Corpse Path Cottage

by Margaret Scutt

  ‘I bet you did!’ He hesitated. ‘Much trouble?’

  ‘I thought you would fall,’ said Amy, considering. ‘But you didn’t.’

  ‘I meant,’ said Mark carelessly, ‘did I say much?’

  Miss Faraday’s face became scarlet.

  ‘Oh, Lord! Well, I’m sorry. Very foul mouthed, they tell me, at such times. No doubt your psychology books could explain it all satisfactorily. But I’m sorry you should have come in for it.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Amy incoherently. ‘That is, what I mean is, you weren’t foul mouthed at all. Not in the least.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Mark thoughtfully.

  He fell silent. Amy, blushing again, sought desperately for words. Bright remarks about the weather seemed somewhat out of place. She looked up at last, met Mark’s gaze, and said, without consciously willing the words, ‘I had an anonymous letter!’

  At once she felt an extraordinary relief, as if a crushing weight had been removed from her. The unbeautiful countenance opposite her seemed momentarily to be that of an angel of comfort. Through this man she had suffered, yet in him, of all mankind, she was able to place her confidence.

  ‘Good God,’ said Mark, not unnaturally taken aback. ‘You had one, did you? So did I. But I went one better than you. Two separate and varied missives.’

  ‘Were they abusive?’ asked Amy, curiosity mingled with amazement in her face.

  ‘Neither was precisely a billet-doux,’ said Mark drily. ‘The queer part is they seemed to come from someone who knew of my life before I came here.’

  ‘That’s strange. Mine was — oh, horrible. It made me feel dirty.’

  ‘It’s a habit they have. Sandbourne postmark?’

  ‘Yes. But that means nothing. It’s easy enough to get to Sandbourne from Lake.’

  ‘That’s true. Was your letter by any chance connected with your visit to me?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I didn’t. But the fact,’ said Mark, leaning forward to knock out his pipe, and dropping ash on the shining hearth, ‘opens a field for speculation.’

  ‘Too wide a field.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Only that Jimmy Fairfax knew I was there. And what Jimmy Fairfax knows today all God’s Blessing knows tomorrow.’

  ‘I see. Well, it’s most incomprehensible.’

  ‘And most unpleasant.’ Amy opened her eyes resentfully. ‘What have I done, to be treated like this?’

  ‘“Be you pure as ice or chaste as snow,”’ said Mark. ‘Never mind. At the moment, unless we take our missives to the Bobby there’s little we can do, except be bloody, bold and vigilant.’

  ‘I couldn’t show my letter to anyone,’ said Amy, with decision.

  ‘Well, my first I consigned to the flames, but I’m wondering now if I did right. This sort of thing may grow, you know. I don’t like it.’

  His tone was unwontedly serious. Amy saw that his mouth was grim.

  ‘You mean, we may get other letters?’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking so much of you. Unpleasant though it is for you, your conscience is clear. All the dirt thrown at the two of us can’t stick. All the same, I don’t like it.’

  ‘Who could?’ said Amy.

  ‘I know. But it’s more than that. There’s something here I can’t understand.’

  ‘Neither can I,’ said Amy fervently. ‘Ever since the wretched thing came I’ve asked myself, why, why, why? Why should anyone do such a thing? What possible satisfaction can they gain from it?’

  Mark shrugged. ‘Satisfaction of a personal grudge? Failing that, go back to your psychology lectures, my dear. Sexual perversion — sexual frustration. Whichever way you turn sex rears its ugly head.’

  ‘I still don’t understand it,’ said Amy, flushing slightly, not, strangely enough, at the explanation, but at the casually used endearment.

  ‘Why should you? Who are you — who am I, for that matter — to follow the workings of a mind diseased? Though the Lord knows,’ said Mark, laughing, ‘one would say there was little enough hidden from the author of your novel. You know, you really are a most amazing person. Talk about hidden depths! How on earth you did it—’

  ‘I told you,’ said Miss Faraday petulantly. ‘I told you the whole thing.’

  ‘Did you, by George! But letting that pass, and turning to the matter of your anonymity, weren’t you asked for any publicity by your publishers?’

