Snare of Serpents

by Виктория Холт

  “Very well.”

  “He was always asking questions. And then he went out and brought you home. News travels in a town like this. My word! That was something! Shows how keen he was to get you. And at one time I thought he was interested in me! But I realised it was just because he wanted to probe. He’s a real old prober. I soon got his measure. But it is good to see you. Tell me about the awful time you must have had. Shut in like that … not much to eat, I suppose … living on what you could get.” She shivered. “We heard a lot about it here, you know. I’ll not forget Mafeking night in a hurry. The noise in the streets! It went on all night. And I thought of you out there. It is good to see you.”

  “Tell me about yourself, Zillah.”

  “Oh, things didn’t turn out as I thought they would. I had plans. I was going to have a house in London. I was going abroad. I was going to enjoy life. All planned, it was, and then, suddenly, I got this cough. Just a nuisance at first. Then I couldn’t get rid of it. The doctor shook his head and wanted examinations. So I had them and they found this. I reckon I picked it up in those draughty old digs when I was with the Jolly Red Heads.”

  “I’m so sorry, Zillah. It is the last thing I would have expected of you. So you have to stay quiet, do you?”

  “Don’t only have to, want to sometimes. I have my down days and my up days. Sometimes I feel … almost well. I make the most of that.”

  “Everything else seems more or less the same here. Mrs. Kirkwell is just as ever.”

  “She’s like an old monument … she and her old man. I never forget them when I first came here. What a long time ago that seems, Davina!”

  “I remember it well. I thought I had never seen anyone less like a governess than you.”

  “You always paid nice compliments, dear. And to think that you once thought of becoming one! What happened about that old school?”

  I told her and that Lilias was now married.

  “You both found husbands. It can’t be such a boring old profession, after all.”

  “So did you,” I said.

  For a moment we were both sober.

  “And the servants here?” I asked.

  “The girls left. There are new ones now. Only the Kirkwells stayed.”

  “And the Vospers?”

  “They’re not here. I’ve got Baines now. Baines and Mrs. In the mews, of course. She helps in the house; he’s a good steady man. Not that I use the carriage so much nowadays.”

  “What happened to the Vospers?”

  “Oh, they shot up in the world. Hamish did anyway. He’s in the horse racing business … or something like that. Making money, so I hear.”

  “He always had such a good opinion of himself!”

  “Apparently he has made other people have one, too.”

  “Do you ever see him?”

  “Now and then. He comes to see the Kirkwells. I think he likes to show off his affluence to them and remember the old days.”

  “Did you ever hear any more of Ellen Farley?”

  “Ellen Farley? Oh …”

  “You remember, she used to work here. She was the one they tried to find at the time … of the trial.”

  “That’s right. Ellen Farley, the one who disappeared into the blue.”

  “Ninian used to say that if we could have found her she could have corroborated my story … you know … that she asked me to buy that stuff.”

  She leaned forward and laid a thin white hand over mine.

  “Don’t think about it, dear,” she said. “It’s all over and done with. That’s what I tell myself. Doesn’t do any good to go over it.”

  “It’s not all over for me, Zillah. It never will be. All through my life, I shall be waiting for someone to remind me and to wonder whether I was really guilty.”

  “Oh no. It’s all done with. People forget.”

  “I wish they did.”

  “What a morbid subject! Your Ninian is charming, isn’t he? I thought so. He truly loves you, doesn’t he? Be thankful for that, and you wouldn’t have known him if … that hadn’t happened. That’s a consolation, isn’t it? He must love you a lot, mustn’t he, or he wouldn’t have gone all the way out to South Africa to find you, would he?”

  “No, he would not.”

  “Well, that’s nice. Think of that and not the other.”

  “I try. And there is something I want to tell you, Zillah. I’m going to have a baby.”

  “Really? Isn’t that the most wonderful news! You must bring the baby to see me.”

  “It’s not due just yet.”

  “I can’t wait. I’m going to live long enough to see it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing. Just talking nonsense. It’s this old cough. It gets at me sometimes. I’m ever so pleased to see you happy, and I’m pleased you’re going to have this baby. Won’t Ninian be pleased!”

  “He’s very pleased.”

  “And so am I. I’m glad it all turned out right for you.”

  Being with her was exhilarating, and talking to her I forgot, temporarily, that physically at least she was just a shadow of what she had once been.

  I RECEIVED A LETTER from Lilias’ sister Jane. She hoped that I would come and stay with them for a few days. She was longing to hear firsthand news of Lilias and to see me, of course. Perhaps I could come with my husband? We should be very welcome.

  I could understand their anxiety to get news of Lilias from someone who had been with her during the siege, and I decided that I must go before I was too advanced in pregnancy.

  An opportunity came. Ninian had to go to London on business. He would have taken me with him, but I thought it would be a good idea if I spent a few days at the vicarage while he was in London. We could travel down together and I could go on to Devon.

  I had to tell Jane every detail I could remember, beginning with the voyage out and right through to the siege and our marriages. She and her father listened intently, now and then asking a question.

