Shop. He is always busy on some project or other—so the food is sent over.

  And I go in often and join them. It is such a happy hour, that.

  The main topic of conversation for the last week has been the execution of the King of France. We were all shocked about that. It seems so terrible and we have long discussions about what effect this is going to have in France ... and on England. Magnus is enormously interested, and coming from the Continent, he has a slightly different approach to every subject. He is a great talker and loves a discussion; and, I am discovering, so do I.

  But now all that is forgotten. We have a local event which seems of greater importance.

  The fact is that a certain Mr. Grant and his son Silas have just returned from Dalmatia bringing with them bales of cloth. They are tailors. A few days ago Mr. Grant senior developed a strange illness-severe fever, soaring temperature, sickness and delirium. The doctor was nonplussed, and when he was about to call in another opinion Mr. Grant developed dark spots and patches all over his skin. These turned into horrible sores and it seems that all these are the symptoms of bubonic plague, which has not been seen in England since the beginning of this century.

  He died within a short time.

  Perhaps the matter would have been forgotten but a very short time after the death of his father, Silas Grant began to show the same symptoms.

  So now this has been definitely diagnosed as the Plague. There has been consternation everywhere, because when this sort of disease is brought into a country there is no knowing how far it will spread.

  So we talked of this strange occurrence while we ate Mrs. Masters' excellent chicken.

  Magnus as usual took charge of the conversation. He talked at length about the Great Plague of London in 1665 which quite devastated the country. We had suffered little from it since because, said Magnus, it had taught us a great lesson and that was that one of the main causes was a lack of cleanliness and bad drainage.

  "Only twice in this century has it visited Western Europe," he said. "It was in Russia and Hungary and came as far as Prussia and Sweden; and when it arrives it is difficult to eradicate. Later there was an outbreak in Southern France ... rather close, you might say. During the Russo-Turkish war there was another outbreak, and that little more than twenty years ago. Then it appeared again in Dalmatia."

  "Well, that is where the Grants came from," I said.

  "People are taking this very seriously," said Mr. Masters.

  "And so they should," added Magnus.

  While we were talking, John Dent, one of our workers, came in and said that he had just heard that Silas Grant had died.

  "Two deaths," said Mr. Masters. "This is serious."

  "They are saying the bales of cloth they brought back may be infected," said John Dent.

  "That," said Mr. Masters, "is very likely."

  "They should be burned," added Magnus.

  "Nobody wants to touch them," explained John Dent. "They are all together in one room at the top of the shop. They are going to burn all the bedclothes, but nobody will touch the bales of cloth. They are going to board up the room. They think that is the thing to do."

  "How strange!" I cried. "I thought it would have been better to burn them."

  "The room itself might be infected," said Mr. Masters. "They've got a point."

  "Well, if that finishes it, it will be proved they have done the right thing," commented Magnus.

  I could not stop thinking of it.

  Over dinner I told my stepmother. Desmond Featherstone was there. They did not display a great deal of interest. It seemed to me that they had something on their minds.

  February 4th This is such good news. Today when I went into the shop Magnus was anxious to talk to me alone. I was aware of this as I am of all his moods; there is a very special bond between us. I do believe we know what the other is thinking.

  He whispered to me: "Tomorrow I am going to London. Mr. Masters wants to call on one or two people and he thinks it would be a good idea if I went with him. While I am there I shall make enquiries about our journey and get the tickets we shall need, so that everything will be in order."

  "Oh Magnus, how wonderful!" I cried.

  "Not long to wait now," he said and kissed me.

  I could scarcely listen to anything that was said after that.

  When I came back to the house I went straight to my room. I must be prepared. I still had the rest of the month to live through. February—mercifully—is the shortest month of the year. Only by a few days, it is true, but every day seems an age.

  But very soon now ...

  I am so happy, so excited. I am even wondering if I betray my feelings and I realize that I do when Freddy said to me: "You're happy about something, Ann Alice."

  "What makes you say that?" I asked.

  "Your face says it." he told me.

  I just squeezed his arm and he said: "Is it a secret?"

  I said: ''Yes. You'll know in time."

  He hunched his shoulders and laughed. He loved secrets.

  "When shall I know?"

  "Oh ... soon."

  Then I remembered t
hat I would be leaving him and I was sorry about that.

  He did not say any more but during the day I caught him watching me; he smiled when his eyes met mine as though we shared a secret. We did in a way. The knowledge that there was a secret.

  I was reckless. I should not have talked to anyone... not even Freddy.

  Tomorrow morning, early, Magnus will set out.

  After I had written that I put my journal away and prepared for bed. I was not in the least sleepy. I was full of plans, turning over in my mind what I should take with me. It was past midnight and still I could not sleep. Then suddenly I heard a board creak. Someone was walking about on the floor below. It must be my stepmother. Her room was down there.

  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."

  She said quietly: "He was a good man. I didn't want to ... "

  "I know that. Tried to get out of it, didn't you?"

  "Stop arguing and come to bed."

  "You would have liked to stop there. Given up the plan. You brought our little bastard in, didn't you? That was a neat little job. Oh, it was nice and cosy. You're small-time, Lo. That's what you are. You come in, make a little nest for yourself and the boy and you want to keep it like that. So, what about me, eh?"

  "You're shouting," she said.

  "Who's to hear? And now the brother's coming back. What's that going to do to our little plan, eh?"

  "Go away, Desmond. Leave things as they are."

  "Very nice for you, eh? But what about me? I've got to marry the girl. You had the old man. It's only right. She's not as well padded as we thought... but she'll do very nicely."

  "She won't have you."

  "She's going to be made to."

  "How?"

  "That's what we have to fix."

  "What do you plan ... to seduce her... rape her. I wouldn't put that past you."

  I was so overcome with rage that I moved. The stool jerked from under my feet. I leaped to the floor.

  They would have heard the noise.

  I dashed from the room to my own ... and here I am.

  I am so frightened. Tomorrow I shall leave the house. I will go to Mrs. Masters and tell her what I know. I will wait there for Magnus to come.

  My handwriting is so shaky. It is scarcely legible. What was that? I thought I heard a noise. Footsteps...