  ‘They wanted a photograph,’ said Amy gloomily, ‘and the story of my life.’

  ‘I bet they did. And what did you say?’

  ‘I told them that I did not wish my identity to become known, and that I had no photograph. Ethel M. Dell,’ said Miss Faraday triumphantly, ‘would never have her photograph published, and neither would Annabel Lee.’

  ‘And where they trod lesser mortals may follow. Good for you. But what about this end? Wouldn’t the people at the post office notice anything? Bulky parcels, and so on?’

  Amy shook her head. ‘I was lucky there. In the old days it would have been different, but now the mail vans come straight out from Lake.’

  ‘All completely impersonal?’

  ‘Yes. And of course I never sent anything off from here.’

  ‘Diabolical cunning,’ said Mark absently. He thought, with a faint shock, that the anonymous letter-writer would seem to have followed a similar technique, judging from the postmark. All the same, he would not cast Miss Faraday in that unpleasant role, even had she not been a victim herself. Unless, of course . . .

  He found that he was scowling at Amy, who was looking at him in some surprise. He pulled himself together.

  ‘You seem to have covered your tracks very well, and I don’t see how anything can possibly be traced to you. As I said some time ago, you have nothing to worry about. Sit tight, watch reactions, and when you feel like it, write another. That’s my advice, for what it’s worth.’ He rose, glancing at the clock. ‘And now, unless we wish to give our friend the letter-writer further material, I had better go. There seems to be in this village what a preacher of my youth called a Hi which never sleepeth — a Hi which seeth all.’

  ‘Oh, there is,’ said Amy seriously. She stood up, twisting her fingers together. Stammering, she said, ‘I haven’t t-told you yet why I called you in.’

  ‘Haven’t you?’ asked Mark, in genuine surprise.

  ‘No.’ She looked up at him apprehensively. ‘You will be angry, I’m afraid.’

  ‘As bad as that?’

  She gulped. ‘People are beginning to think that it — the book — was written about God’s Blessing.’

  Mark, with some justification, felt that he had had enough.

  ‘Isn’t this where we came in?’ he asked coldly.

  ‘But you don’t understand.’

  ‘For God’s sake, what don’t I understand?’

  Amy bowed her head.

  ‘They think you wrote it,’ she said.

  CHAPTER XII

  IT WAS HOT IN the wood. The air was full of the drone of insects, and the bracken, proudly uncurling, already encroached on the path. Laura Grey dabbed at her forehead with a faintly scented handkerchief and frowned. She had no desire to appear overheated, or anything but mistress of the situation. A cool and graceful poise, touched delicately by a shadow of regret — that would be the line to take. She followed the path, moving up from the trough where a tiny stream flowed, and reaching the space at the top where the hazel clumps grew less closely, paused, taking a mirror from her bag and examining her face with intensity. Her fears proved groundless; the heat had not so much as heightened her colour. The blue eyes gazed into the mirror and saw satisfaction reflected there.

  She closed her bag and smoothed down her pleated grey skirt. Her jumper was blue, matching her eyes, and high to the neck. Somehow the effect was as revealing as that of a low-cut evening gown. She waited for a moment, for all her poise breathing more quickly as she thought of what lay ahead, then she left the wood a
nd crossed the path towards Corpse Path Cottage. Endicott, who was sitting in a patriarchal manner in a patch of sunshine outside his front door, looked up to see her standing with one hand on the gate.

  For a moment he neither moved nor spoke. His eyes, fixed on the slender and charming figure, were expressionless. The girl looked at him, her lips parted in an appealing smile. She said, when he had made it obvious that the first move must come from her, ‘Won’t you ask me in, Mark?’

  He rose deliberately, placing the papers which he held on the step. With helpless anger, he discovered that his hands were trembling, and thrust them into the pockets of his disreputable trousers.

  ‘Come in, by all means . . . Mrs Grey,’ he said.

  Laura opened the gate and came slowly to him, moving her head slightly to one side to avoid the branches of the old lilac bush which dripped its blossom across the path. When she was quite close to him, she paused, looking at him with a faintly troubled gaze.

  ‘You are angry with me,’ she said.

  Mark laughed shortly.