  They were very interested in John Dale naturally, and I told them what an admirable young man he was and how he and Lilias were devoted to each other. The vicar’s eyes were bright with unshed tears and Jane unashamedly allowed one or two of hers to escape.

  “When things have quietened down,” I said, “she will want you to go and pay her a visit. Perhaps she will come to see you.”

  “We will manage to go and see her,” said Jane firmly to her father.

  I had to tell them more of the siege, more of our first impressions. The talk flowed on until it was time to retire for the night.

  The next day there was a message from Mrs. Ellington. She had heard that I was at the vicarage and begged me to come and see her before I left. She wanted to hear news of Myra.

  So I went.

  “She was so distressed,” she said, “at the death of dear Roger. Shot by some madman.” I guessed she did not know all the full story and it was not my place to enlighten her.

  Poor Myra. She wondered she did not come home.

  I said: “Myra is making a home for herself over there. She seemed to be settling. You see, there is Paul.”

  “Dear Roger’s son. He did tell us of him.”

  Still I did not explain. There was no need for her to have even a glimmer of the truth.

  “He’s not very old,” I said. “He needs someone to care for him.”

  “I understand. But it would be better for Myra to bring him back. I would look after Roger’s son. He could be brought up here … so much better for him.”

  “You see, that is his home. He was born there.”

  “But it would be so much better for him to be here.”

  It was not much use contesting Mrs. Ellington’s opinions, but I persevered.

  “It is quite a large house to run and Myra enjoys doing that. She has adjusted herself to it and her main concern at this time is the boy. He is helping her to grow away from her tragedy. She has had a terrible shock.”

  “And
all those people daring to rebel … and her being in the middle of it.”

  “You mean the Boers.”

  “I should have thought that war should be over by now. People are saying it cannot be long now.”

  She asked a great many questions and I was able to satisfy her curiosity to some extent, and I think when I left she was a little reconciled to Myra’s absence.

  She thanked me for coming and hoped I would find time to do so again before I left. She added that she would insist on Myra’s coming home for a visit and they would go on from there.

  As I went out I saw Kitty. I fancied she had been waiting for me.

  “Hello, Kitty,” I said. “How are you?”

  “Married now, Miss. I married Charlie who works in the stables. We live over the stables. I’ve got a little baby.”

  “Oh, Kitty, that’s wonderful.”

  “Miss Davina … there’s something I ought to tell you. It’s been on my mind ever since.”

  “What is it, Kitty?”

  She bit her lips and looked over her shoulder.

  I said: “Could you come over to the vicarage and see me? I shall be there for another two days.”

  “Yes, Miss. When?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Oh yes, Miss. I could come then.”

  “It’s very nice to see you, Kitty. I’m glad about the baby. That must be wonderful.”

  “She’s a lovely little girl.”

  “I must see her before I go.”

  The next afternoon, she came to the vicarage. I told Jane that she was coming and wished to tell me something, so Jane left us to ourselves in the little room where the vicar saw his parishioners.

  Kitty began by saying: “It’s been on my mind because Miss Lilias did say not to mention it … and I promised I wouldn’t …”

  “What?”

  She bit her lips and continued to hesitate. Then she said: “It was when you fell off your horse that time …”

  “I remember. You called out my name.”

  “That was it. ‘Miss Davina,’ I said. I could have killed myself as soon as I said it, but it sort of slipped out. I thought that horse was going to drag you along. That would have been terrible.”

  “I understand how it happened.”

  “Well, Mr. Lestrange was there … and he heard.”

  “Yes. I had thought he might have done.”

  “He was a lovely gentleman … ever so kind, he was. Always a word and a smile. Mind you, since Charlie I’ve never … you know what I mean. I wouldn’t want anything to go wrong between Charlie and me. I’ve never looked at nobody since.”

  “But you … looked at Mr. Lestrange?”

  My mind switched back to the courtyard before the schoolhouse and Greta Schreiner smiling up at him. I had been reminded then of Kitty. I thought: so he had beguiled Kitty, too … beguiled her so that he might get information from her about me. Kitty was physically attractive, with that attraction, as Lilias had once remarked, of a girl who can’t say no. What was it? A sort of promise, an assurance of a speedy seduction?

  “He asked a lot of questions about you and it just sort of slipped out … all about how your father died and they’d accused you.”

  “I see.”

  “I did tell him that I’d seen your picture in the paper … twice, I did. I cut it out and got one of the men who could read to read it to me. I kept the papers … and … well, him being so interested … I showed them to him. He took them and said he’d like to read them sometime. He never gave them back to me. I’m ever so sorry. As soon as I’d done it I knew I shouldn’t have. But he was such a nice gentleman, I knew it wouldn’t do no harm with him knowing … It didn’t, did it? He was always ever so nice to you.”

  I said nothing. I just sat there listening.

  “I knew it was all right, but you see I’d said I wouldn’t say anything and I just did. He was the sort who could get anything from a girl if he wanted to. And you and Miss Lilias had been so good to me …”

  I said: “It’s all right, Kitty. It’s over now. He’s dead.”

  “Yes, I heard. I was ever so shocked. A lovely man like that.”

  “You don’t want to think of lovely men anymore, Kitty … except, of course, Charlie.”