  ‘Well — aren’t you? I know I deserve it,’ she said.

  ‘In the past,’ said Mark, ‘I have felt angry, as you so euphemistically put it, with you. I may even have felt murderous towards you. I am happy to say that those days have gone. I no longer feel anything towards you anymore.’

  ‘Nothing?’ said Laura.

  Mark became conscious that a little pulse was beating furiously in his temple. He turned his head, that she might not see it. He said thickly, ‘Why have you come here?’

  ‘I wanted to speak to you. To explain,’ she said.

  ‘You have great faith in your own powers,’ said Mark.

  She did not answer, and her silence seemed an accusation.

  ‘Don’t pretend to be hurt,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t tie up with your behaviour. How long have you known I was here? Your desire to explain didn’t move you very quickly. And couldn’t you have brought your husband with you, to round off the whole affair?’

  ‘Don’t, Mark,’ she whispered.

  ‘I hurt you, don’t I? My Lord, you’re clever. Even now you can make me feel I’ve hurt you. And that’s damned funny, after what you’ve done to me.’

  She moved, as if he had touched her. ‘I was afraid you’d feel like that,’ she said.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Oh, Mark, my dear! You make it all so plain. I was wrong, I know — wickedly wrong — and I know how bitterly I hurt you. Believe me, I suffered, too, and I shall suffer for the rest of my life — but can’t it be forgotten now? I can’t undo the past, but surely we needn’t hate each other. Isn’t there anything left?’

  The low voice broke on the ghost of a sob. She looked up at him half shyly, half appealingly, like an unhappy child.

  ‘You’re a good actress, Laura,’ he said. ‘A pity you left the stage.’

  She remained perfectly still, and her face did not change. In the lilac the bees droned and drifted. He felt the old charm creeping over him and cursed his own weakness.

  At last she said gently, ‘I can see it’s no use. I shall never make you understand. I’d better go.’

  ‘I don’t know why you came,’ said Mark.

  As if the words were an invitation she swayed towards him, laying her hands on his shoulders, her face upturned to his.

  ‘You wouldn’t have said that — once,’ she whispered.

  Mark drew a quick breath. The colour came darkly to his face. ‘You won’t manage it, you know,’ he said.

  ‘Manage what?’

  ‘To fool me all over again.’ He took her hands from his shoulders and held her away from him, looking her over from head to foot. Under the pitiless scrutiny her eyes fell, but she did not attempt to move away.

  He said reflectively, ‘You haven’t changed. You’re lovely as an angel still. Only it doesn’t mean a thing to me anymore. Do you understand that?’

  Her lips curved faintly. ‘You make it fairly plain,’ she said.

  ‘Good.’ He released her hands. ‘That being clear, perhaps you will tell me what the devil you want with me.’

  ‘I came to explain. To tell you I was sorry.’

  ‘Very good of you. I thought you’d done that already. Don’t you remember? So delicately and neatly, too. The first letter I had when I reached home. Those years in the prison camp it was all I waited for — the thought of you and coming back to you. Doesn’t it give you a good laugh? That was what kept me alive — and then a note. A nice little note.’ His voice thickened suddenly. He turned away, fumbling for his pipe, and did not see the glint of triumph in her eyes. ‘God only knows why I must choose out of all England the place where I should run into you again. I never wanted it,’ he said.

  ‘If you feel nothing anymore,’ she said softly, ‘there’s no need for you to mind so much. Is there?’

  He looked up quickly at her tone and met the half-veiled triumph of her glance. The blood drummed suddenly in his ears. Dropping his pipe, he took a step towards her. His fingers bit into her shoulders.

  ‘Damn you, Laura,’ he said.

  Her head fell back, her eyes half-closed. He did not know which longing most tormented him, to kiss the lips which he had kissed so often, or to move his hands from her shoulders to her long white throat.

  ‘I could kill you,’ he whispered. ‘Do you know that?’

  ‘You don’t want to kill me, Mark.’ There was a hint of laughter in the murmuring voice. ‘In spite of all I’ve done to you. Do you?’

  He bent his head. A stick snapped sharply, as if under the impact of a foot. James, who had been dozing in the sun at the side of the house sprang up, barking furiously. The man and woman moved apart.

  ‘Probably your husband in search of you,’ observed Mark, picking up his pipe and breathing rather fast. ‘And not before it was time, if you ask me. Now we shall have a few explanations, which might be interesting.’

  ‘For God’s sake, see who it is,’ whispered Laura, her eyes dark with fear. ‘If it’s Ralph, get rid of him somehow. He mustn’t find me here.’

  ‘No — all things considered, it might be awkward. But you might have thought of that before.’

  He called James and walked to the gate. There was no-one in sight. He strolled up the slope, finding the path, too, empty. As far as he could see the field was deserted. None the less, the interruption had saved him. He looked back on the past moments with a sardonic wonder. He had not thought that he, Mark Endicott, was so great a fool that the mere fact of her physical presence could bring even a momentary forgetfulness of what she had done to him. No wonder she had come to him, since her power was still so great. All the same, she should not have reason for triumph again.

  But when he turned back he saw that her attitude had changed. Not invitation but fear was in her eyes; she was rigidly poised, and the hands clasped before her were so tightly flexed that the knuckles showed white.

  ‘You must have led this husband of yours a pretty dance,’ said Mark, looking at her without pity, ‘to be in the state you are now. Compose yourself, my child; the devil looks after his own. You are not discovered yet.’

  Her hands relaxed. She pushed back the hair from her forehead and smiled faintly.

  ‘I’m not pretending, you know. Just now you said you could kill me. If Ralph had found us then he would have saved you the trouble,’ she said.

  She spoke entirely without emphasis, uttering a mere statement of fact. Mark saw that she was utterly convinced of the truth of her words.

  ‘You might have stayed away if you believe that. You came of your own accord.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I had to come. To know what you intend to do.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Mark. ‘That’s the question, isn’t it?’

  She came closer, so that he felt her breath, hurried and troubled on his face.

  ‘You won’t tell him — promise you won’t! What good could it do now? I was wrong, and God knows I’m sorry for it — but I didn’t
know if you were alive or dead and I wanted to get away . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry. I shan’t tell him,’ said Mark. ‘I’m quite prepared to pretend I never met you, and I only wish to God it were true.’

  ‘I did try,’ she said, ‘but it was too long.’

  He said in a curious voice, ‘It seemed a long time to me, too.’

  ‘Is it any use to say again that I’m sorry?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I can’t help being what I am,’ she said.

  ‘No — that’s the devil of it. You did that to me without thinking twice about it and now you’ve got this Grey you can’t even pretend to be a decent wife to him. I wonder he hasn’t already discovered your fun and games with young Marlowe, and you came here today quite prepared to pick me up where you left me, if that would help to keep me quiet. You’re a thoroughly bad hat, my beautiful Laura, and if you don’t watch your step, you’ll come to a thoroughly sticky end.’

  ‘I’ve already been warned. By an anonymous letter-writer.’

  ‘What?’ said Mark. ‘You too?’

  ‘Oh, did you get one? And Brian did. I only hope they leave Ralph alone.’

  ‘You seem to take it very calmly, considering the volcano you’re sitting on at present.’

  She laughed. ‘It’s some miserable spinster who can’t bear to see anyone with a measure of good looks. Don’t worry; no-one in God’s Blessing knows about you and me — except you and me. And I’m finishing with Brian. I should never have started if I hadn’t been bored to tears. It’s funny to think what a moralist you are, Mark. You never really approved of me, though, did you?’

  ‘Probably not. I only loved you.’

  ‘“Indeed, my Lord, you made me believe so.”’ For a moment all wronged and deserted womanhood sounded in the soft voice. ‘You may not think it, my dear, but I loved you too.’

  ‘Only you couldn’t wait.’

  ‘No. So when Ralph came along, I . . . married him.’

  ‘And lived happy ever after.’

  She shook her head. Turning to the lilac bush beside her, she drew down a scented spray and held it to her cheek.

  ‘I hate him. He frightens me,’ she said.

  The letter, this time without filthy epithets or embellishments, said simply: Do you know that your wife visits Corpse Path Cottage, and has been seen there in that man’s arms? This is not gossip or hearsay, but God’s truth.