  She hunched her shoulders like a child and smiled.

  “Oh, I’m glad it’s all right,” she said. “I’ve had it on my mind ever since.”

  I asked about the baby and Charlie and I walked back with her to the stable quarters to see the child. I told her I was expecting one. Her eyes lit up with pleasure. Kitty was a good girl at heart, and I knew it was as though a great burden had dropped from her shoulders.

  She had really been very upset because she had betrayed a confidence. But now she had confessed and had been forgiven.

  I RETURNED to Edinburgh and was happy during the months that followed. I could think of little but the coming of the baby. While I was able, I visited Zillah frequently. I was surprised at her interest in the coming child.

  Once, when I was coming away from the house, I met Hamish Vosper. He was flashily dressed in a brown check suit and wore a carnation in his buttonhole. With an exaggerated gesture he swept off his hat to greet me and I noticed his black hair glistening with pomade.

  “Why, if it isn’t Miss Davina! My word, you look in the pink of health!” His eyes assessed me with something like amusement, I thought.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “All going well?” he went on.

  “Very well.”

  “That makes two of us.” He winked.

  “I see you are very prosperous.”

  He slapped his thigh with an exaggerated gesture. “Can’t deny it. Can’t deny it.”

  “Well, good day.”

  I was glad to escape. I found him as repulsive as when he had sat in the kitchen watching the maids slyly while he pulled at the long black hair on his arms.

  MY SON WAS BORN in the May of that year 1902—in the same month that the war with South Africa was finally over and the Peace of Vereeniging was signed, depriving the Boers of their independence.

  I wondered how Lilias was getting on. There would be tremendous relief out there, I was sure.

  My days were taken up with my son. We called him Stephen after Ninian’s father who, with his wife, was so delighted with this grandson that I was sure they almost forgave me for being who I was.

  As for myself, I could forget, at this time, all that had gone before.

  I took the child to see Zillah. She was delighted. It had never occurred to me that she would have much time to spare for children. Her illness had changed her. In the past she had seemed to be straining for excitement, looking for adventure; now she seemed almost reconciled at times.

  I was happier than I had thought possible, for I could not regret anything which had brought me to this state. I remembered Zillah’s saying that if that nightmare had not come to pass, I should not have met Ninian. Stephen would not have existed.

  I wrote to Lilias telling her about the wonder child and, now that the war was over, I heard from her. She was expecting a child. The bond between us seemed stronger than ever. We had both come through tragic times together and both found happiness.

  Happiness was sometimes fragile; but now I had Ninian and my baby, I felt secure.

  The months passed. Stephen was beginning to smile, then to crawl, and then to take notice. He liked Zillah. He would sit on her lap and gaze at her. He was quite fascinated by her red hair. She still took a great deal of pains with her appearance. Her skin was delicately tinted, her eyes bright under her darkened brows. Sometimes I thought she could not be so very ill—except that she was thin.

  One day there was news which startled us. Hamish Vosper had been killed in a fight by a rival. There was a hint of something called the Edinburgh Mafia.

  It was revealed that for some time there had been trouble between two rival gangs, both engaged in nefarious practices, and that Hamish Vos
per, who was the leader of one, had been killed by the other. Such men, said the press, were a disgrace to the fair city of Edinburgh.

  They were suspected not only of deciding which horses were allowed to win races, by the use of drugs so that they could back the outsider winners, but many other crimes.

  “We want no such gang rule in Edinburgh,” wrote one commentator. “The death of Hamish Vosper is rough justice on one of our ignoble citizens.”

  I went to see Zillah when I heard the news. Mrs. Kirkwell received me in a mood of subdued triumph.

  “I always knew that Hamish Vosper would come to a bad end,” she said. “I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but the master ought to have got rid of him years ago when he was caught with that maid. Well, I’ve seen something like this coming. I said to Kirkwell, ‘He’s up to no good, mark my words. There he was in his fancy clothes, throwing his weight about.

  Ah,’ I said to Kirkwell. ‘He’s up to no good, mark my words.’ It’s terrible to think that he was here … one of us, you might say … though never really that. And then after you’d gone … he used to come here … even going up to see Mrs. Glentyre. I never could understand why she allowed it.”

  I went up to Zillah. She was looking better. I thought, something has happened.

  She said: “I feel fine today. Just like my old self.”

  “You certainly look it. Have you read the newspapers today?”

  “Why yes. You’re thinking about Hamish.”

  “It’s rather shocking … particularly as he was here and we knew him.”

  “Yes.”

  “I never liked him … but to think of him … dead …”

  “These things happen. It seemed he was living dangerously, and when you do that you can’t be surprised if you come to a bad end.”

  “Had you any idea … ?”

  “Well … yes … I guessed he was up to no good. He was that sort. He was dabbling in all sorts of things … playing with fire, you might say. Well, he got burned.”

  “You must have seen him quite recently. I met him here not long ago.”

  “He used to come to the house. He wanted the Kirkwells to see how he’d got on. Foolish man. A lesson to us all, Davina.”

  I was surprised at her attitude. But then Zillah had always surprised me.